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Leah clicked the bathroom light on, the tubular device buzzing and flickering to life, flooding the small motel room with a feeble attempt at illumination. Considering she was still a little hungover, this was actually a good thing as she splashed the cold water over her tanned face, rubbing her temples with rough fingertips as she groaned faintly. Why she did it she'd never know, every other night was the same, if it wasn't discarded ash trays, it was crushed beer cans and tequila bottles.

The Mexican pulled the light's cord and plunged the dirty tiled room into darkness again, shifting through the cramped bedroom / lounge area combo towards the couch she'd claimed in her drunken state. As the only female in a group of 5, she more often than not got the comfiest option available and as the group never stayed in one place too long, that option had varied in the past year, everything from a regular old bed, to a pile of coats in a corner. The gang weren't the richest and they certainly weren't the brightest, but they had her, the busty woman with a steel liver and more balls than common sense. When trouble showed, it was usually up to her to get them out of it.

The room stank of booze and men, the four other gang members lying in awkward positions around the room, cradling empty bottles between dirty fingers. The small coffee table littered with cigarette butts and bottle tops, most of which fell to the floor with a soft clatter as Leah placed her feet on the wooden surface, glancing over at the bed, the thing was more of a table than the actual table, holding their bags and guns, the group never bothered to unpack fully as they'd be gone by the time everyone had woken up. The dark haired woman decided to make the best of her time, and to catch some much needed air so tied up her boots and picked up the snub revolver, hiding it in the belt loop in the back of her jeans and lowered her black tank top over it, closing the door behind her as quietly as she could. Before heading off into the city, looking to 'earn' some money for the next train out of town.

To say that I don’t enjoy being free is something of an understatement. To say that I don’t enjoy being happy is more than an understatement – I’d kind of forgotten how it felt to be carefree, and to not have the weight of useless, meaningless depression weighing down on every word and every decision. I like that when I rolled out of bed earlier it wasn’t with a groan. I didn’t ask myself what the point was. I’m alive – more alive than I ever have been. What’s there not to like? There doesn’t have to be a point anymore. When human, time was a strict task master – you had to make something of your short life otherwise it would all have been a waste. Now? Time doesn’t mean ****. I don’t have to have a goal.

Velveteen and Micah were right. Siring. Who the **** would have thought? Some retarded curse that I’ve been landed with, I suppose – if I don’t sire, I get depressed. And I want to kill myself. And, we soon discovered, it doesn’t matter whether the progeny is likeable or not. It doesn’t matter if they choose to stick around or whether they wander off. It doesn’t matter! I feel so light. I feel so… so like me again, and at the first opportunity I am back out on the streets. I’m not going to mope around. I’ve told Grey that I need to go and feed, and I’ve left at the apartment with the promise to return soon.

My regular stomping ground includes Redwood and Stag Heath; it’s where the nightclubs are, the strip clubs, the gangs and, well, all the fun. Those who hang out in this area are either the lowest of the low or are upper class looking for a thrill. I like to give people a thrill. Sure, they normally end up quite dead afterwards, but that’s their problem, isn’t it?

I seem to have lost all the inhibitions that I had gained over the past month or two. I swear I was about to turn over a new leaf – feed only from blood bags and never from a living human whom I would have to kill. All because of what happened to Grey – she had been bitten, she was fed on. And she could have been killed, because there are plenty of vampires out there who wouldn’t hesitate to kill their prey. Just like me. What unknown grief do I cause others with my actions? I started to think I was a monster who deserved to die.

Of course I don’t think that anymore. Grey isn’t dead. I haven’t killed her. Nor do I plan to – not kill her dead dead, forever, anyway. No, it’s quite easy to go back to my regular ways. And so I wander the streets with a skip to my step, hands shoved into the pockets of my jacket, eyes bright as I search for somewhere where I can find a little fun. A bit of a thrill. The world is my oyster and I’m going to live a little bit.

She walked the streets, hands buried deep within her denim jacket pockets, the fabric was torn at the elbows and dirty, like it'd been dragged through a hedge backwards and sat on repeatedly.. Which it probably had. Even her jeans had a rip in them but she didn't care, why would she? She was about to get the money to buy new ones right? This city was crawling with potential mobile cash points; drunkards, rich folk, heck every corner practically had some kind of bar or nightclub on it!

Leah had to pick her targets carefully though, with so many people, there were quite a few cops too and her mother had always told her that she had man hands, they were in no way designed for sewing and other delicate tasks, so pick-pocketing was out of the question lest she actually want to get caught and locked up, or worse.. Deported. The Mexican didn't have much trouble mingling though, she virtually merged with the gaggle of people and swayed with them, to the outside she looked calm, relaxed, still tipsy but to those who knew her, she was focused on the sole desire of her task at hand, a one track mind that had landed her in boiling water more than once.

