BVQA: Well, it's short. It's definitely short. And I apologize for that. But I promise you that this chapter was necessary to get the plot moving, sooo. . . forgive me?
Panakeias: Yeah, I have this nasty habit of being super mean to characters I like. I don't know what causes it. Also, your description of Julian sent both me and Chicky into hysterics. Just thought you'd like to know that! And about Pooty. . . I've vaguely seen internet-y things about him, but I haven't gotten that far in the comic yet, so. . . sorry! I can't write him, I'd be too terrified about making him OOC.
GrrHatLet: Kudos to you for looking up Dullahan! And kudos for using the word 'kudos' (because you have NO IDEA how long I've been waiting to see that word in a review!). I cannot even say how much the phrase 'deviously humorous' warms my pitch-black heart. And, sadly, I'm not at liberty to disclose what's wrong with Raggy. . . (Chicky says it's 'someone he ate', not 'something') Yup. This one was fun to write, and thanks!
Loli-otaku: I'm honored! Hahah, Raggy's such a goof when it comes to love. . . buut I can't say anything about what's gonna happen next. You'll just have to keep reading! Don't worry, gore abounds and romance is going to have certain vampires banging their heads into walls.
Chicky: Kay, so, to recap: we love you all like Ragamuffin loves chocolate ice cream and there's a disturbing lack of guts in this short little chapter. But it shall be back!
Chapter 6
Moping
As it turned out, Julian had been a runaway. His parents had been charged with criminal neglect, but they'd won the court case and reclaimed custody of Julian. The kid had had other ideas, though, and had skipped out less than a month later. . . only to turn up dead in under a week. The authorities had been scouring the area for him already, and because of their vigilance Julian's body had been uncovered mere hours after his death. His parents were hysterical with grief and regret, and you could fill a small ocean with the tears and snot flying around. Ugly crying.
The blonde goth's name was Tabitha, and she'd recently qualified for the town's cheerleading finals. Apparently, she'd been flying in the face of custom with her "look," a victory even if you didn't mention the fact that she'd only barely recovered from a broken leg in time for the tryouts. She had a small army of friends, each one with a different heartbreaking story about their childhood together, or her dreams for the future.
At least, that's what the television was screaming at Ragamuffin from every channel he could find. That, and the fact that every celebrity on the planet desperately believed that he shouldn't text while driving.
They're calling me the 'Nevermore Vampire'. . . it's better than 'Raggy,' I guess. . .
And then, I need some ice cream, pronto.
He was hanging backwards off of the couch, ankles hooked over the back and tousled black hair brushing the carpet. Whatever small amount of blood was even left in his body at this point was rushing to his head, making it feel both number and heavier than usual.
Or maybe that was just gravity.
Lenore was passed out in her room– she'd completely worn herself out in her attempt at baking the night before. Ragamuffin had wandered back into the kitchen just as soon as he'd gotten the sick off of his boots, just in time for Lenore to pull her creation out of the oven.
"Death cookies!" she'd cheerfully exclaimed. And it was difficult to argue with that, although whether her cookies were meant to cause death or if their main ingredient was road-kill was totally up for debate. Ragamuffin could swear there was a talon in the cookie he'd taken to avoid hurting her feelings, but– and this was the weird thing– they actually didn't taste half bad. In fact, Ragamuffin was tempted to take fourths, and probably would have done so if Lenore hadn't plowed through the rest of the batch. Taxidermy just shook his head in amusement– apparently, a combination of blood, assorted animal chunks and an unholy amount of sugar was something that only appealed to vampires and zombies.
Ragamuffin had been utterly shocked to find that, thus far, he hadn't had even the slightest hint of nausea. It was both depressing and ironic that something that was probably scraped off the road was sitting better with him than blood right now.
Then again, maybe he was just jinxing himself and would be back in the bathroom before the hour was out.
God, he really was being an optimist today, wasn't he?
"Okay, Jesus, if you think she's cheating on you then dump her, don't call her freaking mother in law! What're you gonna do, Carlos, run to your mommy your whole life?" Ragamuffin called at the screen, exasperated. The only station he'd been able to find that wasn't covering the 'vampire murders'– they thought they were so clever, didn't they?– was playing a TV drama called 'Desperate Housewives.' It was unbearably stupid.
"Oh, sure, just tell her you killed your husband! That's not gonna come back to bite you or anything!" Ragamuffin waved his spoon around airily before cramming the heaping scoop of chocolate ice cream into his mouth. Contrary to popular belief, vampires had no problem consuming with human food– it just didn't exactly do much for them, nutritionally speaking. Ice cream, on the other hand, was doing wonders for his mental health.
He almost didn't feel like beating the shit out of the next person to piss him off.
"Who the hell breaks into a house just to decorate for Christmas?" he asked, then went right back to attacking the ice cream.
The dark-haired woman was in her office this time as the man burst in, once again out of breath.
"New victim," she supplied for him. Her eyebrows arched as he shook his head, enthusiastically indicating 'no.'
