Kicked to the Curb [PM]

[Robin Little]

”You’ve got to be kidding me, Nicola,” Robin laughed. It was an insecure laugh. This was all some practical joke and they would all start smiling, soon. They’d slap him on the shoulder and tell him that it was all some ruse that they’d cooked up while they were high. As he had glanced around the room he’d been looking into their eyes, trying to find the tell-tale signs that they were high. Ruben, and Amber. Two friends that, Robin now realised, were not his friends. They were carry-ons. Attachments to Nicola, that he had claimed as his own. But now? Now, they took her side. Of course they would take her side, no matter how ridiculously fucked the situation was.

”I’m not kidding. Robin, I’ve asked you how many times that you need to get your **** together? I’m sick of living like this. I’m a thirty-year-old woman and I can barely make ends meet myself, without picking up on your slack, too. I’ve met someone else, and he’s got a job. He’s got a car. He’s got a house of his own and he’s secure. Y’know? He’s got savings! How much money have you got, Robin, huh? How much?” Nicola ranted. This was an argument that had been going around in circles all night. Even though Amber and Ruben had been there for the beginning of it, at some point they’d left the house. They’d run away from the arguing couple.

Robin had no money. He had nothing saved. He’d cut up his credit cards last week because he had debt collectors on his *** and he needed to stop making the situation worse. Yes, he had been leeching off Nicola, even off Ruben and Amber, but he always intended to pay it back. Even now, he still has that little notebook with all the names scrawled in one column, and all the money owed in the other.

”And you drink too much! That bottle of Vodka last week, do you remember?!” Oh, all the thing that he had done wrong which, in hindsight, he wished he hadn’t. That bottle of Vodka. They’d bought it together as a present – or well, Nicola had bought it. A mutual friend’s birthday was coming up, and it was a big one. The Vodka had cost a pretty penny. It was the good ****. Robin had come home, drunk. But he was still thirsty. He’d brought friends with him. Amber and Ruben were sleeping. Nicola was staying overnight at her parents’ place, the next city over. That bottle of Vodka was just sitting on the bench, sparkly and new. Enticing.

He thought he would replace it. Of course he didn’t have the money to do so. He drank it, with his temporary friends. They had a great time. Nicola wasn’t happy, when she came home. She wasn’t happy at all.

It was all a means to an end.

Now, Robin sat on the curb outside of the corner café. He wore jeans, scuffed and broken shoes, and a button up shirt that was plaid, and unironed. It was buttoned all the way up to his neck. His thick-rimmed glasses sat atop his head, and his black hair was ruffled, sticking up at odd angles. His eyes drooped. He was tired. Perched in his lips was a lit cigarette, one which he had rolled himself, the tobacco haphazardly sticking out of the edges. He took a long drag, before removing the cigarette; cobalt eyes stared unseeing in the distance.

Beside Robin there was a suitcase, bulging. One of the zips was broken. At his feet was a toaster – the only thing in the house that he could claim as his, and he had taken it, vindictively. On the other side was a stack of books tied together with ribbon – a parting gift from Nicola. Ribbon. Just ribbon. Over his shoulder, the thing that Robin could not ever lose – his life, his livelihood – was the strap to an inconspicuous messenger bag. Inside was his laptop. On that laptop? His whole life’s work. The novel that he wasn’t sure would ever be finished. The one that he had not shown to anyone, anywhere.

He supposed he would have to get up, soon. With no money, and nothing valuable to sell, he’d have to find somewhere to sleep. He had a few friends he could call upon. He had no credit left on his phone. He would have to go doorknocking. It wasn’t a task that he was looking forward to. And so, for the moment, he just sat. Dejected, and yet calm, staring into nothingness, and smoking the last shred of tobacco that he had left.

[Mora]

“Zara hand me that book over there, babe.”