Having decided - after a few laps of the crowd and several failed attempts at breaking stragglers into alleyways, to give up. Leah slipped free of the group and headed further afield out of sight from the city's law enforcement, moving deeper into the heart of the bustling nightlife in hopes of better luck in a higher populated area. Her tattoos made her stick out in the richer part of town, as if that was hard to do anyway with her torn up dirty clothing and darker skin, she kept her lips tightly sealed though, she still had a hint of Spanish in her accent and knew from past experience to not add that to the already potentially volatile mix.

Once more she failed to capture anyone, she was shocked to discover that they were actually looking down at her, and not because of her height either! Where most people steered clear of the scruffy looking female, these people were sneering at her and for once, she felt like it were her turn to be in the wrong side of town but she pushed on regardless, shoving her way through the pompous collection of uppity fools and down a side street that was relatively quiet, her hand shot into her pocket and out came a seriously old phone, the thing could have been used as a paving slab but it did the job as the screen lit up, telling her the time. She still had at least an hour or two left before she'd have to head back to the Motel. Her scuffed boots kicked a small stone down the road as the black haired woman ambled along, biding her time, hoping that the later it got, the less crowded the main streets would be and the greater chances she'd have of success.

The weather is still chilly, which doesn’t bother me much. I don’t need the jacket, but I wear it for appearance’s sake. And besides, I quite like leather. As I walk, I pull a packet of cigarettes from the inner pocket; I tap the packet a couple of time to loosen a stick. I hold it between my lips while I put the packet away and find my lighter – a nice, heavy, metal zippo that I carry with me everywhere. There’s an alcove up ahead that shields me from the wind, and I use it in order to light the cigarette. I can’t eat and I can’t drink, but at least I can still smoke. And without the negative effects, either!

The wind is crisp against my skin and when I look up, the sky is bright. Everywhere I look there’s light and life and warmth, and I know that the world is my playground. I have no idea why I should have ever wanted to leave; why I should have ever wanted to die, permanently. Even as I think about it, now, all the things that I would be leaving behind, my heart aches – or at least, what I think is my heart. I know I should be so happy. Things are ****, generally speaking. I have a human girlfriend who can’t stay human – her time is limited. And I have a new childe who isn’t at all what I would ever want in a childe. Chaos is rife. I don’t know where she is now, but I can’t seem to care too much. I should, I really should, and I will. But for tonight, just for tonight I want to live a little.

There’s a club not too far from here that I frequent; it’s called Amnesia, and it plays the kind of heavy metal that I enjoy. It’s the perfect place to play, given the chaotic nature of my life right now. I stop on the corner to get my bearings – another reason why I like to smoke? At least, when that smoke is billowing from nose and mouth, people are less inclined to see that I do not breathe steam in the frigid cold. They’re less likely to notice that I am not warm. Instead, I am cold as a corpse.

There’s a shortcut that I know. The streets around here are less crowded; Amnesia is a hole in the wall type place, hardly discernable from the outside, but home to so many regulars. And maybe if I take a shortcut I might find some other lonely person doing the same thing – I might get a quick meal in before I enter the club. I catch sight of a woman before I turn into the darkness of the alley between the buildings. Dirty denim and scrappy clothes, but tanned skin. Tanned, tattooed skin. It’s tempting, so very tempting. But there’ll be plenty of tattoos where I’m going, and she’s too far out in the open. Still, if she catches my eye, I can’t help but shoot her a wink, before I push into the alley, striding toward my destination.

It took her a while to reach the end of the road she was walking and she just stood there, pondering her next move. Left or right, it was an age old choice that had caused so many travelers to become lost or turned around in forests, and here she was, stuck with the decision in a forest made of concrete and glass.

During her silent moment of deep consideration, she spied movement ahead from one of the smaller alleys and watched the man step out, then wink at her. He. Winked. After the silent, visual put downs she'd just endured, here he was, so casual and suave, winking at strangers?! Well, that did it. He was alone, he seemed too happy to care and had tattoos... on his face! At least Leah never went that far, not yet anyway.. She'd had at least three different designs for facial ink, just never had the money to get them done thank god. People struggled to see the beauty beneath the dirty, crude exterior. Pouring more ink into it would only make it that little bit harder.

Choosing to follow the man into the dark side-street was definitely a 'More balls than brains' moment as in her head she'd already decided that he had at least one thing worth taking; that jacket. Without second thought or any hesitation, Leah crossed the street and followed him quickly, her boots shuffling along like they were too heavy for her to lift, truthfully though she was one of those annoying lazy shufflers, the people who can't be bothered to lift their feet to walk. Sadly for her, that always gave her away, dragging your feet was quite a noisy way to traverse.

