Path of the Vampire forum

As much as Abigail was focused on curbing the burn in the back of her throat with a more pleasant meal than her first she couldn't help but let her eyes lock on Jesse. The way he moved through the crowd after she had come in...the way he seemed to weave in and out among the bodies of students and the like without so much as having the smallest of issues. It was like fate itself was allowing him to glide through the crowd without so much as having to brush against any individual. He was the lucky one. With all the arms and legs and bodies jostling past her as she sat Abigail was beginning to feel more and more filthy with each passing moment to the point she merely wanted to get up and leave without even finding someone like Jesse had suggested she should do in that silent yet strong manner of his.

Abigail knew the truth of it all though, if she didn't snap her mind back on the task at hand then there would be no way for her to accomplish that which she had vowed she would do even if it would come back and bite her in the *** later on. She might feel guilty, filthy, full of regret but not now. Now was the time for action, thought would be later. Act on the adrenaline and the primal thoughts in the back of her mind. Let herself be human later after this beast was some how caged. Even looking around at the people that surrounded her the only thought in her mind was to lock the doors and for her and Jesse to slaughter every single one of them. Wait...why? Why would she do that? She'd never been the violent sort before so where were these thoughts coming from? Why did she want to spill so much blood so badly? Was it simply her frustration with the crowd and how disgusted she was with them or was it something...else?

Unable to ask Jesse and torn between wanting to lash out and bury her head in the sand she opted for the next best thing. Ordering herself a Captain and Coke she hoped it would have the desired effect and quickly, to get her mind off of everything that was racing through it and maybe, just maybe, it would slake that hunger that was quickly spreading through her and making her probably the most uncomfortable person in the establishment. Tapping her foot on the bottom rung of the bar stool she glanced over her shoulder and locked eyes with Jesse seeking comfort in the mere sight of him as she fought the internal struggle. She just hoped it wouldn't be something Jesse would pick up on and disrupt the entire lesson. If this was something that was going to be a part of her existence then it would be something she would have to learn to work with and deal with on her own. Jesse wouldn't always be there to hold her hand so maybe it was time to hold her own hand.

Lost in thought she hadn't even noticed that her drink had arrived. Thank god. She only managed a small sip before, a few moments later, she felt the most unpleasant of burning sensations like that of bile rising in her throat. ****. Leaving her drink at the bar she rushed out the door with her arm over her mouth. Why? She had no idea but it seemed like the best thing to do as she pushed the door open and made it to the curb just in time to, for the second time that night, empty what little was in her stomach. Most of it as dry heaving but it still left her feeling rather unpleasant for a few moments. If vampirism meant she wasn't allowed to even have a drink any more then this life was going to be rather stressful at the very least. Shaking her head and tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear she leaned against the rough brick that was the outside of the building. Why did everything have to seem to be going wrong now? Why couldn't this have just been a simple seduction and feed?

Frustrated beyond belief with herself she took the first thing that presented itself to her. Someone not so drunk that had come to make sure she was okay. Apparently someone dressed like her rushing out of a bar to puke their brains out was something that some people actually seemed to care about. Noting a few people glancing out the window she wanted to just say **** it and let them watch but she supposed there was a reason why she had never been witness to this mythical race she now belonged to. Feigning recovery, even though she felt perfectly fine, she placed a hand on the strangers shoulder. A taller fellow, short cropped blonde hair, striking blue eyes with a scent of alcohol on his breath but who the hell cared anymore. Speaking softly she informed him that she would be okay but wouldn't mind someone to keep an eye on her.

The second he agreed it was all too easy. Her smile seemed to weaken him even more as he seemed to be over come with some form of confusion to the point where it seemed as if he would simply agree to anything she asked of him or told him to do. Interesting. Maybe she could...yes! That was what she would do. Placing her hand on his cheek she used the one thing that actually made her feel the slightest bit of betrayal to Jesse. She let him see those eyes. The same eyes that she had used on Jesse not that long ago that would have melted the coldest hearts and brought joy to the weakest. Taking him over to the far corner of the building where they would only be seen by those walking along the street and not by those inside the bar. She had only asked this man for one thing and the second his arms wrapped around her she knew that hook, line and sinker had been taken. How it had been so easy to talk a complete stranger in to her suggestion was a mystery to her but, hey, if it worked it worked. Feed. The thought crossed her mind and the second she did she felt the discomfort of her canines elongating as she buried her head, and then those elongated canines, in this poor unsuspecting soul's neck. He tensed, that was the first sign that he knew what was happening but as she kept her hand against his cheek her meal seemed to slump and nod stupidly as she took her fill.

That was when Abigail realized one fatal flaw in her plan. What the HELL was she going to do with him when she was done? Was she supposed to kill him or leave him alive and if she left him alive how was she supposed to explain the blood loss and the wounds on his neck? God damn it. Now she was actually hoping Jesse had followed her out. She was ready to let him go but if she did was he going to simply fall over or what? He seemed to be lost in his own little head right now for whatever reason and it was a damn good thing he was too. She could only imagine the yelling and screaming and cursing he'd probably be doing now if it weren't for this stupor that seemed to have come over him.