"Victims, plural," he corrected, and she dropped the file she'd been looking through onto her desk, annoyed.
"Well, you seem awfully excited about that. Does death always make you perk up?"
"Does death. . ? Oh! Oh, no," he backtracked wildly, wiping the slight smile off of his face as he did so. "No, that's not what I'm excited about, not at all, it's terrible, actually. But they just found–"
"Can I have the bad news first, please?" the woman interrupted. It wasn't a request. "Oh, and will you close the door before a zombie wanders in?"
The man hurriedly did so, fumbling with the door handle for a moment before his sweaty fingers managed to get a grip on the slick steel. As the door shut with a weighted click, he turned back to the woman. "Two new victims. One male, one female, both completely exsanguinated. One of them. . ." he hesitated a moment, finding his words. "The boy's throat was. . . it wasn't just bitten, it had giant chunks missing. I don't. . . vampires don't usually do that."
The woman cursed under her breath, digging her long nails into the palm of her hand. "I thought so," she muttered, glaring down at her desk like she wasn't seeing it.
"You. . . thought what?" the man asked sheepishly, seeming slightly put-out at his missing something here. The woman ignored him, yanking open one of her desk drawers and rifling through it, cursing as she did so.
"Knew it, knew it, knew it," she hissed, then pulled out a thick sheaf of paper, adding it to the pile on her already overflowing desk. She quickly began turning pages, familiarizing herself with the contents.
"I don't understand," the man repeated. The woman answered this time, but didn't look up from her files.
"It's not just that vampires don't usually do that, it's that there's only one who does. But it. . . it's been four centuries, and. . ." she trailed off, pausing at a single page. The man leaned over, trying to get a closer look, but also tried to appear casual and professional at the same time. The end result was that he looked like an absolute goon, but the woman didn't bother pointing that out. She just stared at the picture.
The teenager glared back up at her off of the page, eyes solemn and somehow dark. He had black hair and wore an old-fashioned suit, and even though the page was quite old he seemed remarkably alive, even through the faded ink and yellowed paper.
Beware of Ragamuffin, the caption read in big, sweeping letters.
The woman was snapped out of her trance by her associate's low whistle.
"That is one creepy kid," he said, seeming mildly impressed. The woman snorted, carefully pulling the picture free from the file.
"It's hardly a kid." She picked the piece of paper up and held it out to him, only touching it with the tips of her nails as if it was something dirty. "Take this and have the sketch artists go to work," she instructed, and the man eagerly took the picture, still scanning it.
"Creepy," he repeated, grinning, and the woman resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
"Two victims," she muttered to herself, turning her chair in a slow circle as she thought. "Two in one night, and he's getting more violent. This is bad. God only knows what he's up to now."
"Just tell her you love her, Damon!" Ragamuffin yelled, then sullenly scooped out another spoonful of ice cream. He was onto his third tub, and was increasingly thankful that Taxidermy was determined to keep up with Lenore's sugar cravings. There were still at least five cartons left, and he was pretty sure he'd be through all of them before the night was out.
"What's this show even. . . the Vampire Diaries? God, that's just. . . ooh, Damon, that has got to hurt. . ."
The man began to leave the office, still scouring the picture, when a soft but firm ahem from the woman stopped him.
"And the good news. . ?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.
"Right!" he said, perking up. "You know that Dullahan that's been knocking around the southern half of the city?"
The woman nodded, still awaiting the point of this. The phrase 'this better be good' hung, unsaid, in the air between them.
"Well, it turned up the other day, beaten to a pulp and dunked in a swamp."
That got her attention. The woman sat up a little straighter, leaning forwards oh-so-slightly. She was practically jumping at this. "Dullahan aren't something to sneeze at. Any idea what was tossing him around?"
The man's smile widened. "That's just it. It hasn't been speaking since it was brought into custody, but when field agents first came across it, it was cussing out a vampire."
The woman smiled. It was a thin, small smile, hardly a smile at all, but it was a smile nonetheless. "Now that is interesting. Think you can get it to talk about where this vampire is?"
"Not willingly, but we can make it wish it was willing."
"Whatever it takes," the woman said softly, then delved back into her papers.
"Wow. This lady really knows what she's talking about."
Ragamuffin wondered if it was the blood rushing to his head or the fact that he was watching upside-down that made what was happening on the screen seem so impressive. After all, people had to deal with kids every day. Why would it be special when this. . . supernanny did it? Well, other than the fact that she was doing it without actually hitting the kids, which would have been the preferred method back when he was young. What was it that people used to say? Right, 'spare the rod and spoil the child.' He was pretty happy to have left that particular aspect of his century behind.
A pause, filled with the slurping sound of half-melted ice cream being licked off of someone's fingers. Then, "I wonder if she could give me a hand with Lenore sometime. . ."
BVQA: I haven't watched any of the shows mentioned. I relied heavily on the internet.
Chicky: I read the four Vampire Diaries books a few years ago, so… I don't know how much is the same versus different.
