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Text Post Mon, Mar. 10, 2014 1 note

English, Please?

*Monday morning in the financial district is always a symphath treat. Even through my control, the misery flickers bright. Humans. Always such a huge buildup to the weekend. Two days of no work where they end up running around trying to do everything they regretted or neglected during their work week, or drinking themselves into a stupor as though Monday won’t roll around again. Then this clusterfuck of a pity party where they bemoan the fact that life goes on and so does work. I scan the stragglers of the nine to five crowd, but there is still no sign of Bill Smith. I take another sip of my coffee, an excuse to keep the paper cup obscuring part of my face. My sunglasses help there, but their primary function is to keep the red under wraps. I hate the loss of color and depth perception, but once I spot this fucker, I don’t want to have anything interfere with me reading his grid and committing it to memory. No luck on the man I’m looking for, but that could be as simple as a sick day, a traffic jam or Bill Smith deciding to start his day early. Ditching my half-full ice-cold cup of coffee, I make my way slowly back to the Starbucks. Once you learn the visual cues to look for, the lack of depth perception isn’t that hard to work around but I’m in no hurry. Taking my fresh coffee to a table in the corner, I angle myself so I have a view of the line, but enough sun to justify the shades. I lean back into the chair, the wingback giving me more cover as the business types start to funnel in for the mid-morning dose of caffeine. Finally, I spot the bastard chatting with two other men as they hustle inside. Turning back to the window, I focus in on his grid. It’s regulated to the extreme, but not truly stable. Like a house of cards, each piece precisely placed to keep each other piece from collapsing. Much as I want to pluck a piece and watch how he devolves, this is not the time or place, so I shift to his thoughts instead, looking for… FUCK! The bastard doesn’t think in English. What the hell did @Vishous_BDBRW miss? I try to pick out any words I know, or that are close enough to the languages that I do know. He’s still going on about medical insurance claims in English, but he’s not paying any more attention to what he’s saying than I am. No translating going on, so he’s obvious comfortable in both languages. Time to get out of here. Even though this piece of shit knows about my vampire side I still make sure to face away from him as I leave. No need for him to know he’s got a sin-eater gunning for him. Not yet, at least.*






Text Post Sun, Feb. 23, 2014 1 note

Dead Old Dad

*The upper left hand corner of the map refuses to stay put. This might be easier if I had a board to pin everything on. I’m not about to turn my cabin into an episode of CSI, and I’m not taking this stuff into my office at the club. Draining my coffee, barely still warm enough to be drinkable, I set the empty mug down on the stubborn corner before opening the file folder I got from @Vishous_BDBRW. I’ve already marked the site where I was held years ago. Both clubs are likewise marked. Flipping the pages, I notice that V has not only provided the info I asked him for, but he’s also added a few sheets for easy reference. The address page makes the mapping process easier as I mark the house where John Smith was living with his son, and the cemetery where that sick bastard is buried. Current address for Bill Smith, as the son William prefers to be called, as well as his work address. Every known haunt gets a dot on the map, and I curse @Vishous_BDBRW for being so thorough. No doubt this is part of his plan to keep me from dealing with my mess, my way on my own. Fuck it. I took this to #Wrath first, and he shut me down. I’m not a delicate glymera female, and no male gets to dictate to me, not even @Tehrror_BDBRW. Finally, I finish marking up my map. I t would be nice to have something on the woman who is abducting vampires with Bill Smith, but for now, I’ll work with what I’ve got. The next time I spot her in the club, I’m going to make up an excuse to get hold of her ID. I grab my empty mug, and the corner of the map curls right back up. Smoothing it out, I put the mug back, and walk into my kitchen for a fresh cup and more coffee. I feel like I haven’t slept properly in weeks, and even the smell of the coffee is enough to perk me back up. Wrapping both hands around the mug for warmth, I head back to the other room, walking around the map as I sip, looking for a pattern, an area with more dots, anything at all to stand out, and give me a starting point. A few clusters stand out, two blank spaces that seem like they should have more activity, but where to start? I need to get inside this guy’s head. He goes a long time between victims so far though. Carrying on dead old dad’s work of torture, no doubt. His victims are probably blood starved at the end, so I really don’t want to wait until he needs to get a new one. Like the lessers aren’t fucking bad enough, some humans have to get wind of vampires really existing and try to learn more? Circling my map in the opposite direction, I pick up a different color pen and outline the trouble spots. There’s something I’m still missing here. Nothing within the city would make a good spot to hold someone for a long time, at least without tricks like #Lash had at his disposal. The site of the facility I burned to the ground nags at me. A single, lone, isolated dot. @Vishous_BDBRW’s words echo through my head about the “I am an island” routine. Easy for him to preach though, with nobody trying to keep him out of harm’s way. I doubt #Wrath would listen any better now that I know what’s likely happening to the abducted vampires than he did when I first tried to warn him that vampires were being abducted. If I breathe a word of this to @Tehrror_BDBRW I’ll never see the light of day again. Fuck. That’s my only edge here. Daylight. I need to stake out this bastard’s workplace during the day, cloaked, and get into his head that way. It’s a zero backup situation, unless I can convince #Trez or #iAm to lend a hand, but I’ve lived most of my life with zero backup. As I finish my coffee, I think about tossing more wood in the fireplace. I don’t really need it for the heat, but I enjoy the smell and the fire has almost burned down to nothing. I walk past without adding any though, and rinse my mug in the kitchen sink. I have a plan now, and it’s enough to move forward. That combined with too many cups of coffee has me miles away from sleep. Grabbing my jacket, I don’t bother putting any of the papers away as I leave, though I do bank the fire and lock the door. A little time at the firing range in the Compound is just the thing for my mood right now.*