The words carried over to the red head, the woman that always seemed to remind her of Olive. It was the reason why she enthralled the woman, a smile graced her lips as her human friend picked up the book and shimmied her way over to Mora gently placing it into Mora’s grasp. The vampire smiled at her friend and ran her fingers across the spine of the book, the scent of books always made Mora feel happy, carefree and content especially when she often came to her apartment to attend to the many plants that she kept here. Judas had many plants of his own to tend to, she couldn’t bring hers to his place she snipped here and there, content as she made them look pretty. Tonight though she was putting books that were laying askew back into their homes nestled neatly within the bookcase.

“Zaraaaa.”

She whined as Zara looked at Mora, raising an eyebrow. ”Mora? She replied as the vampire smiled. Clearly in a happy mood she waved the woman away – letting her know through body language that she could leave. Zara was free to do whatever she liked with her night. Mora didn’t keep her as a slave; she would never do such a thing to her. She knew some vampires kept their enthralled humans like cattle. Zara offered her wrist to Mora a lot, but she declined every now and again, sometimes she’d get so wrapped up in her own work that she would forget to feed. Looking pale, and sometimes gaunt – Zara would swoop in and feed her.

Watching Zara leave Mora felt like taking a stroll. There was nothing for her to do, she was on top of business papers and she had fed – she was doing good. Mora shuffled over to the coat rack picked her red coat out of the assortment of coats she owned wrapping a white scarf around her neck before heading outside. Her wavy golden hair hung loose on her shoulders as she began to stroll through the streets, she had no destination in mind – only to stroll. Her hands were nestled inside the pockets.

Fifteen minutes later she came across a man sitting on the side of the street. He had his belongings with him – she could tell he was smoking as she tapped him lightly on the shoulder. He looked like he could either be waiting for someone to pick him up – with his collection of… things, or he was homeless. She hope the latter suggestion wasn’t true.

“Are you okay?”

The question was curious as her green orbs looked at him with soft, doe eyes. Mora had a thing for helping people. She would see if this man needed some help, because heaven forbid the day Mora ever refuses to help a human. She was such a goody two shoes.

[Robin Little]

Robin took a very long drag of his last cigarette. He held the sweet, sweet nicotine in his lungs while he gazed at the shortening stick of tobacco. The cogs were slowly turning in his frazzled brain. He wished that it wasn’t tobacco. He wished that it was weed – at least it would help to numb him. There were things that he could think about to keep from the pain of Nicola’s abandonment. Her rejection. Maybe he’d seen it coming. Maybe he hadn’t. She had met someone? When? For how long had it been going on?

No, no Robin. Don’t think about that. This is the last cigarette. You can’t go one without nicotine. Think, Robin. How much money do you have? Do you have any? How can you get some? You need some cigarettes, Robin…

And on it went. Food, that came up, too. Only secondary to cigarettes, of course. Food, booze. Weed. Yes, some weed would be nice but that costs more than the rest of it. And, for all of it, money was required. So, rather than thinking about all the things that he wanted and needed, he started to think about how he could go about getting them. He worked as a freelance writer for a few journals. That was how he had got by, so far - as well as working as a barista at a nearby coffee shop. That hadn’t lasted, though. He needed to find another one.

The list of things to do started to pile up neatly in the back of Robin’s brain. One – go to the library. Print some CVs. Two – find somewhere nice to sit, make sure there’s coffee. He checked his pockets and pulled out what little cash he had. Enough for pie and quite a few cups of coffee. That would do. Three – write something. Anything. Some short stories. Maybe an article on the trials and tribulations of getting dumped. The culture of ‘friends’ one thought one had when, in the end, they always choose sides.

Robin was frowning at the stub of his last cigarette, long smoked out, when the voice cut through his reverie.

He closed one eye and turned to look up at the woman. Girl. Woman? Whatever. She was blonde, and she looked concerned. Robin offered a smile – it probably looked goofy. He always looked a bit goofy. He couldn’t quite see her properly. He should have put his glasses back on, but he didn’t. He held up the burnt out cigarette.

