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She wasn’t used to it, the constant thirst that seemed to accompany her demise. Mentally, it was just yet another thing that was Logan’s fault - after all, it had been his psychotic ***** of a wife that had shot her. Still, she couldn’t complain. The alternative to asking Jesse to become… this had been rotting in the ground. At least now, she could do something with her life other than stand in front of a camera or take orders from a pretty boy who didn't like doing his laundry.

But there were some downsides. For one, the fact she had nearly died twice, staying violently ill had been ******* awful. The second thing? Her throat felt as if it were on fire, even after she had fed. Blood bags, she had learned, were rather helpful. It was nice, too, with the fact they were easily accessible, but… it wasn't enough. Even as she walked away from her apartment, sucking on a throat lozenge in hopes to numb the sensation, Marisol was feeling the burning. And, it was making her fairly agitated.

Her hands were buried in the pockets of her leather jacket, her outfit simple, but comfortable on her evening off. Errands had been made. Funeral arrangements for Logan… he would be buried under a fake name, they weren't done yet. She didn’t want to think of it, and so, once things were done, the woman walked around. Thinking.

And it was with her walking that she found herself in front of Serpentine. There were questions she needed to ask, the most important being why the hell her throat itched all the damn time, but she hadn’t known how. More so, she hadn’t felt like asking the moment she got off death’s doorstep. How long had he been a vampire? There was a lot about the Fforde line that Marisol knew nothing about. She also was clueless about the whole vampire thing… and why they were around. It had been fear of death that had her asking the perfect stranger to save her life, but she still didn't understand at what cost did immortality come with.

Rolling the cough drop around in her mouth, the taste of cherry seemed to intensify as it ran over her tongue as her hands moved to the door. Reluctantly, she pulled on the handle and stepped inside, taking in the decor and design. After a second, her hand went to her phone, formerly Logan’s phone and scrolled through the device to Jesse’s name. She sent a simple text: I have questions. At Serpentine and put it away. After that, she waited.

The device felt heavy in her pocket. It was never something that she had ever thought she'd grown attached to. When Logan had been amongst the undead and she among the living, Marisol had hated the ******* thing. It rang at all times of the day. His wife, his business partners, his lawyers. It had ended up in the toilet, the fishtank and once, when she was furious at the man, her Cosmo in the middle of a public bar. Logan had purposely given them her number, but used it as his phone. And, as his thrall, she had never argued. It became his phone and stayed that way.

In some ways, she supposed it was a security blanket of some sort. A reminder, a memento more than likely. She always had it on her person unless in the apartment or in Third Circle. Even then, it was within reach. Even if the ******* thing did still drive her insane when it rang. Though, the voicemails primarily consisted from those who hadn’t heard of his death, or from debt collectors who didn't particularly care. There was one who at some point, Marisol would need to visit and perhaps turn into dinner. The last conversation she had with the man had been less than pleasant and as she considered this, her throat felt scratchy.

And so, she could feel her mood worsen as she lifted her hand to scratch at the outside of it as if would ease the feeling. Afterwards, she smoothed her palm over the skin. A bit of pressure made it itch less. For now.

At the sight of her sire, the word still strange to her, Marisol followed the gesture. Her arms folded in front of her chest, the woman waiting. Her brown eyes followed him, to the door as he flipped the sign, and then to the other, and as he took a seat. She still didn't understand how she'd survived getting so ill...

 "At least it's you rather than me this time." She murmured under her breath before she, too, took a seat. Straight forward, she asked, "Why is my throat constantly as if I am having an illness. It is either dry, itches, or burns. Losenges only go so far." Marisol frowned. "Blood helps, but it doesn't last long." It took her a few moments to register that it might have been rude, and then, "Hello Jesse." She said, once more rubbing at her neck.

 Marisol eyed the man, mentally noting that he reminded her of a cat the way he seemed to make himself comfortable. Lithe, slender. He likely could spring up and knock her on her *** without any issue. She still didn't know what possessed him to turn her, even if she had asked for it. If she was honest with anyone, she would have expected them to just let her die, allow her heart to stop.

To his question, she nodded. She had learned that bit as a thrall due to her mouthy and aggravating master. "I do. I am an allurist. I do not understand how it is decided, but I remember some of the basics." As he mentioned curses, her eyebrow lifted.  "It's a pain in the arse." She spoke her opinion of the 'curse.' It was the lesser of hassles, really. Looking at the mirror and seeing corpse face, now that was a curse to someone who had previously made her money by looks alone.

