Yeah...so, I'm posting drabbles because the café we eat at has wifi for free, so I can't really manage anything else, and I've been writing drabbles because I can't really do much else. In case anyone is wondering, I'm in London, which needless to say is incredible for inspiration. But yeah...anyway, enjoy my drabbling!
Prompt: I'm always the last to know...
Seras blinked at the vans. "Where are we going now sir?" she asked her superior, and he barely spared her a glance. "The village of Cheddar. Apparently there's some kind of serial killer on the loose, killing brutally and at random. He's already accounted for most of the village and several of the other units have gone missing. Get your stuff and move out."
She stared at his back blankly as he moved off. Not a word of this had been breathed to her, and now it was skitter scatter hurry hurry?! She sighed and shook her head as she went to her locker to find her gun and vest.
They never tell me anything…
Prompt: Why?
"Master, I don't want to."
'Drink the blood you idiot.'
"No!"
She stared forlornly at the blood pack sitting on the table as her master's voice dripped with disgust.
'These humans are nothing but cattle to be butchered at our leisure. They're weak, defenseless, and fools. Drink the blood, or you are just as much of a fool as they are.'
His overbearing presence faded away, and she sighed, resting her head on her folded arms as she stared across the table at the plastic bag full of human blood, human life, vampire food.
Why is master always pressing me to drink the blood? I…I won't do it! I don't want to lose…I don't want to lose what parts of me are still human. I want to keep my happiness, and I want to keep my light.
A single bloody tear slid down her face.
Why won't master let me?
Prompt: The most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
He watched, the wind stirring the silky strands of his night-black hair, watched as the crimson liquid slowly ran down the smooth surface of the mountain snow. Any way he looked at it, blood was perfect.
It was the most vivid red he had ever seen.
No other color, substance, or paint could quite match the true, throbbing red of a living, dying, or bleeding animal.
And it was warm too. Always so much warmer than what he had become so long ago.
It was the rich, invigorating warmth of life and memory.
Thick too, such an interesting viscosity. When fresh, running free from the torn veins that had held it captive inside a body, it was like…like honey, but watered down, diluted.
Ah, but when it congealed, coagulated, it thickened into rich, sticky honey, honey that would cling to hands and cheeks, pooling beneath the poor, limp little figures, lying alone and forgotten in the snow as blood ran over the pristine surface and melted it into little valleys and tunnels.
And when it dried, it was flaky, brown, and no longer of any real interest to him. It was thin and bitter, the mere specks and ashes of the warm fluid he craved, and he hardly ever paid dried blood a moment's notice.
Yes…
He looked up at the bright moon, smiling as his favorite red blood ran down his chin, and laughed silently.
Tonight was indeed a perfect night.