”I’m out of cigarettes. The world has ended,” he said. Although his tone was light, there was a heaviness to it. Of course it wasn’t the lack of cigarettes that made Robin’s world feel as if he had ended. But he refused to let too much bring him down.

[Mora]

Mora watched the male curiously, he didn’t react to her question at first before the human, turned to face her after some realization that she was there. She could hear the soft thrum of his heart it was a like a loud drum pounding within her ears. It was a sound she would never get over, never understand. She turned her attention from the thrum of his heartbeat to find the male smiling up at her, he did of course look goofy as she canted her head to the side taking a seat beside him on the curb. She didn’t realise how dirty the ground actually was.

The Telepath wore black leggings, which were adorned by black flat shoes, revealing the pale flesh that was exposed between the top of her foot to the ankle, for a human looking in her general direction they’d think she didn’t get out in the sun often, which she didn’t. She used to be able to handle the sunlight but she had lost that power when she had lost her memory, she could no longer walk amongst the humans during the day, it was no reason. She’d just look like a really bad tanned vampire.

He spoke then, the human that was. Telling Mora that he had no more cigarettes that his world had truly ended, she raised an eyebrow. How could something so silly be so heavy in weight – by the way he spoke. She ran her tongue along her upper and lower lip – trying to find the correct words to say that would sympathise with the human.

“I am sorry.”

She said, gently placing her hand upon the males shoulderblade and giving it a squeeze.

“I can give you money to buy more, if it is truly that important to you?”

She was offering money to complete stranger to fill his nicotine needs, how odd of her. She smiled though, careful to hide those fangs of her behind her pink, full lips as she smiled, offering generosity.

[Robin Little]

Sorry? She was sorry? The way she said it, the way she squeezed his shoulder, it was as if he had told her that his mother had died. He arched a brow up at the blonde; shock registered on his features. Silence ensued for a few seconds before he laughed. A full-bellied laugh that really defied the true nature of his feelings. That was how it could be, with Robin. He compartmentalised. He’d wanted a distraction, and now here it was, standing right beside him. Offering to give him money to buy cigarettes. To just give it to him. Who the hell does that?

See a homeless guy on the street, most people would just walk on by because they’d assume he’d just spend it on booze and cigarettes. And here he was, very legitimately homeless, lusting after cigarettes, and this passer-by wasn’t going to tell him to go get some food or some bed to stay in. But would condone his nicotine consuming behaviour.

”Are you actually legitimately serious?” he asked. He pushed the stub of the finished cigarette into the cement; he chuckled, and shook his head again. ”You’d actually legitimately give me—a complete and utter stranger who could, in fact, be a raging lunatic—money to buy cigarettes?” he asked. He’d never witnessed such a thing before. It fascinated him, made him wonder what kind of person this blonde could be.

”Look, I’m not gonna say no, but I don’t like takin’ things without giving something in return,” he said, before she could answer his previous question. Generally it was a rule that Robin liked to live by. Sometimes it didn’t work out quite like he had planned. Sometimes, life took hold and swept him up and away and with the passing of time, that debt always seemed to get smaller and smaller until it vanished, or he forgot about it. He had all good intentions. He was a good guy, he just lacked resolve.

[Mora]

She heard him laugh, it was full bellied and it caused Mora to look at the man. Was he laughing about her offer, did he not believe her. She frowned then, her lips that were once a smile turned downwards. She wiggled her lips from side to side. He asked her then after a moment’s pause if she was being serious and Mora found herself nodding. Blonde hair bouncing on her shoulders. If she wasn’t serious, she wouldn’t have offered. Mora couldn’t quite understand what was going on in this man’s head – she was almost curious enough to ask.

“Are you a raging lunatic?”

She asked him with a smile painted on her lips. She laughed. The laugh itself was like wind chimes tapping each other lightly in the wind, she removed her hand that was still sitting on his shoulder and placed it back in her lap, looking over the load on his back. She didn’t think he was a raging lunatic, just a man who had no place to go. She fished around in her red coat and pulled out several green papers and handed them to Robin, placing them within the palm of his hand and smiling.