Jesse! Where the HELL are you?!

I don’t do anything as I notice Abigail order a drink. I hope, for her sake, that she does not try to drink it; but I realise, too, that I have not informed her otherwise. A rookie mistake, on my part. I ought to have made sure, before we entered an establishment that sold alcoholic beverages, that Abigail was aware of our inability to consume anything other than blood. Unless, of course, she’s of that particular path that allows her to consume human food and drink. I can’t think, in this moment, how I might have tested her path in so short a time between now and her turning.

At the worst possible moment, I am distracted. I, too, have a task that I must focus on. The mousy girl is looking at me in bewildered terror. Not terror because she knows what I am and what I intend, but a social terror, like she has no idea what I’m doing there beside her, with two schooners in hand. Her lips are parted as if in question, and yet no question passes her lips as she divides her time between glancing up at me, and watching for the bartender. Both her hands are resting on the counter top, and as she moves I can see the shape of her hand upon the counter top; the heat of her nervous body has left a print of steam in its wake. I ruin the perfectness of the imprint as I push one of the schooners toward her. The condensation that had already gathered at the bottom of the glass leaves a trail. I wait until I catch her eye before I grin, and nod toward the drink. It’s all hers.

A singular breath escapes the girl as she smiles appreciatively.

“Thank you,” she says, barely escaping a stammer. Oh, but they’re so adorable when they’re shy. And yet I can tell that this one doesn’t want to be shy. Not anymore. I can tell, because of the way she pushes herself up onto her toes and glances across the room. There’s a group of girls huddled around a tall table. They’re all very loud and boisterous. It’s the group that she belongs to. And this girl either wants to make sure that they’re still there, or wants to see whether they’re watching. Maybe she seeks their approval, wants them to see that she, too, can lure a man. Maybe she yearns their company, the strength of them behind her to give her the courage to continue. Her slim fingers curl around the schooner, which she lifts to her lips—lips that might have been a bright red an hour or two ago, but which now have faded to a pale pink. She sculls half the glass in one go. Failing courage gained from friends, she instead opts for liquid courage.

She smiles again, a faint blush colouring her cheeks. She’s embarrassed. She expects that I might have started to drink, too, and yet I haven’t. My schooner remains untouched—and I merely stare at her and that wide arch of her throat that’s revealed as she drinks. She’s waiting for me to say something, waiting for some kind of pickup line. Her eyes—green as spring grass—widen nearly imperceptibly. She doesn’t know what to say. I perk a brow and break eye contact to pull a cardboard coaster toward us. I reach into my bag to retrieve a pen, and flip the coaster over.

I’m going to be honest with her, and play the mute-man card. For some reason, a lot of women find it endearing. I write:

”Sorry to be awkward.
I can’t talk.
Mute, not deaf.”

I can see the way relief relaxes her, the way her mouth forms a gentle “Oh.” She laughs as she turns those eyes back toward me.

“Oh, I’m sorry! I mean. Not sorry because I think there’s anything wrong with that… just… you know what I mean,” she stammers, her blush growing in strength. I grin down at her; she reaches for the drink to take another gulp. I have been distracted by my prey for some time, now—and it’s as I turn back to Abigail that I realise again, that I have been remiss. I turn just in time to see her flee from the bar, headed for the front door. Anxious, I turn back to my girl. I pick up the pen and write, feigning calm:

”I’m with a friend. Come meet her?”

My smile is gone as I turn an inquisitive gaze up to the brunette. She nods. I think she’ll be glad not to be alone with me, for some reason. I take her hand as I start to lead her toward the front of the bar. She stops me.

“Just one second. I need to go tell me friends?” she says. I do my best not to show anger. I smile, and I nod. And I wait there, in the middle of the room, watching her as she makes her way to that gaggling group of girls. They all go silent as she approaches. They listen intently to her. All four pairs of eyes lift, trying to seek me out amongst the crowd; I give them a wave. There’s a bout of giggling, before my girl grabs her bag and leaves them behind. I shouldn’t have waved. I’m going to have to be very thorough, getting rid of this body.

Finally, she’s at my side again, and I’m heading toward the exit. I know the girl behind me is confused. I know that she hasn’t expected that we’d leave the establishment. But here we are—and I can’t see Abigail. I pause and reach out with my senses; I lift my nose to the air, and my ears might twitch, were I a cat. I follow both scent and sound, slowly wandering toward the darkness of the alleyway. And there she is – my Abigail, with a desperate expression painting her strong features, her prey still alive but near unconscious in her grasp.