She waited until they were out of sight, about halfway down the empty street before she 'fell'. Deliberately dropping to the floor, grazing her knee and cutting her palm on the floor with a faint gasp and pained groan, it was a thing she did often but it didn't stop it from hurting each time. No pain no gain right? She made a show of trying to get back up before falling again, shrieking out in mock agony as she wrapped her fingers round one of her ankles, the Spanish accent filling the air.

"Hey, Hey you, can you help? I think I busted my ankle up pretty bad."

Of course I know that she is following me. Even a human could hear those footsteps, and I’m supernaturally inclined. Most women don’t follow strange men into dark places, so it was the last thing that I expected, that she would follow me. But then, some women will take a wink and run a mile with it. She probably thinks I was inviting her down here. For what? The temptation might have been there, once – to seduce her. Although, truth be told, most aren’t that easy. Either way, I know that’s not what I’m going to do tonight. There’ll be no seduction. A meal. Just like I had planned. If I want anything else I have a perfectly willing woman to go home to.

I almost laugh at myself. When have I given up on a bit of flirtation because of a woman I have at home? When have I ever let that stop me from having a bit of fun? If I ever had a woman at home, it was so that I might have something to come home to, after a night of frolicking. But I suppose, this is what I meant when I told Grey she’d broken me. No one else can seem to reach that par. And no one else arouses me.

A much as I didn’t expect the woman to follow me, I doubly don’t expect her to fall over. I pause in my tracks and I turn, narrowing my eyes in the darkness. Normally I can see with utter and complete clarity. Normally it doesn’t take too long for my eyes to adjust. But they must still be healing – the last dregs of the wound slipping away. Slowly, without haste or apparent concern, I approach the fallen human. Before I have even got very far she’s shouting, and asking me for help. I have to stop again; glance around. A car passes in a nearby street, sloshing water. Briefly, headlights light up the space. No one else comes nosing their way in, however. The woman’s shouts haven’t drawn the curiosity of any other passer-by.

The scent of her blood, so thick and fresh, permeates the air. I reach down to help her, as she has asked. And as soon as I have hold of her hand I drop down to her level; I hold her hand tight, so that should she struggle it might hurt her to pull away, if she succeeds. I bring the bleeding gash to my lips, tongue darting forth to lap up the blood on her palm. And the entire time I just keep my eyes on her face, waiting for the reaction that is bound to come.

She didn't notice that he was already halfway to her 'rescue' when she'd called for help, men! Always trying to be the hero, always rushing to help the fallen damsel, never expecting that same damsel in distress to then turn around and rob them blind. It was a routine she'd practiced and perfected over the years, she'd lost countless amounts of blood doing it and on more than one occasional, legitimately broken her ankle. This time though she got lucky, doubly so when the passing car didn't stop and no one came running to her scream, well.. no one except this random guy.

She assumed that the rest of the populace was too drunk, too happy, too busy having their important social lives to even consider checking to see if there was a scream, so was content with the fact they'd be alone. Leah had to bide her time though, wait for the right moment, like a snake watching it's prey, watching, waiting for the opportune moment to strike out and take the kill. That moment came and went and she didn't even notice it, too distracted with his actions.

She'd seen people stop and clean her wounds before, some had even offered to take her to a hospital to get thoroughly checked out but not one, in all her time of peddling this trick.. Had stopped to lick the blood away, she didn't know what to think! Was he over friendly? Was he a nutjob? Maybe both.. Almost immediately she tried to pull her hand back, only to wince in actual pain as he held on firm, that did it for her and her free hand moved behind, withdrawing the snubbed pistol and jamming the end against the man's chest, smiling in victory, despite being marginally freaked out by his theft of her blood.

"Let go, empty your pockets and give me your jacket amigo, slowly! Don't think I won't shoot you jus' because I'm a girl."

The woman is foreign, that much is certain. She has that exotic kind of look to her, which I had ascertained was of some kind of Spanish origin as soon as she opened her mouth. The light glints from the metal stuck into her cheeks. Her hair is soft and light – and I have to wonder, of course, whether those breasts are real. It doesn’t matter to me, really, in the beginning, what she looks like. Unlike Abigail, she hasn’t stripped down in the middle of an art class. She is not a model whom I have the pleasure of staring at for hours on end. She is just a girl in the street who picked the wrong man to follow, because that man is not going to feed from her, and then kill her. It will be a shame for such a beauty to go to waste, but such is life.

Regardless of her tough exterior, the tattoos and the piercings, what I expect is that she will rear back in fear and shock, having the blood licked from her hand. That she will scream at me, wanting only some good Samaritan to help her up, but instead getting some creep. It’s how most people would react, right? Instead, she pulls a gun, and pushes the cold, heavy barrel against my chest. Not exactly what I had expected, but nevertheless an interesting turn of events. Maybe this one isn’t as shallow as I had suspected. Maybe the bravado isn’t actually bravado. Maybe this one actually has some guts.

