I always did think there should've been more interaction between Annie and other vampires.
I made up the names of Seth's bffs. And sorry for my misuse of British "slang" and everything. I'm American.
:::
You know what pisses me off? Bloody paperwork. That shits just as bad as that American crap they've been blasting through the radio. No one has any taste these days. Herrick seems to enjoy it, or at least not dislike it enough that I can tell. He's a shady guy, always speaking in cryptic bullshit like Mitchell. They might as well be speaking another language or something.
So, here I am, putting away all these fake forms that Herrick insists is mandatory for our funeral parlor front. It's not like anyone actually reads the information there, you know, what with being all weepy and confused, and dripping of snot. 'Ohh, my mother just died, let me just sit here in agony and look like a prat!' They were always so overdramatic.
It makes me wonder why Herrick put me in charge of receptionist duties. I'm not exactly good with listening to humans rant on, I prefer shutting them up. His idea of funny, or something where he pretends it's for my own good. Just like shafting me for that wanker Mitchell.
Finally, I breathed a sigh of relief when I placed that last pink form in the Hagan family folder, only to roll my eyes when the bell from the front door chimed. I hated that thing. Every time it rang, I had to pretend to be human and act in what Herrick calls a "civilized manner." I don't know what he is talking about, I'm pretty fucking nice when I want to be. Just earlier I actually carried on a decent conversation with Mitchell, and even complimented him.
Sometimes, my skills were just too great to be wasted on human matters.
I held back my seething, to glance out the back office door, seeing a man and woman. I held back a scowl. This better not be about a dead child. I hate working out arrangements for dead children, the parents get all nasally and make everything goddamn difficult. As I pushed the filing cabinet close, I heard one of the two say something, not that it really mattered to me.
Herrick wanted me when he confronted Mitchell and there was no way I was staying for more paperwork. With the pretense of leaving, I stepped out of the office room and grabbed my black coat off the back of my chair. A gift from my previous victim, how nice of him.
"Good afternoon. So sorry, I'm afraid we're closed for business at the moment," I said with puke inducing sugary sweetness that made me a bit sick. I was getting a little too good at being polite. As I slid the coat on, I looked up to focus on the pair, only to come to a realization.
I paused, recognizing the man and immediately feeling like a twat. A bloody werewolf. The little dog's got some nerve showing up here, I'm not in a particularly good mood. Although, I guess that can improve once I see Mitchell bitch out to Herrick. That's always fun to watch, even if I don't exactly like either of the two.
The disgusting smell of wolf's blood finally became obvious, putrid and sickening, almost as bad as those rotten bodies in trenches, all piled up like dead cattle. I should have noticed earlier, great, I was losing my touch. No wonder Herrick did that thing, what was it? Right, shafting.
"Oh my God." I brought my arm up to point at him, realizing not only was it a werewolf, but Mitchell's pet dog as well. "What do you want?" I snarled.
"Well," chimed the dog, a little too casual for my taste. "Either you have the world's worse customer service or we're in the right place. We want to see Mitchell." With that, he stepped to the floor from the higher stair and moved a bit closer with an air of confidence. I nearly laughed, dropping my arm. He was hardly a threat, especially without the full moon.
"You out of your mind?" I humored. "Piss off before I call the others." I was kind of hoping he wouldn't leave, just so I could beat hit pasty face into the wall. Herrick wouldn't mind that, I'm sure.
"Can we leave a message then?" It took me a moment to realize that there was another person in the room, someone standing behind the pasty dog. I simply stared for a moment, because seriously, did that thing just talk?
"What the cock is that?" I was never one for subtly. I looked her over, eyes fleeting along the curves of her body. I almost smirked, sniffing just a bit, only to realize I couldn't smell her blood.
The girl, who definitely didn't give off much feeling of a woman, seemed to sway in her spot. "I'm a ghost actually," she stated, a small smile forming on her face.
A ghost. Shit, I've never met one of those. I've heard of them. Herrick always droned on about meeting H.G. Wells a couple of years ago over tea and the such, but I never took him seriously. I'm not some sort of idiot, hell, vampires and werewolves exist, why shouldn't ghosts? Still, I'd never met one before and now here it was. She was
Well. That would explain why I can't smell her blood. She doesn't have any. Or maybe it just doesn't give off a smell. Wait, how would that work?
"Get out," I admired, truly astonished and intrigued, staring right into her eyes. They were this warm color, brighter than I would imagine any ghost's to be. Shit, I could have met a ghost without even knowing it, she looked so bloody real. Her smile grew a bit, and she looked flattered that I was interested. But then again, what kind of woman wouldn't be flattered if I was interested, really?
"Can you like, move things about and walk from one room to another?" In hindsight, that probably wasn't the best wording to use, but I was a bit star struck or whatever it was called. I felt like a twat, almost leaning forward in interest and making small gestures to describe my question. It was almost like the first time I met Herrick and found out vampires fucking exist. Talk about plot twist.
The werewolf turned to look at the woman and they gave each other an odd look.
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure everyone can do that," responded Mitchell's pet as he turned to look at me, the ghost nodding slightly. Fucking dog. The curiosity I held was drowned by my sudden annoyance with the irritating lyco.
"Shut it, Digby," I bit out, raising my hand once again to point at the sad excuse for a man. "The only reason I haven't torn your bastard face off yet is because, I've just done the hoovering in here." And I did. That fucking carpet was spotless now, thanks to me. Of course, no one appreciated my contributions, especially Herrick who made me spend more than an hour hoovering. Apparently, it was to "encourage organization and patience." Some bullshit like that. He thinks I'm too messy, always leaving dead bodies and blood and all that junk hanging around. It's not my fault the stupid humans couldn't just stay still. They were always up and about, throwing a bitch fit just because I got a little hungry. You don't see mebitching when they get hungry, do you? Both of Mitchell's little pets glanced at the floor, and I couldn't help but feel smug.
