I laugh, giving him an eyeful of my sharp canines. "Ooh, you'll shoot me? Big man with a gun, eh? Why're you so scared of little ole me?" Despite the fact that the guy is a half a foot taller than me and outweighs me by a significant amount, I still smell his fear. It radiates from his pores and I absorb the intoxicating scent. I want more! I want him terrified! I whistle at the man pointing a pistol at me. When his attention focuses on me, I take a dip into his subconscious. Tweaking and twisting a few deep set fears, I bring his fright to a a fever pitch. It's absolutely delectable until he shoots at me in a panic. The first bullet grazes my ear with a whine, bringing thin blood. The second catches me in the shoulder. "Ow. Asshole." I laugh again, but it sounds more like a growl. "You're going to pay for that." I see his finger tense on the trigger and I pounce, knocking him off his feet. Fangs bared, I sink them into the hand with the gun. He howls in pain and relinquishes his grip. I pistol whip him across the face, giddy when I hear the pleasant crack of his jaw breaking. Tossing the gun into an adjacent dumpster, I give the guy a stern look. "Shut up! What're ya trying to get me caught?!" I bend forward to bite into his neck when he surprises me with a knee to the stomach. It catches me off guard enough so that he slithers out from under me, scrambling to his feet and shakily running down the alley. Damn it! It must of been those drinks at Elysium. My reflexes are off. I catch up with him, grabbing his head and bouncing it off the brick wall so that he collapses to the ground again. Agitated, I flip him onto his stomach and lift my leg up. With a cocky "Ha!" I bring my boot down on the small of his back, snapping a few vital vertebrae. He moans, face half in a puddle of filthy water and motor oil. Placing a foot on either side of his prone figure, I grab a handful of his hair. Pulling his head back harshly, I dig in, drinking noisily before dropping his head back into the puddle. Wrinkling my nose in distaste, I give him a hearty kick in the ribs. "Your blood tastes like shit. I think I need some more...alcohooool!" I'm giggling as I walk away from the body. I stop when I hear another muffled grunt. Rolling my eyes, I stomp back to my dinner. "Really? You're not even dead, yet?" I huff and hold his face down into the puddle until his struggles cease. I keep my grasp for another couple minutes to make sure he's finally kicked the bucket. Wiping my hands on my shirt, I make haste leaving the alley and joining back up with the throng of Kine in the city.
I spot my next destination. The neon displays in the window buzz annoyingly as I walk through the door. Wow. There's so many choices! I head to a safe looking shelf and peruse the brightly labeled bottles. Holy crap. Cotton candy flavored vodka? Cinnamon schnapps? Chocolate liquor? Where has this been all my life?! I grab an armful of bottles and plunk them onto the counter with a smile. The smile quickly fades when I meet eyes with the clerk. "ID." He demands, looking me up and down.
I blow my hair out of my face, exasperated. "C'mon man, I'm 67 years old! Respect your elders and let me buy my fuckin' booze!"
The clerk continues him impassive stare. "Either show me some ID or go on your way, Pinky." My lip curls at the nickname. I contemplate popping his eyes out and making him eat them but take heed of the security cameras. Damn it! I want my booze! Ooh, light bulb. I'll call Mongrel, he'll know what to do! I shoot a fake smile at the clerk and hold a finger up. "Just a moment, I have to make a phone call." I pick a contact and hold my cell to my ear.
"Thomas Maletoni speaking." What the? Tommy the priest? How do I even have his number?
"Whoops...I meant to call the Sheriff." I laugh. "Forgive me father, I've gotta go sin now!" I hang up and carefully hit the right speed dial. Mongrel's voicemail picks up. Daaaamn it! I leave my message at the beep. "Heeeey Sheriff Snookums." I snort. "Um...this guy..at the liquor store? He won't sell me anything! I told him I was 67 but...y'know...I think I'm gonna eat him. Hehehe..." I can practically see Mongrel's disapproving look through the phone. Coming up with an easier plan, I relent. "Ok, ok. Maybe I won't." I flip the phone shut and stuff it in my boot. I walk back up to the counter, place my elbows on it and rest my chin on my hands. The clerk raises an eyebrow, meeting my eyes. "Ahem. You're gonna let me have these alcoholic beverages. I don't need ID. I don't even need to pay, right? What do you care?" I delve into his brain, deadening his emotions.
He shrugs, submissively. "Yeah, sure, whatever. Do what you want." He sets a bag on the counter and bags the bottles in a subdued manner. I beam at him, grabbing my bag and flouncing out the door. That was easy! I bet I could use that power in all sorts of useful ways...or maybe just to get free stuff from stores.