It takes my victim a couple of seconds to realise what she’s seeing. But before she can do anything, I’ve pulled her into the relative darkness of the alcove. I’ve covered her mouth with my hand, pushing her past Abigail. I can’t do anything to help Abigail until I am free of my own baggage, and so without a second’s notice I’m biting into the shy girl’s neck, still holding my hand over her mouth to keep her from screaming, my other holding down the hand that starts clawing at my chest. I drink until I feel her body go limp, though her heart still thuds healthily in her chest. I do this hastily, so as to turn my full attention to Abigail. I lower my prey to the ground, allowing her sit.

This is a demonstration of what Abigail ought to be capable of. I turn back to her, proud that she has come this far. Not at all disappointed that she doesn’t quite know what to do next. I lay a reassuring hand on her shoulder, applying a little pressure to let her know she can let him go, and it’ll be fine. I then pull that same pen from my bag, and a small writing pad. I hold it against the wall to write:

”You should be able to feed without killing.
They pass out. They do not remember.”

I glance over my shoulder at my own passed out victim. I point to the wound on her neck, where I had bitten her. It’s already stitching itself together, healing, as if no vampire had ever been there. I write again:

”Except me. With you. You remembered. It wasn’t always like that.
I will have to kill her.
I hope you will not have the same curse.”

I keep the pad of paper where it is, so that Abigail can read. I watch carefully for her reaction.

There had originally been no intention of killing this poor unfortunate soul but as she closed her eyes and focused on drowning out the sounds of the city she could hear that slight thumping that she had heard earlier with the instructor back in the classroom. It had to be the heart beat because that was what she was telling her brain to try and find and focus in on and this one was slow and weak instead of the strong and almost melodic heart beat of a normal healthy human....like the one that was now staring at her. Some mousy girl that looked terrified and yet inquisitive at the same time but before Abigail could lift her head she was gone. No, not gone. She was there to Abigail's side against the jagged brick with a very handsome tattooed man keeping a hand over her mouth. Jesse. Even in the near darkness he was bright as day to her eyes and such a welcome sight.

Feeling the body begin to drop as her grip lightened she was shocked to see the animalistic ferocity with which Jesse fed. It was almost...mesmerizing. Hypnotic even. Even the futile clawing of his prey made the picture that much more beautiful and complete. He truly was a dark angel, reaping in the darkness of the city and preying upon the beauty that was some what close to his own level. She couldn't see him feeding from just anyone, there had to be standards there. Abigail smiled as it dawned on her, maybe that was another reason why that first feeding had been so lackluster. Maybe it simply lacked....beauty? Was that the word? There was simply something lacking. She would just leave it at that.

She didn't really have much of a chance to let herself think at that point because before she realized it there was that hand on her shoulder and, as she'd just bared witness to, Abigail turned so that her man's back was to the wall and slowly slid him down it so it looked like he had simply taken a seat on the dirty broken ground. It would have looked believable if Abigail didn't know exactly what had just happened. For the second time in the same night she had almost killed someone. Someone that used to be exactly like herself. Could she honestly have taken away any semblance of a future from this one too like she had with the instructor? Was it possible that those small inked hands could have done such a thing? The most terrifying part was that she honestly couldn't say no. She couldn't swear to herself that she would never kill. What if someone came after Jesse? What would she do then?

Taking a step back she managed a weak smile as she leaned in to Jesse and looked down at the fallen asleep or passed pair that wound up together back here. She wouldn't last long, no, Jesse had made it clear that she would have to die and that was something that seemed like it was just a fact of life for him. Something that just needed to happen one way or another and who was Abigail to try and prevent it. It was the other words that made her pause as she placed one hand on his chest and simply leaned against him for a moment after they'd both had their fill. Sire and Childe together as one on the first night of the childe's life. There was nothing that felt more perfect to the tattooed brunette than this. Except one thing...
The words screamed through her mind over and over again before she finally broke the silence and asked that one question that was capable of shattering worlds and ending lives.

"What made you make me this way instead of killing me, Jesse? Wouldn't it have been just as easy to have pulled me out in to an alley, fed from me and left me in the gutter like your going to do to her?"

As Abigail leans in to me, I am subject to a lot of different stirrings of emotion that I can’t quite put my finger on. They are evasive motions that run through the core of me—they are not prompted by a fastening of the beat of my heart, because my heart does not beat. Metaphorically and physically, I like to assume, though I suppose even I cannot claim to be that cold. Cold, physically. But metaphorically? I don’t ******* know. Whatever the case, I feel an odd sense of pride and possessiveness as I lean there, my arm at a right angle to my body as I hold the pad of paper against the wall, Abigail leaning into me like I am the tower, and she is taking refuge. As I look down at her, I can see the whorls of hair on her head, the tiny wisps as they protrude from the follicles of her scalp. Some might think that to be able to see things in such detail would be a curse, that it would reveal ugliness in things that ought to be beautiful. I don’t agree. I’ve always loved to look at things at their most basic. There’s nothing more beautiful than in that which is natural.

