Title: The Parting Glass, chapter one
Author: Abitofyou (was foolforlover)
Rating: chapter one is rated pg
Distribution: Anywhere, just let me know so I can be giddy with delight. You can find this and other stories at my site Savage/Love, http://mop.to/savagelove.
Feedback: Abitofyou@aol.com, or FoolForLover@aol.com
I am ridiculous. I know it. So do all the creatures in this establishment. The bartender's laughing inside. Every lost soul in this place is congratulating themselves on not being so lost as I am. And those demons watching at the window, well they're just loving every bloody minute of it.
There's this beastie beside me humming an irish tune I almost recognize. It's simple, old, and melancholy. And painfully appropriate. It's takin impressive amounts of vodka to ward off nostalgia right now, and this sodding serenade isn't making it any easier.
"Hey. Ogre. I'd prefer to get pissed without the soundtrack."
"So cover your ears", he says, and he lets these slimy flaps down over two of the many appendages on his head. I gather they're meant to be his ears. I see this smug grin spread all over his trash heap of a face.
"Very droll. Now shut it."
He does, clever thing. But the melody continues to ring in my head. I try to drown it out with vodka, absinthe, a pint of blood. I've just about succeeded when one of the demons leaves his twin at the window and slinks up behind me. He reminds me that I've only got so much time left and wonders if I really fancy spending it at the bar.
"Sod off", I say; turning my face from his rank, hot breath.
"Tick tock", he whispers, and I've never heard an uglier sound.
When I woke up tonight, these two skulky dark demons were reaching for me. They threw me out of bed and I couldn't stop them. They dragged me off and I couldn't fight them. Because they were too strong to resist. Or maybe there was no struggle because I was grateful not to wake alone again; thankful to be held up.
If it *was* gratitude I was feeling, it wore off quick enough. See, I learned a long time ago that gratitude is worthless. If you've got it, or if someone's got it for you, it's still bollocks. Gratitude fills you up, makes you feel like you matter, like you've changed something because you care, but you haven't. You can't. Feeling grateful is nearly as useless as feeling guilty.
They let go of me and I crashed onto cool hard ground. I looked around and saw the walls of a crypt. I thought maybe I'd dreamed them. I thought it didn't matter. I was back on *my* cold floor. 'Sod it, here is the hunter home from the hill", I thought. Til I tried to rub the sleep out of my eyes and found my hands covered in ashes. This wasn't my crypt. There were no dead resting near me. I could feel the demons behind me, sliding against the walls, almost merging with the stone.
"You know what's on your hands?"
I could barely see where the voice was coming from, it dripped our of the cracks in the ceiling, bounced off the ruined coffins on the ground. The other one ended up in front of me. His skin was the color of wet earth. He seemed about to crumble around the edges. But there was a dark density that started at his center and moved through him. He had a foul, undulating look about him. He snaked closer to me.
"Do you know what's on your hands?"
"The slithering really doesn't flatter you mate."
I looked up at him. I couldn't find his eyes.
"Answer him, half breed."
His partner slid up beside him. And I remembered who I was. I was finished with these ghouls. I lunged at the thing, but before I could put him in his bloody place, I was on the ground again. I tasted blood mingled with ashes. They *were* strong.
"I know what this is", I said. "Dead vampires. You need a good hoover." I could guess at what the hell they were doing with piles of vamp remains. I would've prayed that I was wrong, but I have no one to pray to.
Author: Abitofyou (was foolforlover)
Rating: chapter one is rated pg
Distribution: Anywhere, just let me know so I can be giddy with delight. You can find this and other stories at my site Savage/Love, http://mop.to/savagelove.
Feedback: Abitofyou@aol.com, or FoolForLover@aol.com
I am ridiculous. I know it. So do all the creatures in this establishment. The bartender's laughing inside. Every lost soul in this place is congratulating themselves on not being so lost as I am. And those demons watching at the window, well they're just loving every bloody minute of it.
There's this beastie beside me humming an irish tune I almost recognize. It's simple, old, and melancholy. And painfully appropriate. It's takin impressive amounts of vodka to ward off nostalgia right now, and this sodding serenade isn't making it any easier.
"Hey. Ogre. I'd prefer to get pissed without the soundtrack."
"So cover your ears", he says, and he lets these slimy flaps down over two of the many appendages on his head. I gather they're meant to be his ears. I see this smug grin spread all over his trash heap of a face.
"Very droll. Now shut it."
He does, clever thing. But the melody continues to ring in my head. I try to drown it out with vodka, absinthe, a pint of blood. I've just about succeeded when one of the demons leaves his twin at the window and slinks up behind me. He reminds me that I've only got so much time left and wonders if I really fancy spending it at the bar.
"Sod off", I say; turning my face from his rank, hot breath.
"Tick tock", he whispers, and I've never heard an uglier sound.
When I woke up tonight, these two skulky dark demons were reaching for me. They threw me out of bed and I couldn't stop them. They dragged me off and I couldn't fight them. Because they were too strong to resist. Or maybe there was no struggle because I was grateful not to wake alone again; thankful to be held up.
If it *was* gratitude I was feeling, it wore off quick enough. See, I learned a long time ago that gratitude is worthless. If you've got it, or if someone's got it for you, it's still bollocks. Gratitude fills you up, makes you feel like you matter, like you've changed something because you care, but you haven't. You can't. Feeling grateful is nearly as useless as feeling guilty.
They let go of me and I crashed onto cool hard ground. I looked around and saw the walls of a crypt. I thought maybe I'd dreamed them. I thought it didn't matter. I was back on *my* cold floor. 'Sod it, here is the hunter home from the hill", I thought. Til I tried to rub the sleep out of my eyes and found my hands covered in ashes. This wasn't my crypt. There were no dead resting near me. I could feel the demons behind me, sliding against the walls, almost merging with the stone.
"You know what's on your hands?"
I could barely see where the voice was coming from, it dripped our of the cracks in the ceiling, bounced off the ruined coffins on the ground. The other one ended up in front of me. His skin was the color of wet earth. He seemed about to crumble around the edges. But there was a dark density that started at his center and moved through him. He had a foul, undulating look about him. He snaked closer to me.
"Do you know what's on your hands?"
"The slithering really doesn't flatter you mate."
I looked up at him. I couldn't find his eyes.
"Answer him, half breed."
His partner slid up beside him. And I remembered who I was. I was finished with these ghouls. I lunged at the thing, but before I could put him in his bloody place, I was on the ground again. I tasted blood mingled with ashes. They *were* strong.
"I know what this is", I said. "Dead vampires. You need a good hoover." I could guess at what the hell they were doing with piles of vamp remains. I would've prayed that I was wrong, but I have no one to pray to.