I’m ashamed to admit I know this, but it’s really fucking funny when you think about it.

I’m ashamed to admit I know this, but it’s really fucking funny when you think about it.




Shellan of Habit

*I pace around my cabin on the Hudson, twitchy from being locked inside by this brutal cold weather. I’ve even been dematerializing to work each night instead of taking my Ducati. There’s only so much ice I’m willing to subject my ride to. Over to the fire, the heat washing over me and making my skin flush. Back to the windows, the chill radiating from the glass. Repeat. Into the bedroom for a change of scenery and temperature. Back to the fire to fold up the mink blanket I picked up after using #Rehv’s crash pad at @ZeroSum_BDBRW once. Into the kitchen where I flip open my Keurig and start another cup. Decaf. Not like that will make any difference. Back past the fire to the windows again. The caged animal routine won’t let me sleep, and trying to sleep just reminds me how much I feel like a caged animal. Toss another log on the fire on my way to the galley kitchen for my coffee. Sitting down in front of the fire I stare into my cup, needing some outlet for my energy. I am not the type of female who does inactivity well. Traffic at @IronMask_BDBRW has been light with the cold. All those piercings must get uncomfortable when they freeze. I lean back and take a sip of my coffee, enjoying the way the aroma mixes with the wood smoke, and a stray sunbeam hits the diamond at the base of my throat, scattering prisms of light throughout the room. That would certainly burn off my energy, but it’s not happening. I haven’t even gotten a single text, and there is no way @Tehrror_BDBRW hasn’t noticed I’ve been sneaking into his room during the day. Our room, technically. It does give me an idea though. Movie theatre. Gym. Pool. If I can’t sleep, I could always dematerialize to the mansion and find something to do there. Hell, even hassling @Lassiter_BDBRW for his questionable taste in television is more appealing than pacing around my cabin for the rest of the day. Draining my cup, I rinse it in the kitchen before throwing my clothes on. Meticulously, I bank the fire before putting the glass fireplace surround back in place to let it burn itself out safely. I value having my own space too fucking much to let it burn to the ground. Stepping out into the cold, my breath is sucked away from me as I swiftly lock the door. Scattering my molecules, I reform in two different places before rematerializing at the door to the mansion. The mhis has been here as long as the compound, but it’s not in my nature to be sloppy and risk leading someone anywhere I don’t want found. The inner door buzzes open as soon as the outer one is secured. Great. #Fritz considers me a creature of habit now. Pathetic creepy stalker habit, as if the concept wasn’t bad enough on its own. Heading downstairs, I decide on a swim first. The warm water is appealing after my time outside, however brief. If I’m still twitchy after my swim, I can hit the gym and take out my frustrations on some dummies. I can always use the tackling kind if none of the Brothers are around. If the swim wears me out, the doggen already know that I’m a shellan of habit.*