I suppose that’s what I feel, anyway. Like those whorls of hair are no longer strange to me. They are a part of a woman I might have known my whole life, the kind of familiarity I feel with her now. Part and parcel of the sire and childe bond, I’m willing to bet. I feel this kind of familiarity with Felicity. And with Axel. And now with Abigail. And yet…

…I am no longer looking at the whorls of hair upon Abigail’s crown. I’m looking into her eyes, misty and yet crystal clear. She asks me why it is that I did not leave her in the gutter, like I’m about to do with this woman. I shake my head. For one, I’m not about to leave this woman in the gutter. Second… well, there is no second. I could wax lyrical about all the reasons I didn’t kill Abigail. I could disappoint her by telling her it’s some urge that I have—and I’m going to admit to that, now. What I felt with Abigail in that man’s office as I turned her, it led to a realisation. I’m addicted to the feel of it. I’m addicted to the power I have to make someone into something more than human. Better than human. I am addicted to this, this familiarity—the dizzying sense of… well, yeah, why not. It’s like a familial connection, and I’m making up for all the connections I lost over time.

I never really had a family. Not since I was eight years old. Now I’m building one around me.

Can’t tell Abigail that, though. That will lead to questions about my past. That will lend to her a notion that I am a soft-hearted, weakling of a man, prone to mundane and domesticated habits. That is not me. I am not that man. Sometimes, I figure, it’s easier to not answer a question. Questions answered open a plethora of Pandora’s boxes. No, I don’t ask too many questions. And I don’t answer too many, either. Not if they’re not important. This question that Abigail has asked isn’t going to help her. Nor will a lack of an answer hinder her. And so I smirk, one corner of my lips turning upwards. I perk a brow. I shrug my shoulders.

For me to know. For you to … perhaps never find out.

Before I drop my arm from the wall, I write again:

”You can leave him where he is.
Best form of disposal – if you kill – is by fire.
Or in the river.
Sewers, maybe. I like fire.”

I tear the piece of paper from the pad and hand it to Abigail before tucking the pad of paper and pen back into my bag. I drop to my haunches beside the girl with the glasses. Her friends will have assumed that she had gone home with me. They won’t be looking for her tonight. I’m the last one they saw her with… maybe I ought to do something about that. Tomorrow night—tomorrow night, I may have a feast. I dig into the girl’s handbag, and retrieve her phone. Within that phone I’ll find a range of contacts – pictures, perhaps – so that I might be able to conduct a little witness clean-up. I tuck that phone into my bag. I then reach for the girl’s jaw. I cup her head between both hands, before wrenching the neck to the side, and up. There’s a dull ‘crack’ as the neck snaps. I spare only a single, curious glance for Abigail.

I then lift the body, light as a feather, so that the girl flops weightlessly over my shoulder. I take a walk, deeper into the alleyway. We’ve just exited a pub. There’s got to be a back entrance here somewhere—and a dumpster that the pub, and the shops and residences nearby—use to dump their rubbish. When I find it, I make sure there’s no one else about before I push open the lid and dump the body inside.

This is all habit for me. Something that I must do every night. As Abigail hasn’t shown any desire to actually kill, I don’t make her do the honours. But I do wait for her, so that she may watch. So that she may learn, even though it’s probably common sense, should the situation arise that she need to dump a dead body. I’ll explain later why secrecy is so important. For now, she has to know the evidence needs to be as eviscerated as possible.

From my pocket I retrieve a book of matches. From within the dumpster, I pull a long, scrunched up wad of packing paper. It’s brown, and thick. And heavy. It should catch fire quickly. I strike a match, and wait for the packing paper to rise to an acceptable blaze. This I then drop into the dumpster. I push my hand into my pockets as I wait for the thing to become a veritable pyre.

She should have known that to ask such a profound question so early on was foolish. Even if he gave her an answer who was to say it would be the truth or even some what close to the truth. If she were him he'd still be judging, making sure that the gift he bestowed upon her wasn't wasted and, if it was, well killing a vampire couldn't be that much harder than killing a human right? Just tear off the head and job done right? Even as protected as she felt leaning against him as she was there was always that quiet menace that haunted their times of silence. Words didn't always need to be shared, they weren't a necessity and Abigail understood this almost to the point where she wondered if Jesse could speak and even if he could she'd prefer he not. They were doing just fine as they were even if reading the notes was a bit bothersome in the beginning. Looking up at him she caught the smirk and the shrug, oh that rat ********! That simple shrug and smirk combination had her smiling more than she had in a very long time. It seemed as if there was still going to be some cat and mouse between the two of them even now.