An hour later I'm swinging idly in an empty playground. Well, mostly empty. The drained bodies of a young couple I caught canoodling lay in a heap by the jungle gym. I pause my momentum here and there to swig out of my bottle of blood and candy vodka concoction. "Eees deeleeshus!" I say to myself with a guffaw. I feel great. Trepidation about being a Harpy. Pfft. The stress from the ongoing feud between Pyotr and Tybalt. Pfft, who cares who did what now? Everyone should just get drunk and punch each other a little. Then call it a night. The thought of punching brings a teeny tremor of worry. Pyotr will probably punch my face off my skull if he finds out I've been conspiring with Tybalt. I scoff. Nah. Nah. Conspiring is such a dirty word. Just harmless chit chat, I'm not doing anything that's deserving of face punchy badness. When guilt starts attempting to rear it's ugly head, I quickly chase it away with a tasty gulp from my bottle. Nope nope nope. Ain't ruining my good time. I spend another hour or two swinging, occasionally switching it up and going down the slide. When my bottles go empty and I start to get bored I begin my trek home, singing to myself the entire way.
"You and me baby ain't nothing but mammals so let's do it like they do on the Discovery channel!" I sing off key as I stumble through the door. Mongrel's on the couch, and he sets his notebook on the end table as I struggle to get my boots off. I stand in the doorway barefoot, a sheepish grin on my face. "Hey! You're uh..you're home! I thought you'd be sheriffing...um..sheriffizing..something." I shrug.
He peers at me over his glasses. "Maddie. Are you...drunk?"
"What? Me? Psssh." I wave my hand dismissively. "I'm not drunk, per say. I um..had a drink. The Harpy bought me a drink! Notte...she's...I like her." I try to smile appealingly.
He pulls his cell phone out, putting his voicemail on speakerphone, and replays my message from earlier. "Oh, that. I just got some stuff. Y'know. And um drank it. Drunk..um..drinked it. I didn't kill the clerk though!" He almost looks impressed. "Ah. I did kill a guy in an alley though. But he shot me!" I point to the hole in my shirt over the now-healed bullet wound. "Oh, and there was the couple at the playground. They we're just mixers though..." I laugh, and burp. It tastes like cinnamon schnapps and blood. Yum.
He sighs and gestures to the couch. "C'mere. Sit down before you trip on your own feet." I give him a stink face, but shuffle towards the couch. "Wait, you've got blood on your shirt."
I roll my eyes. "When don't I?" I peel the shirt off and surprise him by plopping sideways into his lap. Leaning against the arm of the couch, I spread my hand expectantly. "Well, go on. Admonish me for my drunken antics. Chastise me...spank me I've been naughty." I say the last sentence with what I hope is a charmingly attractive smile, but I probably look like a doofus. He smirks with a raised eyebrow and pets my hair. It's soothing, and I rest my cheek on his shoulder in silence.
"So." Mongrel breaks the quiet, nonchalantly. "Why'd you feel the need to get drunk?"
I mumble a little. "I dunno. I mean, it was an ok night at Elysium. Did some Harpy stuff. Teased those Ventrue guys we were locked up with, y'know, Alastor and Roy. Haha." I pause, wiping at my mouth. "Called E. some names behind her back. Oh! And Marcus gave me a gift!"
Mongrel looks at me quizzically. "Really? And what was that?"
I smile, excited. "Crovax's tongue in this really neat box! Wanna see? It's in my boot.." I try to get up to show him and he gently pulls me back down.
"That's ok, dear. You can show me...later."
I pout, but maintain my position comfortably. After a few more moments of silence, I'm the one to break it. "I guess. I've been...distressed over all this...Tybalt/Pyotr stuff." He nods in accord, gesturing for me to continue. "This is all so new and confusing to me. The...um. Emotional part? Like, how are you supposed to know what side to choose? And who to kill? And if anyone even DESERVES to be killed." Mongrel must sense I'm on a roll, because he keeps quiet. I continue ranting as he strokes my head. "I don't want to see either of them die. And it sucks! I like death and carnage...I don't like these...feelings." I sigh. "I was pissed at Pyotr, but not enough to want him dead. Whether or not I trust him...that's a different story. But y'know. He treats me like I'm a human. Not like some homicidal halfwit." "And Tybalt. I really think he'd keep his word. He seems like the honest type. I can't NOT like the guy." I groan loudly. "I don't know how the hell people deal with these FEELINGS all the time. It's enough to drive ya crazy."
Mongrel shakes his head wearily. "Preaching to the choir there, deary." I lay my head back on his shoulder. The calm settles in again and Mongrel picks his notebook up. The faint sound of the pen scratching on paper is lulling me into a daze. Before succumbing to an intoxicated doze, I press my lips to his neck, mumbling contently. "You better not drool on me this time." He says under his breath.
Briefly roused, I wipe my mouth before responding. "I don't drool. Shaddup Sheriff...Snookums." and I drift back out of reality on the quiet wave of his laughter.
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