Text Post Wed, Dec. 18, 2013 1 note

Festive Quarry

Punching the pillow for the twentieth time, I sit up and throw the damned thing across the room. I hate that my bed feels too big. Even when I was with Murhder, I slept at home, just me in my own bed.

I almost wish I had left the folder back at the mansion. It would give me an excuse to go back to @Tehrror_BDBRW’s room.

Our room.

Which would only lead to another fight.

Screw it.

Hopping off the bed, I pull on a muscle shirt. Leaving the cilices off, I yank on my leathers before stuffing the barbed chains into the pockets of my leather jacket. Shitkickers next.

I could dematerialize to the mansion, but if I ride my Ducati maybe I can take @NoOne_BDBRW out for a short ride once the sun sets.

Kicking the bike to life, I try a hundred different arguments on myself as I speed to the mansion. None of them does any good against the desire to be with my hellren. It was a cheap move to leave before he woke up last time, but I don’t know if I can trust him to not make that folder disappear. And while I love my independence, I can’t deny the caveman routine @Tehrror_BDBRW pulled was hot. The downside of being attracted to a strong male. Warriors take what they want.

I’m at the first gate before I know it, and it’s not much longer before I’m in the vestibule, waiting for the inner door. Wonder how the doggen feel about the half-breed who insists on showing up during daylight.

With symphath red eyes.

Fuck.

The door opens with a slight buzz, telling me it’s been triggered remotely. A faint jingling sound and a pathetic yowl emante from the great room, followed by the sound of something falling. Curious, I open the door.

"Holy shit. Who vomited Christmas in here?" Even with everything flat and washed in shades of red, I can see a huge amount of effort has been taken to make the room festive. An enormous tree, lit and glittering dominates the room, and every spare inch has been hung with garland, or tinsel, or some other tribute to this human holiday.

There, at the bottom of the tree is @Boo_BDBRW with a jingle bell on his collar and tinsel sticking out of his mouth. His tail twitches as he paws at one of the ornaments. “I don’t blame you, cat. It’s going to take a lot of apples to keep @ScribeV_BDBRW from getting pissed about this.” Carefully removing the bell and tinsel, I leave @Boo_BDBRW to stalk his festive quarry and head upstairs.

Opening the door to our room, I expect @Tehrror_BDBRW to have his gun levelled at me, but he stays asleep. It must have been a long night on rotation for him to be this exhausted.

Closing the door as quietly as possible, I stare at my name across his back for several minutes. He’s restless, his brow creased like he’s having a bad dream.

Slipping out of my jacket, I set it down on the dresser before kicking off my boots. Hesitating, I leave my leathers on before lying down on the bed.

Reaching over, I smooth @Tehrror_BDBRW’s brow, already feeling more comfortable as I drift off to sleep.