"Mhm," commented the werewolf. "Okay, I'm going to get Mitchell." He started forward, as if to simply walk around me. Which, obviously, was not going to happen.
"That's it," I snapped, grabbing the dog by his collar and throwing him up against the wall. I'm starting to get really annoyed with people ignoring me in favor of Mitchell. What was so great about the bastard anyway? He's not even that good-looking, has a bad taste in clothing, and can't maintain his hair. In fact, he's not even a good vampire! Just a waste of space, who I wouldn't mind offing at this moment.
"I'm gunna call my boys here, we're gunna have some fun," I sneered, making sure to remind the wolf of our first encounter, one I liked to relive on a monthly basis. It helps when I'm feeling shitty, you know, to remember a time when I made another person feel shitty. Good times.
"Annie, a little bit of help here," squeaked out the pale prat, who was currently near choking in my hold. I had forgotten about the ghost, with her curly hair and bright eyes, now scrambling around the room making nervous sounds. Annie. I liked that.
"Sorosin, Bale!" I called for my friends (you know, if that's what you called vampires you didn't entirely hate), focusing on the task at hand. I would have time for Mitchell's pretty little ghost later, right after I dealt with his pet dog. Still, I wanted to keep the floor clean; there was no fucking way I was going to spend another hour on it. This meant I had to do things a bit more manually – strangulation, although time consuming, was great to watch, the victim getting all blue faced and shit.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a telephone come flying at me, only to fall short because of the wire. What the fuck? The ghost started to panic, nearly hopping in place. Did she just seriously try to throw a phone at me? A ghost and idiot in one, I'm not too surprised. The werewolf made some sort of incoherent sound, pointing his thumb up and glancing to the side. The girl sprinted past me, and offhand, I tried to catch a whiff of something, you know, like perfume or whatever.
Nothing. Just like with her blood, I couldn't smell anything, and this made me more than a little angry. Yes, I'd deal with her after the dog. The thought of her warm colored skin brought more thoughts to my attention. Was she warm or cold? Could she feel? A touch, a bite? In anticipation, I squeezed tighter on my victim's throat, pleased by his futile struggling.
"I want to hear you bark, little dog," I hissed out, lifting said dog a bit higher off the ground. Then, out of nowhere, there was this heavy force against my back, not entirely painful but with enough force to knock me over and loosen my grip. Just as the miniscule pain erupted along my spine, I heard the sound of wood splintering, surprisingly loud in the quieted parlor.
Able to catch myself before I fell completely over, and inwardly cursing at the dog for escaping my grip, I barked out in disbelief, "Did you just hit me with a chair?"
A fucking chair. What was wrong with this woman?
"Yes!" she screamed, as if trying to sound strong in that high pitched voice of hers. "Sorry."
And here I thought Mitchell was out of character. Either this woman was the dumbest ghost I have ever met (not that I've met any other ghosts, but still) or just plain ignorant. You don't say sorry to a vampire right after assaulting them with a chair. Or anyone for that matter!
"What is wrong with you people," I said as I slowly brought myself up, mostly referring to the woman's unorthodox weaponry. "That totally fucking hurt!" Well, not really but my spine was still tingling and I would probably have a bruise that would end up being very uncomfortable. I gave the woman a glare, the one I liked to use on all women just before I ended up sending them to their death. It was particularly intimidating, if I could say so myself, and usually worked in the fear department.
As I stood, I couldn't help but get a brief look at her legs, my eyes trailing upward to the hem of her shirt and whatever those flimsy sweaters are called. Hell, the least she could have done was wear something more revealing, that would have made my position from the floor a bit more welcome.
I didn't have much time to dwell. Right now I had some unfinished business with a certain third wheel.
"Good work Annie, hit him again!" ordered the werewolf, gesturing to the remains of the chair she held.
"Hit him again," repeated the woman, Annie, as if to make sure it was alright or something. I tried not to laugh. She was very…out of character for a ghost. I'll have to deal with her in due time, but first, I have to get that putrid dog and his nauseating blood out of the way.
"Hit him again, again Annie, hit him!" affirmed the idiot with glasses, arms gesturing frantically as I neared him, using my best threatening look. This was my favorite part. Annie repeated him once again, her voice bordering a very high note.
"We're going to do this old school," I almost whispered, a smirk reaching my lips. There was this rush of coolness in my temples, spreading over my eyes and I felt my fangs grow out, overlapping my bottom teeth.
"Again Annie, Annie!" cried the werewolf, almost hopping now as I hissed (no matter what anyone tells you, this is for effect. I know I can't see my own reflection but I'm sure that about now I look pretty damn frightening) and reached forward. I could barely concentrate on Annie's high-pitched responses, but they fueled my anxiety. Ready to rip the dog's heart out (because there was no fucking way I was drinking werewolf blood) regardless of having just done the hoovering (Herrick would have to settle for a werewolf's corpse instead of a clean carpet. They're both pretty damn good either way), I ripped the dog's shirt open to expose his chest, only to be met with the Star of David.
I wasn't about to shut my eyes and cower, but shit. The Star was making my eyes burn and face ache like it was being bitten by millions of bugs. Not particularly use to being faced with religious symbols, I shied away, my face contorting in pain as I tried to block the Star from my view yet at the same time not drop my guard. I could barely concentrate, my whole face aflame with pain, and focused on trying to block the offensive necklace from my eyes. That's probably why I didn't see that punch.
Okay. He has a good right hook. For a werewolf.
:::
I might make this a twoshot, including Seth's reaction after he recovers from George's badass punch.