A part of Abigail suspected that the cat and mouse would all end when the turning occurred but apparently that was not to be so...unless she was simply seeing what she wanted to see in which case she needed a good shrink to help her figure out the walking enigma that was her sire. Taking the paper from Jesse, Abigail read it over once more before slipping it in to her back pocket. Jesse had better have some kind of clothes at where ever it was he was taking her. These were unpleasant at best and not nearly her favorite form of attire. She'd expected this night to be simple and easy. Go sit in front of a bunch of artists for a little bit, confront Jesse, yell and scream at him for a few minutes and then mosey on home.That was a fantasy and a half. Now, here she stood in the most deplorable outfit she owned, in a dark alley, with a vampire about to set fire to a...well...she had been a living girl. That sickening snap of the spine caused Abigail to twitch ever so slightly. It was a sound she didn't think she'd ever get used to any time soon.

It was time to turn back in to the keen student once again. To follow in her maker's footsteps as he carried the now deceased body down the alleyway. If her imagination served her right then Abigail knew exactly what Jesse was looking for and there it was. Lid closed and a haven for all things that people wanted to be rid of or didn't want found. In the case of Abigail and Jesse, it was the latter. This one hundred and ten pound piece of waste would never be found...hopefully. Wait. What? Had Abigail truly just referred to the dead girl as 'waste'? She had to mentally kick herself, what the hell was wrong with her tonight? She gets turned in to a vampire and all of a sudden she starts giving up on humanity at the flip of a hat? Well, truth be told they really weren't showing much reverence for life anymore. Jesse simply did as his way of life dictated and Abigail was simply along for the ride tonight. She had left a barely alive man passed out around the corner of a building simply because...that was what she did now. Jesse had just set fire to the dumpster as she let it all run through her mind.

She found her perch once more against Jesse, yeah, he'd probably see her as clingy but if he had an issue with it he could speak up and say something. She wanted to watch life end, to see it utterly destroyed. The more she saw it the more it would change her, the more accepting it would make her of this dark new world that she was now a part of. Through it all though she swore she would always be right here, right beside the man that had changed her life forever. Through thick or thin because when the issues arose, and Abigail knew they would, she'd make damn sure he helped her deal with them since he was the one that made them come about. Then when the good came along she'd still be right there with him, to revel in it. To bathe in it together as Maker and Creation. The flames licked at the cool night sky, the fire was something to at least memorialize the girl whose name was never known. It was better than a simple drop in the river or in the sewers.

"Is it bad that I really want a marshmallow on a stick now?"

She smiled at the thought, of it sounded so good! A nice crispy marshmallow, she'd even be nice and make one up for Jesse. Shaking hr head she remembered how well the drink had gone. No, food would probably not work too well either anymore. Well wasn't that going to suck?

Giving Jesse's arm a little tug she looked up at him with a nice big smile and a twinkle in her eyes.

"Where to now, Jesse? We've had our little impromptu meal and a memorial service...what else can we squeeze in tonight?"

The scent of cooking meat soon fills the alleyway—the alleyway, which had beforehand smelled only of old trash, vomit, rat droppings, and urine. It’s funny, how the smell of cooking human flesh can overwhelm the rest of it. If I close my eyes I can almost imagine that I’m eighteen again, on the rooftop of my best friend’s apartment complex, steak and bacon sizzling on the top of his small barbeque—cold beer in one hand, sun beating down overhead.

I am broken from that particular memory by the feel of Abigail, sidling up beside me again, her body moulding against mine as if that’s where she always wanted it to be. A little strange, I think, given that I only met the girl two nights ago. But I suppose a lot has happened in those two nights, and it’s not exactly uncomfortable. It should be. I remember that one girl—Lyn, I think her name was?—she was the same. Almost as if she wanted to hold hands and skip down the street like BFFs. I had to forcefully extract her from me, to let her know that it wasn’t at all cool, to just assume other people like their personal space invaded.

I assume it’s got a little something to do with the sire and childe bond. We’re now connected forever, even if we are to drift apart. Even if, for some reason or other, Abigail decides that I’m in fact not this person she seems to admire so much right now, there’ll always be this night, and the simple fact that it was my blood that turned her into a bloodsucking creature of the night. No, I won’t demand any kind of false loyalty from her for that. It’s a gift that I don’t expect repayment for. But it’ll always have been me.

The fire in front of us grows, crackling merrily in the dim light behind the pub. The warmth of it contradicts the chilly breeze that sweeps through the narrow space, carrying the scent of cooking meat away from us, and bringing with it the scent of the wide world beyond the alleyway—tantalizing and alluring as it is. I know that Felicity is out there somewhere—that she might be at home waiting for me. Just that word, waiting, though, makes me not want to go. I sure hope that she doesn’t sit around waiting for me. The image of her on the backs of my eyelids reminds me that I probably shouldn’t allow Abigail such proximity. Of course, in that fleeting moment, I can’t but imagine what the two of them might be like… together. I smirk—not just at the image, but also at the next words that Abigail utters.

I shake my head. Given that I, only moments ago, was reminiscing about steak and bacon on a barbeque, I don’t think that her desire for a stick and a marshmallow is anything to be ashamed of.