“Take it.”

She told him canting her head with a wider smile on her lips. He said he wouldn’t refuse the money and she believed him. Who would refuse free charity? Being the type of character Mora was, she too would never refuse free money. She had seen the film pay it forward, it had touched her – made her see things, and that helping people rubbed off on them, that they too would help someone in the future. He said he would want to give her something in return. She shook her head, that smile never leaving. The only thing he could offer Mora was his blood, but even then she rarely fed on humans. She feared a lack of control.

“You don’t have anything I want. I simply wish to help.”

Her words were sincere, kind even.

[Robin Little]

Again, Robin could only stare at the woman and blink, his dry lips curling into an incredulous smile. Even given his circumstances, and that he was still in shock regarding the way his girlfriend—a women whom he had loved—had kicked him to the curb, the mirth of his smile still reached his eyes. No warning, nothing. No amount of grovelling could convince her to let him stay. But would he have stayed anyway? She’d admitted to cheating on him with another man. Would he, could he possibly stay just for a bed to sleep in?

He did have his boundaries. Receiving charity from a stranger on the street was an acceptable boundary to cross. Taking refuge in the bed of a woman who’d put his heart through a cheese grinder just because he had no other bed to go to was not an acceptable boundary to cross.

But still. Homeless, nowhere to go, he should probably be ashamed to be accepting money from a stranger, but he was not. He was noticeably and genuinely thankful, of course, his head bowing in thanks and his fingers curling around the money slowly, rather than snatching it from her grasp. He shook his head, then, and laughed himself.

”I myself would hope that I am not a raging lunatic, but would a raging lunatic ever admit to being such?” he asked with an arched brow, the light from the street lamp reflected and captures in his blue eyes. They were open, and welcoming, and warm.

”But regardless,” he said, spreading his arms out to encompass himself, and the belongings spread out around him. ”I might be a raging lunatic, but you simply don’t know, because you know nothing about me. Not even my name,” he said. The words weren’t uttered derisively, or with any kind of annoyance. They were stated, matter-of-fact. She was a stranger to him, as he was a stranger to her. How could she possibly know anything about him?

”Unless you’ve been stalking me and you know more about me than you care to let on. That my name is Robin Little but that I prefer sometimes to refer to myself as Ra, God of the Sun, and that I like to spend many of my mornings at that café just down the road because they are kind and they refill my cup for free—that I like my coffee black as sin, but when the mood strikes I like it ice-cold and sweet,” he rambled. He was searching his pockets, subconsciously, for the cigarettes that he no longer had any left of. He deposited the money into one of those pockets.

”But if you aren’t a stalker, the point I’m very slowly and clumsily getting at is that you don’t know me, or shouldn’t, so how can you determine so quickly that I don’t have anything that you could want?” he asked.

[Mora]

Mora found herself laughing at the man as he asked quite a peculiar question and she found herself pausing, unsure as to what the answer might be she had never been asked such a thing before a raging lunatic she’d assume would never admit to it – but she had been wrong before, lunatics were often shy, quiet individuals, or so she had learnt from crime drama’s back when she was a human and watched CSI: Las Vegas with an odd obsession as if she would never get murdered, yet she had. He was a raving lunatic, sired her to add her to his collection of dolls. To her sire, Mora was a doll – nothing more, there was no connection between the duo. They didn’t even talk to each other. Two strangers bound by blood.

“Maybe.”

Mora found herself admitting as she looked this male over – assessing him over with her mind, probing him mentally. She wanted to know what happened, Mora was a nosy thing – she had always been nosy. It was her fault, and usually what got her into a trouble, her curiosity.

“I do not know your name, but you do not know mine.”

She smiled. Pearly whites threatening to breach through her chapped lips. Her hands lifted to push a loose gold strand and neatly tucked it back behind her ear to it’s safe hiding place. Who knew what this man was doing, why he was on the curb – why he was broke to a point that he accepted money from strangers. What an odd soul.