She rubbed at her throat unconsciously.  "I still don't bother with cigarettes after I had quit. Taste is awful." Menthol cigarettes had been occasionally smoked in the past, but it had always done after stressful shoots. His movements had her eyeing him, but she inclined her head.  Marisol considered it. "I drink it regularly, animal blood, human blood. The thirst has driven me to drink more, but other than that, I haven't noticed. Animals hardly survive."

She frowned. "I do still get tipsy and react to alcohol. If I remember correctly, they did not effect Logan as such." Marisol dug through her pocket a moment later, collecting a honey and lemon lozenge to pop into her mouth. It didn’t take long for the numbing sensation to kick in and her hand moved away from her throat.

"Gluttony." The word fell from her lips as soon as Jesse’s description ended. She rubbed at her neck once again, although this time in a thoughtful manner.

 "And this... insatiable appetite would stem from Lust..." It was her way of thinking and if he found her strange for it, so be it. She had grown up in a religious house... but it had never entirely taken to Marisol. She paid attention, however. Listened. Lust had been her strongest sin through out the years. Men, money, alcohol, the finer things in life...

She had always desired it, craved it.

She had lusted after it.

And now, she suffered for blood.

 
"We all have our vices, I suppose." The idea of violence didn't bother her. After all, she had spent so long being around Logan? "He wasn't like that, either. He was just a serial killer. Something about masterpieces." Marisol murmured under her breath as she fell silent and considered Logan’s considerable amount of violence. "I don't feel that desire, no. But." She paused, thinking about the way she drew attention to herself. How it was nearly a ***** not to feed without drawing attention.
 
 "I can't feed much in public. Rarely, I can trick a guy to a dark corner... people seem to know what I am, they watch me. Cops, idiots..." It caused her to frown. Marisol was used to attention, but that was a significant pain in her ***, and it was actually ridiculous at this point. There were many pretty people in Harper Rock. She wasn’t famous, they shouldn't be looking at her.

 "And my mood can significantly drastic. I go from reasonable to unreasonable in less than a minute. And no, that is not a crack about being a woman." Finally, she shrugged out of her jacket for a while, figuring that she would be there for a bit, speaking with her sire. It wouldn't hurt, either, to get out of the apartment for something other than work.

She ran her hand against the side of her neck, thinking over the seven sins and what atrocities in the church that she had committed over the years. Aiding Logan, she’d committed murder and covered them up. But, then again, she was a vampire and no longer had to worry about spending eternity in hell, did she?

It was a question for another day.

Marisol had never been overly religious, but that didn’t mean there were aspects about vampirism and what she had viewed in the past that she was curious about.

"You’re stating the obvious.” The woman commented. She’d known what the Path was after seeing her reflection in the mirror, even after she’d wanted to smash that mirror into oblivion. She had taken the path that Logan had, as well. She hadn’t realized the two were that similar in personality until she’d taken time to think about it. A frown played across her lips as she heard what he said about emotional reactions.

True enough to Jesse’s words, the dramatics were unable to be kept from Marisol’s tone as she said,  "Oh fantastic, I’m bound to be moodier than ever.” Her eyes rolled as she glared at him as if it were all his fault. Truthfully, however, Marisol knew that all of it had been because of her. The woman sighed, the glare lessening as she crossed her leg over the other and leaned back, considering it all.

"Fabulous.” She’d need to find Arbor Vitae later on, maybe she could get directions from Jesse or perhaps it was in her listings… it sounded familiar.  “Wait, isn’t that the wine place?” Marisol questioned. She did have a bottle of wine with the name on it. The woman scratched at her neck once again, slightly grimacing,  “Aye aye, Captain.”

At the question of how she was feeling deep down, the brown eyed woman wasn’t sure how to answer. How did she feel? How should she put it, that she felt that she should have died that night?  “I feel guilty.” She answered, honestly. It wasn’t as if she could lie, that ability had seemed to disappear, not that Marisol had ever been an individual that lied often. She’d never seen the reason to be dishonest.  “I don’t think he should have pushed me behind him. Clover was right to say that it should have been me.”

Marisol wondered if he would deny it, or if he’d try to make her feel otherwise. “Granted his courageous actions were moot, given the circumstances of the fact I still died from the same gunshot that killed him, but his actions were valiant. I was afraid of death and while your wife makes it clear I’m disliked, I don’t want to be his replacement. Logan made my life miserable.”