(no subject)
In part, it’s the concept. The concept of a pretty girl chatting you up merely to get to your throat, the concept of a businessman smiling and offering cans of food just for a drink, the concept of a gang going out in packs with knives and fangs and charm in search of their next fix. Dracula, Lestat, the nurmerous undead legends of animated corspes that are a part of a culture that has no relevance now, but it’s the concept of someone wanting to drink your blood. Like a leach. And what do we do with leaches?
In part, it’s the smell. The smell of blood and sickness that every vampire has, the blood triggering the wolf in his brain while the sickness triggers the hunter and says this one is weak, this one would be easy prey while the eyes say this person is a human, too. Is it merely murder when you want to rip out their throat, want to eat them? Is it cannablism if you’ve both been changed?
In part, it’s experience. First impressions, and all of that. Claire. Honey-blonde Claire, tight jeans and black bustier with a collar and a sultry look from her warm brown eyes. Claire from high school, Claire Charlie’s girlfriend Claire who screamed from the doorway as Charlie stumbled and moaned and reached for them. Claire, Claire, Claire, roll the name from your tongue and lips. Hard ‘C’ soft husky ‘laire’. Klaaaaaaire. Claire who led him to her room and offered him beer with shaking hands, Claire who kissed him and slid her slender fingers across his waist and back, Claire who pulled him to the bed and Claire to whom he clung to as the reaction and alcohol hit. Claire, Claire, sweet Claire who kissed and nuzzled and brushed his shaggy brown hair aside to bite his neck. Alcohol shock scent of warmthhungerfamiliarClairemusklust made him slow to become aware of it, the sedative in her saliva made him slow to react. Pushed her away, fell to the floor and stared up her laughing drunknely, a junkie with her fix, blood staining her sweet lips. Hurtbetrayalshockanger and she laughed as he changed. Screamed as he lunged. Tried to breathe through a ruined throat. That’s how Russ found Armand, if truth be known. Staggering out of the university grounds, a groggy wolf with alcohol in his system and blood on his teeth.
First impressions last: don’t trust the vampires.
(a few months after that, as he and Russ and the gang were cleaning the streets, there was Claire Pullman. Queen vampire bitch. A sultry pout and a long, hungry, assessing look. Smooth skin and shiny hair and those long legs that go forever and end in dominatrix heels. She smelt clean and bloody, sex and death and power and Sit Boy Stay. Just call me Claire. Hard ‘C’ soft husky ‘laire’, hard attitude and soft female curves in slinkysilky clothes. She pushed too many of Armand’s buttons for comfort, the blood the wolf, the musk the male, the voice of command the pack member. So it is Ms Pullman now, Ms for a message of untouchablity (don’t eat the customers, boy), Pullman instead of the seductively feminine Claire. As for the Sit Boy Stay, well.
Two out of three isn’t bad.)
In part, it’s the smell. The smell of blood and sickness that every vampire has, the blood triggering the wolf in his brain while the sickness triggers the hunter and says this one is weak, this one would be easy prey while the eyes say this person is a human, too. Is it merely murder when you want to rip out their throat, want to eat them? Is it cannablism if you’ve both been changed?
In part, it’s experience. First impressions, and all of that. Claire. Honey-blonde Claire, tight jeans and black bustier with a collar and a sultry look from her warm brown eyes. Claire from high school, Claire Charlie’s girlfriend Claire who screamed from the doorway as Charlie stumbled and moaned and reached for them. Claire, Claire, Claire, roll the name from your tongue and lips. Hard ‘C’ soft husky ‘laire’. Klaaaaaaire. Claire who led him to her room and offered him beer with shaking hands, Claire who kissed him and slid her slender fingers across his waist and back, Claire who pulled him to the bed and Claire to whom he clung to as the reaction and alcohol hit. Claire, Claire, sweet Claire who kissed and nuzzled and brushed his shaggy brown hair aside to bite his neck. Alcohol shock scent of warmthhungerfamiliarClairemusklust made him slow to become aware of it, the sedative in her saliva made him slow to react. Pushed her away, fell to the floor and stared up her laughing drunknely, a junkie with her fix, blood staining her sweet lips. Hurtbetrayalshockanger and she laughed as he changed. Screamed as he lunged. Tried to breathe through a ruined throat. That’s how Russ found Armand, if truth be known. Staggering out of the university grounds, a groggy wolf with alcohol in his system and blood on his teeth.
First impressions last: don’t trust the vampires.
(a few months after that, as he and Russ and the gang were cleaning the streets, there was Claire Pullman. Queen vampire bitch. A sultry pout and a long, hungry, assessing look. Smooth skin and shiny hair and those long legs that go forever and end in dominatrix heels. She smelt clean and bloody, sex and death and power and Sit Boy Stay. Just call me Claire. Hard ‘C’ soft husky ‘laire’, hard attitude and soft female curves in slinkysilky clothes. She pushed too many of Armand’s buttons for comfort, the blood the wolf, the musk the male, the voice of command the pack member. So it is Ms Pullman now, Ms for a message of untouchablity (don’t eat the customers, boy), Pullman instead of the seductively feminine Claire. As for the Sit Boy Stay, well.
Two out of three isn’t bad.)