She then asks what else we can squeeze in tonight. I probably smirk a little broader, and I do hope that she can, in part, read the mischief in my eyes. But alas, I do not think she can read my mind and it’s probably best that she can’t. She’ll accuse me of being a typical boy. Which is only the truth, but still. I glance skyward, before glancing down at my watch. There’s still a few hours before sunrise. There are still a few things I can show Abigail. I’ll take her to one of the black market shops, I think, before I show her what resides in the Quarantine Zone. And then I’ll take this lost little puppy home.

I do not wrap an arm around Abigail’s waist as I might have done, were she Felicity. Instead, I pull away from her and lead her toward the alley’s exit—I lead us toward civilization, where we will blend in with the masses.

Abigail couldn't help but be mesmerized by the flames that rose from what was now the unmarked grave of a woman who had an entire life left to live and could have been the next Stephanie Meyer for all Abigail and Jesse knew but none of that mattered now. What mattered was that the body cooked, burnt, became nothing but ash and that the existence of what lurked just beneath the surface of Harper Rock never became common public knowledge. This was their mission now. To live, survive, lead lives and keep all of it a complete and utter secret. They had to blend in, become humans and yet keep distance from them. With a soft sigh Abigail realized, with all futility, that she was back to her old habits and she wasn't even a vampire for a day. Over analyzing, worrying too much, making mountains out of molehills. Typical Abigail. All it was, and all it would ever be, was a dance only instead of dancing with your feet you danced with your mind. You stayed a step ahead of everyone else to the best of your ability and if **** happened you dealt with it. Little did Abigail know just how much 'dealing with it' there would be in the future.

Inhaling slowly she wasn't sure which she found more pleasant, Jesse or the burning human. Part of her found some sick demented joy in the activities of the night and yet, none of it so far, had actually surprised her. Vampires, werewolves, zombies, Frankenstein's Monster, The mummy....Abigail had grown up with these things. They were her child hood and adolescent years. Even now she could remember sitting with her first ever boyfriend, curled under the blankets all smiles and cuddles as they watched Bella Lugosi terrify the beautiful Helen Chandler. There were no screams of terror from her or her boyfriend (of course not him) but the looks on their faces were total awe and amazement. Movies that were made over 50 years ago that had terrified audiences and made women faint were now mesmerizing to Abigail. Maybe it had all been in preparation to this? Maybe all of her fascination with the supernatural had simply been destiny grooming her for this new existence? It was a comforting thought to say the least and the grin on her face showed just how much that thought pleased her.

She felt a shift in Jesse's body and was immediately moving. She knew the cuddly **** could get to some guys but honestly, Abigail was exhausted. It just felt better to lean against him then to stand there and feel like a fool but at least she had her thoughts to keep her company and for the first time in the night she could actually acknowledge that there wasn't a single thought in her head dealing with Jesse as the main factor. No, now she had begun to get a bit more conniving, now she was planning on how to reinvent herself. The world was her oyster, as it were and she was going to make damn sure she enjoyed it. Catching his eye for a moment as they began to head towards the alley Abigail couldn't help but question the broad smirk and the hint of mischief that she found in him. Oh, he was definitely thinking something and she so desperately wanted to know but her past experiences with asking him things like that told her she would probably sprout wings and fly away before he'd actually tell her what was turning the wheels in that mind of his. But stubborn as a mule...

"You look like you have some pleasant thoughts there...care to share?"

The words were spoken loud enough to just be heard by him as they exited the alley. The city filling in around them. Where once they had been alone doing the most horrendous of things here they were now in and among the life they were the predators of walking as casually and complacently as possible. They were mere faces in the crowd and as much as Abigail could feel eyes on her she found it more...perfect than anything. Let them stare and gawk and wonder, they will never know and if they do then it's already too late. She felt like the girl in school that knew the biggest secret ever and only she knew it. This, in school, would have given her power and even now among humanity, it still did.

So far they had covered feeding and disposal. There had to be something else on the agenda. Jesse walked with purpose. He wasn't just wandering around. If only she knew some way to sneak inside his mind and pillage all the little stores of information up there. Stop worrying, Abigail! The mental curse and all was back on track, she walked maybe a pace behind Jesse letting him lead the way, her eyes picking out those she thought would make good meals in the future if she ever came across them again. The sounds of the city were music to her ears and although a little loud it was pleasant to say the least. Sadly but surely Abigail could envision herself being the type to just pop a squat on the roof of some building and listen to the city down below and the silence up above. Woman, you have read FAR too many books and seen FAR too many movies on this ****.

I turn to catch Abigail’s gaze. I hold it, for a more than a few seconds. I even narrow my eyes a little, in all pretend seriousness, as if I had some power with which I could share my thoughts. Oh, what lark that would be! To actually be able to share, via imagery, exactly what just went on in the dirtiest recesses of my mind. If only I could, just to see how Abigail might react. Is she really a devilish minx who’d be open to all kinds of shenanigans? Or underneath all that ink, would she blush in innocent horror, and look away as quick as possible? Or would I see that fiery spark of anger again—that steadfast, violent look that she daggered me with all throughout that art class?

