The sun slips and a different perspective slides into view. A darker one. In two senses.
I'm hungry; haven't fed in weeks, or some other useless figure, A LONG time, (but a short time), and the warmth is almost gone--so fucking cold. But vampires are good at waiting. All the time in the world, and out of the world, not even my end at the death of the world. Patience incarnate. And we're used to being cold. Vampcicles.
Leaving behind the dim orange lights, the (relatively) legal area of the city, and the cars, people, feelings, h u m a n i t y, I slip into my fanged persona. Uncomfortable, but I'm so bloody hungry at this point. And it's me, like it or not (so fucking hungry). Disdainfully, I throw away the human cloth; it's a little frayed around the edges.
I walk. No sense of time, nor direction really; I don't live here, just… hunt. (Since.) With a certain caution. Looking for the prossies; they always draw the scum. And if not--well, never was picky much. First come, first served.
Hugging the building, I slip beneath the scaffolding and the planking. A black construction net billows and puffs in the light breeze and obscures my passage. Perfect.
Arms crossed over my chest, I move. Unhurried, but alert. Drip, drip, drip, wet. I shake the raindrops from my hair. An extractor blows meat-smell towards me. I snuff after it, but know where it comes from, what blood that is--cow, beef blood, almost all burnt away by the flames and hidden by the herbs--I'll find no satiation there.
I blunder onto a path and quickly duck back to the shadows of brick. More to avoid eyes than rain. A quick survey reveals there are no people; lateness of the day and the dark damp would account for that. Mallepa's weather has always been an unpredictable bitch. But, business starts soon.
A road winds in front of me, but before it, a small area of trees and brush pokes up from cementy soil. Their closeness and their comfort invite me. Reprieve. From Mallepa's fucking annoying sky-piss. I cross the pathway. Swift and near-silent as boots will allow. Difficulty.
Brothel's a breath away.
Patches of leaves and inter-webbing branches criss-cross the cloud-smog patterned sky above. A modern sky. Whatever the fuck 'modern' is supposed to mean to me anymore. The ground is less wet there. I shrink over to them. In view? No. But, one of them is now. Pink, alcohol, smoke, and forward ness. And an ample cleavage ludicrouslyluridly on display. Human blood, O-type, mingled with H.
Heroin.
Ah, food and a fix.