Text Post Tue, Nov. 26, 2013 2 notes

Suck It Up, Buttercup

Xhex: *Enough is fucking well enough. Tech genius probably can’t figure out how to do something as simple as sending a text. Maybe @Vishous_BDBRW thinks something as simple as texting is beneath him. Resisting the urge to take everything out on poor #Fritz, I step inside the mansion vestibule and wait with my face as neutral as possible, pointed at the camera. As the old doggen opens the door, I smile tightly at him, which does nothing for the forlorn expression on his face. I’m halfway up the stairs before I freeze, feeling my fangs elongate in a rush. @Tehrror_BDBRW is so close I swear I can smell him out in the hall. Probably true since @Layla_BDBRW just went through her needing. Why the hell didn’t I suck it up and ask #Trez or #iAm or any male vampire I’ve seen if I could feed before I came here? This is not my brightest idea, and it takes a conscious effort to turn around and force my feet back down the stairs. If anything, #Fritz looks even more defeated as I step past him with nothing more than a nod, his resemblance to an old hound dog astonishing. If I back down now, I’m going to have an army of doggen and shellans trying to strap me into corsets, paint my nails and give me fucking extensions until my hair grows long. Not to mention losing all chance of ever being out fighting in any capacity, which would make me lose my frickin’ mind. Pounding in the code for the underground tunnel, I can’t stop thinking of how much the vampire race needs a good swift kick in the traditions. I’m at the door to the Pit before I’m fully aware of it, ringing the bell repeatedly.*

Vishous: *watching the reruns of the Sox winning the World Series, I light up a handrolled to watch as Big Papi comes to bat. I am about to reach for my Goose, enjoying this 200th time of rewatching this game, at least until @DocJane_BDBRW comes home from #SafePlace. Then..I will be viewing something else entirely. I am all set to enjoy my evening, when I hear the damn bell. Go off. Repeatedly. With a growl I get up off of the couch * Hollywood?! If that is you, I am gonna..*I look and see who it is and curse as I open the door* Symphath..what the fuck are you doing here? You expect me to have the intel already? *frowns and crosses my arms*

Xhex: Already? I think I have given you enough fucking time to find Hoffa, but I bet you don’t have a fucking clue where he’s buried either, now do you? *Glaring at @Vishous_BDBRW, all I can see if a vein. This has got to be my worst idea. Ever. Fixing my eyes on a point somewhere up and to the left, I cross my arms over my chest and plan how to word the most awkward text I’ve ever written to #Trez.* All I need is one name. And given that the sadistic prick’s son showed up in ZeroSum again, and recognized me somehow, I do not think that I’m asking a lot here. *I growl as I hear the TV in the background* You are not seriously watching that baseball game again.

Vishous: *glares back at you and growls under my breath* I am unconcerned where Hoffa might or might not be buried. *chuckles and arches my eyebrow as I sense something is off with you* But it sure is fun to watch the humans run around looking for him. I have your one name. *nods* But first…yes I am watching the game again. I will watch it again after this. It is my biz, true? Now..what I think the more pressing question is, Symphath, is what is going on with you? Seems like you need to be off finding @Tehrror_BDBRW, not talking with me, true? *folds my arms deliberately in the same move you just pulled*

Xhex: I came for a name, not your opinion. *I shake my head, trying to clear it of the sense of how close @Tehrror_BDBRW is. I won’t let biology trap me in a cage of the bonded male idea of what a female should be.* Give me the damn name, and all the other little pieces of info I’m sure you dug up, and I’ll let you get back to your recorded game. *And far more importantly I can get my ass away from all these males and arrange an awkward but completely non-sexual feeding.*

Vishous: *chuckles and lets a very self satisfied grin stretch across my face* Well, well, symphath. Ok. we’ll get down to business, true? You obviously have something you need to take care of, and I want to watch my game, feel me? Gimme a second. *shakes my head as I turn into the Pit, grab a file off of my desk, and come back to my door. @Tehrror_BDBRW better know what he has gotten himself into. Perhaps I should speak to him* Here is what you want. All of the information I found. Straight up? I’d be careful with this one. *narrows my eyes* Even for you? Got it?

Xhex: Yeah, I got it. If your king hadn’t been so wound up in bonded male solidarity, I’d happily enlist the entire fucking Brotherhood to help with this fucker. But @Tehrror_BDBRW does not get to dictate my life. Nobody does but me. *flipping the folder open, I scan the first sheet before glaring at you* John Smith? Are you fucking with me? John fucking Smith? What, too many John Does in the morgue, so you thought you’d mix it up and go with Smith? *skimming further down the page, I find the son listed* William Smith. Wow. No fucking originality here, so I guess you aren’t fucking around. *narrowing my eyes at the bland, basic, nothing special on the page in front of me* Are you sure you didn’t get their aliases? Witness protection, CIA deep cover or some other bullshit you didn’t want to dig any deeper into?

