Polaroid [OPEN]
Posted: 20 Sep 2017, 13:33
[FOR THE CURE]
Adley Reed had never meant to become a vampire.
A Blood Thief (though he hated the moniker) beforehand, vampire blood had been merely a drug. It was a high he sought for no other reason except that it was the newest fad. It was an addiction he’d never have admitted to having, until it had gone too far.
The photographer had stared at the newspaper that he still had delivered; he’d been too lazy to cut off the subscription, and he’d once wanted the paper only so that he could see his own photographs within, just so that he could cut them out and slip them into the numerous scrapbooks that he had kept. Those scrapbooks were now gathering dust, tomes to a life he no longer lived.
A cure. Could it be true? An actual cure. How did he feel about it? He couldn’t figure it out.
With the camera slung over his shoulder, strap secure across his chest, Adley had taken to the streets. He’d heard nothing about any lab, nor did he have any skills in regards to computers and hacking. He hadn’t read any of the fragments nor considered who had created the cure, or why. The very notion that it even might exist! Of course, nothing could be done about it, now. The article was hearsay. There was nothing solid, no actual information, and Adley, more than the regular punter, knew how much the media could sensationalise things.
A glance was spared for the moon, which was a mere pale dot in the sky. There was only the tiniest sliver of light, like the crack beneath a bathroom door on a dark night. The lunar goddess offered no solution. The necromancer sighed, tugging at the strap of the camera to bring the heavy device into his deft, talented fingers.
There was a lot Adley was thankful for, and these were the things he considered first. Indigo. Vita. The hive, Apiary, Kaspar, even the absent Jamieson. His life had reached a turning point. Addictions were dropped (as much as they could be) and Adley no longer made money from the misfortunes of others. His photography had become art rather than fodder for sensational journalists wanting as much blood and gore as possible. He was so much better off, now, and it never would have happened if he had not accidentally consumed too much vampire blood in a moment of heat and passion.
But what of the things that he wanted? Children. That which Kaspar seemed to have in spades. When Adley wanted nothing more than to be over-the-moon happy for his good friend, his happiness was tempered by an envy he wished he could do without.
If this cure existed, what then? Would Indigo want it? It was of Indigo Adley thought when he dreamed of having children of his own. Of course he imagined Indigo as their mother. And they would all have her curls. Monogamy wasn’t their bag of chips but did that matter? If it were a possibility, would she want it? And if she didn’t, would he get down on his knees and beg her? Or would he let it go and hang on to what he had? And what of Vita, then? What would happen if her sire were to no longer be vampire? Would it negatively affect her?
The vampire ended up in the middle of a busy city mall; it was late night shopping. The shops were all wide open and brightly lit; his skin was pallid and grey even beneath the tan; he always looked a little sickly, with black bags beneath his eyes. His eyes, however, were hazel gems in the beams of brightness, his lips still plump, hair short and curls clinging tightly to his scalp. Those eyes watched humans move to and fro, oblivious or uncaring of the newest news.
Adley lifted the camera to his eyes. He zoomed in on the busker across the way, capturing the moment a ten-year-old girl tossed a note into the waiting hat. He photographed humanity, while sitting so thoroughly apart from it.[/size]
A Blood Thief (though he hated the moniker) beforehand, vampire blood had been merely a drug. It was a high he sought for no other reason except that it was the newest fad. It was an addiction he’d never have admitted to having, until it had gone too far.
The photographer had stared at the newspaper that he still had delivered; he’d been too lazy to cut off the subscription, and he’d once wanted the paper only so that he could see his own photographs within, just so that he could cut them out and slip them into the numerous scrapbooks that he had kept. Those scrapbooks were now gathering dust, tomes to a life he no longer lived.
A cure. Could it be true? An actual cure. How did he feel about it? He couldn’t figure it out.
With the camera slung over his shoulder, strap secure across his chest, Adley had taken to the streets. He’d heard nothing about any lab, nor did he have any skills in regards to computers and hacking. He hadn’t read any of the fragments nor considered who had created the cure, or why. The very notion that it even might exist! Of course, nothing could be done about it, now. The article was hearsay. There was nothing solid, no actual information, and Adley, more than the regular punter, knew how much the media could sensationalise things.
A glance was spared for the moon, which was a mere pale dot in the sky. There was only the tiniest sliver of light, like the crack beneath a bathroom door on a dark night. The lunar goddess offered no solution. The necromancer sighed, tugging at the strap of the camera to bring the heavy device into his deft, talented fingers.
There was a lot Adley was thankful for, and these were the things he considered first. Indigo. Vita. The hive, Apiary, Kaspar, even the absent Jamieson. His life had reached a turning point. Addictions were dropped (as much as they could be) and Adley no longer made money from the misfortunes of others. His photography had become art rather than fodder for sensational journalists wanting as much blood and gore as possible. He was so much better off, now, and it never would have happened if he had not accidentally consumed too much vampire blood in a moment of heat and passion.
But what of the things that he wanted? Children. That which Kaspar seemed to have in spades. When Adley wanted nothing more than to be over-the-moon happy for his good friend, his happiness was tempered by an envy he wished he could do without.
If this cure existed, what then? Would Indigo want it? It was of Indigo Adley thought when he dreamed of having children of his own. Of course he imagined Indigo as their mother. And they would all have her curls. Monogamy wasn’t their bag of chips but did that matter? If it were a possibility, would she want it? And if she didn’t, would he get down on his knees and beg her? Or would he let it go and hang on to what he had? And what of Vita, then? What would happen if her sire were to no longer be vampire? Would it negatively affect her?
The vampire ended up in the middle of a busy city mall; it was late night shopping. The shops were all wide open and brightly lit; his skin was pallid and grey even beneath the tan; he always looked a little sickly, with black bags beneath his eyes. His eyes, however, were hazel gems in the beams of brightness, his lips still plump, hair short and curls clinging tightly to his scalp. Those eyes watched humans move to and fro, oblivious or uncaring of the newest news.
Adley lifted the camera to his eyes. He zoomed in on the busker across the way, capturing the moment a ten-year-old girl tossed a note into the waiting hat. He photographed humanity, while sitting so thoroughly apart from it.[/size]