“Because.” She said, choosing her next words carefully. “The one thing you could give me in return for that money – I do not wish to take forcefully from you. You’d need to give it willingly, and you are not willing. It also depends.” Mora found herself leaning in closely to this male so her lips were merely inches away from his ear. “Are you open minded about the world?” She withdrew then so she was looking at this man with her moss green orbs, if he was open minded about the world, and perhaps the supernatural then he could give her what she wanted – his blood.

[Robin Little]

”Ah, but you are wrong,” Robin said, focusing on one thing at a time. ”You do know my name. If you recall – I just told it to you,” he said with a toothless smile. He didn’t repeat his name, assuming that the blonde might be able to reach back just a short while into her memory and pluck it out of her own head. If not? Then she would ask for it again. No big deal. Names weren’t such grand things anyway, in Robin’s opinion. They were useful, yes, for telling people apart. They were useful for communication. But they gave nothing away about a person or their proclivities – or whether they were good or bad people. Names were just names.

He then had to arch a brow and shrug his shoulders.

”I’d say that I am rather open-minded,” he said. And then he nodded a little more enthusiastically, a frown puckering his brow as if he were defending himself, to himself. As if he’d somehow insulted himself by even harbouring the thought that he wasn’t open minded. It wasn’t the case at all.

”I’m a writer, see. Or well, not published yet but I want to be a writer. No, I am a writer—“ he clarified. He was a master at rambling. At getting his words all mixed up because his thoughts skittered through his brain far faster than his vocal cords could match. ”—so I’ve got to keep an open mind, right? To watch the world and try to understand it, to be able to convey different stories and different characters you’ve got to have an open mind,” he said, explaining it to himself as well as to the woman sitting beside him. As if they’d been friends for years, and he had no problems having this kind of philosophical discussion with her. His blue eyes had glazed as he’d stared into the distance, watching the shadows of a couple of people recede and shimmer in the distance. It was only after he’d finished rambling that he turned his full attention to the blonde, that puckered frown returning to his brow.

”You say I’m not willing. How can you possibly know that when you haven’t asked for what you want yet?” he said. He licked his lips. ”Out with it,” he added. Almost as if he were impatient, but there was a smile dancing on his lips – dancing like a man lost in blues music.

[Mora]

Mora laughed, he was right he had shared his name with her and she had simply forgotten. Robin Little, she remembered it well now. She canted her head. She hadn’t introduced herself to the man, where as he had given his name to her – she nodded her head as if having a conversation with herself. Names were a necessity they were formal. It was polite.

“Morghan Daradasi. Please call me Mora though.”

There, she had given her name to the human, the random stranger that was sitting on the pavement like a bum. Though there was something about the way he spoke to her, the way he mentioned that he was open minded about things – it made her think if he truly could understand the cities secret, a town full of vampires, blood thirsty beings in the night – well, that wasn’t true. Some were able to go out in the day. The city wasn’t even safe during the day. She laughed slightly, her chest rattling – rising and falling out of a human habit.

“You are a writer?”

Mora tapped her chin with her index finger, happy at the idea that this man was a writer, he liked books it made her like him even more, and he had a creative mind set. “I like that, I own the Library over in Honeymead.” She paused. “Writing is an exploration of the mind, perhaps you are more open minded than I had originally thought” She yet again tapped her finger against the chin, if the night was silent, you could hear the finger tapping against the bone – Mora’s lips slightly parted.

Out with it.

He was so eager. Mora could appreciate that, as she canted her head to the side again. Unsure how to come about with the news that vampires were real, of course if she told him – he would be in danger and she herself would be putting a target on her head she would eventually have to kill him which she didn’t want to do, she didn’t like to harm humans – or turn him, and she wouldn’t turn him unless he wanted her too, she never forcefully sired people.

“I’m a vampire.” She said. “The one thing I want from you – is your blood.” There, she said it.