I won’t ever know the answer. I cannot share my thoughts with her, and so soon after creating her, I wouldn’t want her to hate me. Her hating me would hinder her training. And if I cannot teach her, she would become rogue. She might go off and get herself a bounty, and I might have to hunt her down and kill her, along with my comrades in arms. For whatever reason, that’s not a scenario that I want to see play out. I’ve only known her a few hours, and I’m already attached to her, for good or for ill. No one wants to throw away a new toy the night they buy it. That would just be counterproductive.

And so I smirk and shake my head. Pleasant thoughts or not, they’re gems that I’d prefer not to share. Maybe one day, if we get to know each other a little better and I discover that Abigail is not a prude, or a violent feminist, I might clue her in on all the colourful things that went through my mind the night of her siring. Besides which, isn’t it true what they say? Delayed gratification, and all that jazz.

It doesn’t take us long to reach the black market shop. It’s one of those ones you know is black market due to the fact that it’s open all night. I hold the door open for Abigail, before stepping inside myself. The store looks normal enough from the front; all kinds of new and second-hand knick-knacks—t-shirts and perfumes, game consoles and watches. There’s even a very large bird cage set up near the front of the store, though it did not cage birds. Inside there played a litter of mewling kittens.

I wander over to the counter, where there sits a man with glasses perched upon his nose. They look too small for him, but they seem to suit his purposes. He’s reading a newspaper. I lean up against the counter and he looks up at me over those glasses, silently inquiring as to what I what. I run my tongue over my teeth—over the slightly sharpened tips of the canines. The guy gives a huff and stands, lifting the counter to allow us access into a back room. He follows us in, making sure that we do not thieve. The back wall is lined with all kinds of weaponry—swords and guns, small and large. There’s a fridge, containing all the contraband blood packs. The cabinets are filled with all kinds of loot. I pull the pad and pen from my bag. I write:

”Pick one of each. Sword and gun. Don’t care about the price.
This is where you can come – if you need blood in a hurry.
Plenty of other things that cater to our kind.”

Of course I could go through and explain every single item, and at some point I will. I assume Abigail will ask her questions, however, and I will answer them to the best of my ability. I spare a glance at the shopkeeper, who seems to be watching my method of communication with bemusement.

I point to him, and then I point to the cabinets. Maybe he can do some explaining, rather than stand there like some useless lackey.

It wasn't clear that prying answers of any worth in regards to Jesse's thoughts was going to be something that wasn't going to happen tonight...if ever. He didn't seem to be the sharing type at the moment, was it because of the questions she was asking or was it simply setting and situation? Abigail walked with Jesse towards their destination and even though she always kept him insight she just found the new sounds of sights and smells of the city and it's populace to be ever so much more intriguing than it had been before. Colors so much more vibrant, smells were sharper, sounds were louder and more precise and there was more to them that she never would have heard before. This, all of this, was like some kind of new high that she was experiencing. Without even having to have her eyes open she navigated the crowds with a smile on her face as simply breathed it all in. From feeding to luring to killing to...who knew what else was going to be shown to her, this life would never show a dull moment.

Listening to the, now quite familiar, sounds of Jesse's footsteps begin to change Abigail snapped her eyes open and couldn't help the massive smile that spread across her lips. Looking around at the store that Jesse was leading her in to she had to wonder just what the hell they were doing here. It was rinky dink, small, smelt a little interesting and the man sitting behind the counter was oddly imposing. Something about him just made Abigail shiver a bit. He had this aura or something that made her feel as if every move she made was seen and registered in his mind and everything she was thinking he immediately knew. Hell of a guy to have running what seemed like a pawn shop. He was perfect for the place. Watching the silent exchange between the guy behind the counter and Jesse, Abigail had to wonder just how many times Jesse had been here to have the man flip back the counter and lead the both of them in to a back room without even having to do anything. Damn. Her Maker was good.

Adjusting her eyes to the brighter lights in the back part of the shop Abigail was simply...stunned. This was....wow. Did the frigging Terminator come and open up shop in Harper Rock? Turning to the man that had followed them in to the room she eyed him curiously and, surprisingly, got a smile out of him. Ok. He wasn't a killing robot. Killer robots didn't smile like that. Sweetness. Looking back to Jesse she nodded at the note and took her leave of him. A crook of her finger had the dealer following her about the large back room. She didn't see herself being much of a swords girl even if they were so beautiful and shiny. There was even one that looked like an old cutlass. She began to reach for it with interest when she was abruptly stopped by the man behind her.

"That one isn't for sale, that one is for Halloween."