Vishous: *glares and raises an eyebrow at your sarcastic tone* No, I am not fucking around. The information was buried under many layers of security. The most I’ve seen in awhile. Whatever you are up to, you better make sure you know what you are doing. There is a reason why the information was buried the way that was, feel me? *nods and folds my arms across my chest*  Whoever is at the end of this trail, it is nothing good. You better be asking for help on this one, true? Don’t be a stubborn ass, and that is not a request. I doubt it is witness protection or something as banal as CIA deep cover. No doubt they are responsible for some seriously fucked up things. You better wear some serious shitkickers to wade in this shit. And another thing, Xhex?

Xhex: *Everything you’re saying makes a hell of a lot of sense, but the second #Wrath pulled the patronize the female act, I’ve had my back up. I do not need my hellren’s permission to pursue a ghost from my past and perform an exorcism. I want backup, but I don’t want to be stuck on the sidelines just because of my sex. That bullshit has never sat well with me. I feel my jaw crack as I practically have to pry it open* What?

Vishous: Don’t even think about trying to do this on your own, true? *nods and glares at you* I know you, Symphath. I’ve done the “I am an island” routine myself, feel me? But the threat here, with your past? Yeah. This isn’t the time for that. The Brotherhood will help you. *raises my brow as I wait for your response* Then I have one more thing to tell you…

Xhex: *Snorting in disbelief* Help me? Right. Lock me away with the other females like we’re all helpless is more like it. This guy and his floozy need to be stopped, the sooner the better. *The smell of male vampire is getting to me, so I try taking shallow breaths through my mouth instead.* I know I’m not getting out of here until you finish whatever you want to say, so why don’t you get on with it already?

Vishous: *finishes sending a text on my phone as you talk* Did I mention sehclusion? No. Just telling you that we will be helping you so you don’t get your ass hurt. You can thank me later, true? *smirks* Oh..and also I just texted @Tehrror_BDBRW. You are eyeing my vein like it is a Happy Meal. Get yourself over to the Compound. He is expecting you. Suck it up, buttercup..*chuckles, as I turn back into the Pit*


Xhex: You are incapable of minding your own fucking business, aren’t you? *Growling, I turn and stalk down the hall. I could hide in the PT suite, but that would be a joke. I’d be found in seconds, and it wouldn’t put me in a position of strength. I could head for the garage and get my ass out of here that way. Except… Except a part of me doesn’t want to. A part of me is tired of being away from my mate to prove a damn point. Maybe I’m not the only one tired of this shit. Maybe @Tehrror_BDBRW can finally act like he understands that he mated a fighter instead of just using the words. I push open the door to the office, still considering my standard MO of cut and run.* Fuck it. Like the pompous asshole said, suck it up, buttercup. *Punching in the code, I hit the stairs, hoping this won’t turn into another ugly scene.*






