Log in

Muddling · Through

Not much of substance to talk about this week, either. Well, there is…

Recent Entries · Archive · Friends · Profile

* * *
Not much of substance to talk about this week, either. Well, there is - a friend is moving to Texas more or less on a whim - but I'm not sure the things I have to say about that are things I want to put out there (probably not for the reasons you think; well, maybe for the reasons you think, but not most of the people who might be reading this). So, instead, I wrote a random fictional scene. Still mainly just working on bringing back the habit of turning thoughts into paragraphs and what not, since I'm out of practice on writing more than a sentence or two at a time.


The son of a bitch hit like a car. A small one, but it was enough. I could feel the moment gravity gave up on keeping me in contact with the ground, and I flew gracefully across the bar. Like an eagle. At least, I did it gracefully until I hit the wall. That was probably more like one of those little cartoon birds in window cleaner commercials. You know, because whatever the blue stuff is in the bottle doesn't leave streaks, so they can't see the window. My favorite one had the bird fall down with little stars floating around its head, and when it hit the ground the little stars got tiny birds floating around them. Wait. I'm getting off track. Where was I? Right, the wall.

For just a moment, it felt like I'd just been knocked down. Then gravity found me again, and I fell into an undignified heap on the floor. I took stock of my limbs, decided they were all operating more or less like they should, and gritted my teeth. "...had...enough?" Big bruisers always seem to hate it when you give them lip, and it made them even stupider than usual. This guy was no exception.

He spat out a few expletives, including some colorful speculation about my sexual proclivities, and stomped over with his hands balled up into fists. He took a moment to loom over me before taking aim for my mouth. I decided I couldn't have that, since I liked my teeth, and drove my fist up between his legs as hard as I could. His feet left the floor for half a second and he started to double over when they landed. That sort of thing doesn't end a fight with someone who's got enough adrenaline pumping through them - and he did - but it gets their attention. I pointed my chin up at him and grinned.

If he realized I was offering him my throat a little too easily, the thought didn't have enough time to grow into something useful. Snarling, he shot one hand toward my neck and I snapped my teeth, coming away with a mouthful of his wrist. My teeth aren't all that extraordinary to look at. It's not like it is in a lot of movies and books. They're not an inch long and they don't pop out further when I get mad. They are damn sharp, though, and strong. I didn't just get skin. I got muscle, and tendon, and artery. And - while it wasn't a lot - I got some precious, precious blood.

I don't care how tough someone is. If they're human - and he was, though he tasted chemically enhanced - having a bite taken out of them turns on something in their brain that reminds them that they haven't always been apex predators, that they were prey once upon a time. He was screaming out an awful racket, trying in vain to stem the bleeding with his other hand, and I looked around to see everyone else take a few steps back. Everyone's so worried about the diseases in blood, these days. At least, I assume that was the reason. They couldn't have been that worried about adding a few more stains to their clothes. I gulped down what I'd bitten off and gave them my most charming smile. That got them to take another few steps away.

The solid bits weren't going to do me any good, really, but that was the quickest way to get all of the blood into my system. I licked my lips and rolled to my feet while the lummox just stared at me and kept on screaming. I saw how much blood was leaking out between his fingers and decided I was doing him a favor. He was going to bleed to death before he or one of fools watching us figured out how to dress that wound. I was just going to make that process a little faster. If he realized I was coming, he didn't have any idea what to do about it. I got to his carotid in short order and drank my fill before letting him drop to the ground like a discarded marionette.

I could make a snide comment about Anne Rice, or that other one who's gotten popular recently, but the truth is that it's been going on for a lot longer than they've been around. I should thank them and those that came before them, really. Ever since that story by Polidori a couple hundred years ago, people just don't take vampires seriously any more.

* * *