Although I know that a bullet wound to the chest won’t kill me, I do know that it’ll hurt, and it’ll be more of an inconvenience than I want right now. I let go of the woman’s hand and hold my own up in mock surrender. I stand, slowly, hands still raised. I suspect, somehow, that she doesn’t actually need a hand up.

Far from doing what she says, I instead smirk and cant my head to the side. I don’t take my eyes from her face. I show no fear, because I have no fear. I like it, sometimes, when they put up a struggle. It’s more entertaining. And anyway, I wonder what amusement I might be able to garner if I push a few buttons first.

”Why is it that all women expect all men to be sexist?” I ask, voice comparable to the low crackling purr of an idling Harley Davidson. ”In fact, you’re the one asking me to strip. Look, I know I’m a good looking man, but I’m not just an object, you know,” I say with mock seriousness, as if I am really and truly offended when I know she just wants the jacket, and not to see what’s underneath. I have no money on me – nothing of any real value. Maybe the lighter could catch her a dime or two, but not much in the long run.

Not that I intend to give her anything, of course. I just like to keep her playing with the dangling string.

Leah followed him to a standing position, keeping the barrel of the revolver shoved up into his chest as her eyes scanned him for anything remotely valuable, when she ascertained that there was in fact nothing of value in sight, she pushed the gun harder into his jacket and frowned, her chest bouncing with each move of her body, those orbs were in fact real but that didn't matter to her, they were useful to get men to do what she asked, to lure potential meal tickets to her side, not to mention the constant staring from her other gang members, the potential bonus.. Or downside of being the only girl in a group of 5 people. She learnt to defend herself at an early age so wasn't hesitant to stand up to a man who was a good head taller than her.

"Stop talking!"

She didn't wait for him to move though, his surrender only frustrated her that little bit more and as consequence, the hand holding the gun moved up sharply, aiming to slap him, maybe if he knew she wasn't just some broad with a gun, he might take her a little more seriously. Her other hand shot forth and dove into one of his jacket pockets, if he wouldn't empty them, she'd do it for him but to her dismay, only found a lighter which would probably only sell for the price of a cheeseburger or two. The little chunk of metal was pocketed regardless and she stepped back, still pointing the gun at his torso as her thumb moved up to **** the weapon. waving it at him in such a way that meant she still wanted that leather coat.

"Give me your jacket, now an' you get to walk away."

Stop talking. Given that for the majority of my life I was mute, unable to talk at all, it’s not such a hard thing to do. Stop talking. It’s a wonder that I do as much talking as I do, these days – but it is kind of a boon. I like to be able to infuriate people with words, now, rather than just with actions. Though I do miss how nervous I made people feel – just staring, and never saying a word – never giving any indication that is was a physical inability, but that I just chose not to. Maybe I should continue to choose not to.

I slip into silence now; not so much because she’s told me to but because she doesn’t have a sharp tongue with which she tries to respond or retaliate. I suppose I have to give her some kind of kudos; she’s here to do a job and she’s not going to **** around doing it. She’s not going to stop and play verbal volleyball with her victim. She’s just going to take his money and run. I admire it, really, even if it does take some of the fun out of the game.

Of course I could have grabbed her when her hand was stuck down into my pocket. I choose, just for a little while, to let he think she’s got the better of me, and that I have actually surrendered. She takes my lighter. I like that lighter. No way I’m going to let her walk away with it - no way I intend on letting her walk away regardless, not unless…

Unless.

I grin a little bigger. Rather than make a move to remove the jacket, I instead stop dangling the metaphorical string. In a matter of seconds I’ve grabbed her wrist, the one holding the gun. With stealthy footwork I dance around her, so that I have her back pinned against my chest and my breath tickling at her ear. I’ve got one hand still tightly holding that wrist, her arm strapped across her chest, twisting it ever so slightly so that she might drop the gun. My other arm snakes around her waist to hold her still.

”If you give me back my lighter, maybe I’ll let you walk away,” I breath into her ear; the words are not laced with pure maliciousness. No, I still hang on to my former joviality. All I want to do is sink my teeth into that tanned neck; the warmth of the human radiates from her, pulsing like its own little universe, complete with sun and burning hot supernovas. I could tell her that I might give her something in return, but she might take that the wrong way. I mean, I am depraved, but I’m not that depraved. She’ll have no idea what the hell I’m talking about, though she might have a hint that something’s not quite right, given that I have moved faster than a human ever could. Instead, I stick to my usual – the less said, the better.