Spent

*Spent. Utterly exhausted for all the best reasons. I stretch languorously, stirring the rich, male, warrior scent up anew from the sheets. Something doesn’t seem right about the fabric, but I have other things to think about. Two of them right now. Two strong, warm, familiar male hands, skimming up the inside of my thighs, easing them farther apart. Gliding lightly over my cilices, not squeezing, but not trying to remove them either. As soon as hot breath and a tongue join the hands, I prop myself up on my elbows. A deep, rich chuckle greets my movement. “Do you enjoy the view?” I don’t bother answering since the bastard knows I do. Threading one hand into his dark hair, I urge him closer, impatient with this teasing. I jump as he nips me, not breaking the skin, but close. “Calm down, Xhex. I have never once tried to feed without your consent.” Peach eyes flash up to mine, the intensity of the stare and the hint of bonding scent conveying something I don’t want to acknowledge. “One day, you may trust me enough to allow it, but I know this is not that day.” Peach? My brain is scrambling, trying to come up with another colour. Which is fucking ridiculous since #Murhder’s eyes have always been peach. A flicker of disappointment crosses his face at my lack of response before he buries his head between my thighs again.* What time is it? *I need to get back to my own place before the sun comes up. Sure #Murhder hasn’t pushed the feeding issue. Yet. If I have to stay theday, he might. Not my sheets. That must be what’s wrong with the fabric. Where the hell is the clock? I start looking, but my eyes roll back in my head at the firm, slow lick that tells me I’m not as exhausted as I thought. “Too late for you to escape, I am afraid. You fell asleep for a time. The sun has been up for an hour.” Shit. I can always play the half-breed card and bail, but I don’t want a Brother questioning that other half too closely. Wait.* Escape? *Strange choice of word, stranger thing that my mind fixates on it. “Always running away. What else should I call it?” Another sweep of his tongue, torturously slow this time, and my hands find their way back into his black and red hair. “Though I expected a more subtle ruse from a sin-eater.” My eyes snap open and I bolt upright on the bed, an ascending whistle sounding from beside me, even as #JohnMatthew has his piece levelled at the door. Blue eyes. That’s what was wrong. I haven’t dreamt of #Murhder in ages, and I’m not going to confess to doing so now. I shake my head as John slowly returns his gun to the bedside table.* Just a dream – nothing bad, just strange. *The concern on John’s face tells me he isn’t buying it.* It was a memory of a time I almost got caught. In the dream, though, I was found out as a symphath. That’s what woke me. That’s all. *John studies my face, apparently convinced that it’s not something more serious, and that I’m not providing any further info. His bonding scent flares to life as his gaze moves down my body, deciding where he wants to start. Confusion hits when I see that my cilices aren’t on. Not that I ever sleep with them on, but because I have full depth perception and all of my colors, including that amazing blue staring at me from under a cocked brow. /You sure you’re okay?/ he mouths. Clearly I’m not. My pyrocant, my well-of-soul is hovering over me, and instead of appreciating that strong warrior body, I’m worried about why my symphath side is not in evidence.* I’ll be fine. How’s that? *The look of concern slowly morphs into a grin I know well. I’ll be lucky if I can remember my name, let alone my nightmare, very soon. As I lie back and let #John take the lead, I can’t help noticing the sheets feel scratchy. We must have spilled something on them since #Fritz would never put any coarse linens on a bed in the compound without direct orders. Maybe not even then. I hear a growl as #John nips at my earlobe, scolding me for my distraction before he takes both of my hands in one of his and pins them down to the bed over my head.*You’re right, I have to let it go. *#John’s hair brushes the side of my neck as he nods. He continues the light nips and sucking kisses, never quite going where I want him most, until I finally growl in frustration and he simply stops. The world tilts as I struggle to sit up.* Are you going to finish what you started? *#John’s blank eyes stare at me from the floor, right beside #Murhder on industrial green tile. My arms aren’t being held above my head, they’re shackled. I’m chained to some fucking gurney, half propped up so I can see the two dead males on the floor. “Oh, yes. I plan to finish what I started. These two are just the beginning. You owe me a father.” A scream rips from my throat as I finally pull myself out of the nightmare for real this time, panting and drenched in sweat. I’m in my own room in my place on the Hudson, all in hues of red from pale pink to deepest crimson. My depth perception is non-existent, and all I smell is pine and a hint of lemon cleaner. Grabbing my phone, I text @Tehrror_BDBRW before I have time to wonder where he is or what he might be doing.* r u ok? *Hitting send, I sit and wait, feeling pathetic, but unable to shake the grip of dread. Wrung out. Utterly exhausted for all the worst reasons. Spent.*






Text Post Wed, Nov. 06, 2013 1 note

Phoning It In

*I miss the good old days.

Not the really old days when females who weren’t delicate were defective.

A simpler time before all this pyrocant, well-of-soul, bonded male and might-as-well-be-bonded female bullshit.

Fuck, I even miss what I had with #Murhder. Fighting and fucking. Never any feeding, but at least he honestly didn’t have a problem with me fighting, often right alongside him. Yeah, he got pissy a few times when I refused to let him feed even though he was injured.