Abigail turned and gave him the most wild of stares as if she couldn't believe what she had heard. And part of her couldn't. Was it the fact that she was still trying to figure out if he was a vampire or a killer robot or just a helpful human or was it because she couldn't imagine him dressing up for Halloween? Slowly withdrawing her hand she nodded slowly and continued to look. A tune coming to her head as she continued to browse the multitude of shining blades. Finally she took one out of it's holder. It was one of those types that hunter's would have used to skin a deer or maybe even Rambo would use. It was pretty impressive and it would definitely do the job if it meant deterring someone from messing with her the second it came in to sight. Now, Jesse wanted a gun for her too? Alrighty then. This one would probably take a little more thought.

Crossing the threshold of the room she heard the foot steps of her guide behind her. This was where she was going to need help. Turning her head slightly Abigail spoke over her shoulder just loudly enough for the man behind her to her the words but hopefully the words were quiet enough to not be overheard by Jesse.

"Think small, easily concealable but with a decent amount of stopping power. Make it look good too. Sleek...sexy..."

Immediately, as if this was a common request he walked to a cabinet a few steps away and returned with something that was almost exactly what she had imagined. It was a bit on the smaller side than the pistols she was used to seeing but she had a feeling the man knew his toys and was quite good at helping people find what it was that would work for them.

"It's a CZ 75 and given the beauty of those hands I figured you'd want a model with a more comfortable grip, something that wouldn't cause too many callouses if your going to be using it a lot. Since it's your first time I'll even throw in the first 50 rounds for free. I have a feeling I'll be seeing you around here a lot more little lady."

The look in his eyes said that he knew a lot more than he was letting on to. He probably wasn't going to be the only person in the city to treat her in such a way. Abigail took the pistol and knife and sighed. She hoped she had chosen well. She had though about something like one of the actual swords but with her attire it wouldn't quite work all that well as far as concealing things went, the same with one of the larger firearms. Yeah, size was great but only in certain circumstances. In situations like this though, smaller was most assuredly better. The next thing she knew she was standing before Jesse with both of her choices held out to him.

"I hope these are adequate, I wanted to go with smaller weapons because they're easier to hide and I don't think you want to come bust me out of human prison in case I had chosen to go with something like the freakin' minigun over there."

I watch as Abigail wanders off into the back room. She’s not leaning on me now. I am not her crutch, and I like it. I like the way she does not ask me questions; the way she communicates with the store’s owner, rather than asking me for my opinion or approval. I linger by the door, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over my chest. As I watch, I lick my lips—for no particular reason. It’s a habit I’ve grown into. My mouth feels so dry all the time. I suppose it’s got something to do with the constant hunger. My lips feel chapped, although I know they’re not. I consume enough blood, and seem to keep a healthy aura about myself. I suppose I’m lucky, in that respect. But I don’t think about myself right now. Instead, I watch the girl across the room as she browses the weaponry. I’m interested to see what she picks, as if her weapons will tell me something about her personality. Might reveal something about her that I don’t know.

Because I don’t know anything. I’ve brought this girl into this life on a whim; because, watching her, closely, as I transferred her visage to the page—that rolled up piece of canvas that she still hasn’t looked at—I feel like I learned something about her. I feel, somehow, that I know her, on an instinctual level. I don’t pay much attention to the conversation between Abigail and the store’s owner. I satisfy myself by watching, by drinking in every single movement. If only my thirst could be satisfied, just by doing this. Just by watching. If only. But that’s not a possibility.

Soon enough, Abigail is approaching—small gun in one hand, knife in the other. The gun is sleek, and it suits her. I push away from the wall, fingers trailing over the weapons but not taking them from her. I glance toward the minigun and smirk. I have a few things at home, a few things that she will see. Weaponry that I use when out of view of the public. I have one of those miniguns. And I quite like using it, too. I also have a sword—one of the large kinds. But bigger isn’t always better. I’ll do my best to teach Abigail what she needs to know to defend herself. Blades and bullets aren’t the only weapons at our disposal. Our bodies are weapons too, and just as lethal.

Over Abigail’s shoulder, I can see the store’s owner. He figures that we’re finished, and wanders off to the front of the store. I stay where I am, Abigail in front of me. I can’t help imagining how she’ll handle these weapons—what she’ll look like in the midst of battle. And then I realise it’s not something that I have to imagine. It’s something that I can make happen. I cannot impress upon her how important it is that she learn how to defend, how to attack. Because the cult that I have inducted her into is one of violence and chaos. Maybe she’ll like it. Maybe she won’t. Either way, she needs to be prepared.

I wander back out to the front of the store; the owner, though seemingly trusting, does not trust us to remain in the back room alone. He’s peering in after us, waiting for us, holding the counter up for us so that we can return to our proper position in front of it, as all good customers should be. On my way out, I reach for a few more boxes of ammo, the kind that the owner has already given Abigail. I pay for the lot—it doesn’t cost so much, as Abigail has not reached for the higher echelons of weaponry. I glance at my watch. We still have quite a bit of time available to us, and I know that, seeing as we’ve just left the University, we’ve wandered into Wickbridge. The sewer entrance that’ll lead us to the Quarantine Zone is just down the street.

I wait for Abigail to join me.