At least he figured out why.

I prefer clear cut goals. Stay alive. Don’t get pegged as a symphath. Scrub or kill anyone who figures out I’m a symphath. Work, eat, sleep, feed.

One pair of blue eyes shot that all to hell. For a male raised by humans, John Matthew has the traditional bonded warrior male routine down pat.

He never comes in the club anymore, and I never look.

Autopilot. My feet know the path, my eyes know what to look for, but my mind is phoning it in. I don’t know what the hell I‘d do if things got bad in here these days. Hope that my body hit fight mode long enough for my brain to engage. Pushing past a woman with a bag big enough to smuggle half the alcohol out of here, I continue on to VIP, freezing halfway up the steps.

Handbag.

Big ass bodybag trying to pretend it’s a purse.

I finish my trip to VIP, and make a pretense of checking in at the bar to turn and find her again. Sure enough, that woman is hauling her ass through my club, chatting up the same type of males as before.

Scanning the club, I finally spot Handsome Enough, right in the middle of things and paying zero attention to his partner. He’s looking on his own for possible vampires, but the crowd is light tonight. His eyes slide over VIP before they widen and snap back to me.

The smile that curls up the corners of his mouth makes my skin crawl, because I know that fucking smile. He got it from his father. No question.

He winks – fucking winks! – before giving an insolent wave as he grabs Handbag and drags her outside.

While I just fucking stand there trying to process.

Shit.*







Text Post Wed, Aug. 28, 2013 1 note

Sweaty Drunk Male

*I know I’ve put off feeding way too long when the drunken humans in gen pop look like viable options for a vein. The lethargy hasn’t started yet, which is good, or I would be screwed. I’m already snapping at the staff. Thank fuck they’re used to my bad moods. It’s not fair to them, which is why I have got to man up and find someone to feed from soon. Perfect timing. Of course my earpiece would go off when my mood is this volatile.* What? *My bouncers don’t deserve to be snapped at, but I’m likely to break a limb on whomever they’re calling me to deal with. “Sorry, boss. It’s the guy with the strange language again. Hungarian, was it?” Scanning the floor, it doesn’t take long to pinpoint #Glenforth, shouting at anyone who gets close to him.* Close enough. I’m on him. *Clenching my fists so hard I feel my knuckles crack, I stalk across to the male who is rapidly becoming my least favorite patron. Since I know this idiot only seems to understand the Old Language when he’s this drunk, I make the switch.* Time to head out Glenforth. You need to sleep it off. *Having someone who can understand him just sets the male off, and he launches into a full tilt rant about his missing daughter. Again. I can’t help but hope that the female got far away, and didn’t run into any lessers. Taking a deep breath, I’m ready to try heading off any new conspiracy theories when I feel my fangs punch out. Shit. I’m hungry enough that being close to the scent of a sweaty drunk male is enough to trigger feeding instincts. Not good. There won’t be any talking #Glenforth down tonight. Not without showing my fangs and turning the club into a horror show. Cranking his arm up behind his back I start frog-marching him to the alley door. Kicking it open, I will the camera above the door to glitch over to static. The alley reeks of garbage and urine, but compared to the club, it’s fresh air. Fuck. All I can really smell is male vampire. Not a good, clean male scent. A cheap aftershave, cheap booze, slightly ill male scent, but it’s enough. #Glenforth is staggeringly drunk. He might not even notice. Fuck, no! I am not that hungry, but I need to get him out of here, fast.* Let me call you a cab, you need to go home. *Of course, he’s having nothing to do with that. “Home? How can I go home when those bastards stole @Zaya_BDBRW? They’re probably making a fucking mint off of her, while I’m left to starve!” Rolling my eyes, I wait until the male turns around, looking for an audience. One well placed punch, and he drops like a rock. Talking quickly into my watch, I put in a call for a cab to pick up #Glenforth at the mouth of the alley. Tomorrow. First thing tomorrow, I have to talk to #Trez and #iAm about feeding. I can’t let my control slip any further.*





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