Alex really needs that key. Piper is totally unimpressed by her nocturnal intruder. Or is she?
The street was pretty nondescript, just a newly gentrified side street to a fairly busy "edgy" road that itself forked off the proper, always jammed, main road. She hadn't been here since that night; the night she'd died.
The street, only about 150 yards long but curved and wider than usual, was almost completely dark, save for the blunt white light coming from that street lamp right in front of her old lounge window. She remembered that one well, it had annoyed her to no end when she lived here especially considering it was the only working light on the whole street. No light was visible inside the house, either upstairs or downstairs. Yet she could perceive a presence from her vantage point across the street. The occupier was likely asleep and all the front windows closed.
She circled to the quiet end of the street, the one that backed off into the crescent that eventually ran parallel to it. Looking around and finding it completely empty, she stealthily climbed atop the long, snaking brick fence separating the properties that backed into each other. With sure steps, she speedily ran across the ledge, something she would've never been able to pull off in her previous, sedentary life. With the satisfaction of newly acquired ease, she jumped inside of what used to be her back garden and peeked around. She noticed with inordinate irritation that the fig tree was gone. Instead, the lawn looked actually tended to and there was a deck added to the back of the kitchen now, with matching chairs and a table with umbrella. Nicely gentrified, she thought, slinking through the shadows.
She looked up. At least the study window was cracked open. She could try her cat burglar moves, but it was worth going for the obvious first. She tried the kitchen door and – surprise – the handle easily turned. No alarm went off. She rolled her eyes. Seriously? Gentrification didn't automatically mean safety wasn't a concern anymore. Most likely the new owner was a suburban transplant who hadn't realised that the recently hyped area smoothly blended into the hood just a couple of blocks away.
The kitchen was pretty much as she remembered it, except now the northern wall was adorned with a large picture of a tropical beach. She shot up an eyebrow, finding it a tad kitschy. As she softly made her way up the stairs she noticed that the ratty carpet had been ripped up, revealing the wooden stairs instead. That was a nice touch, she would've done it too, had the property ever actually belonged to her.
Once she reached the bathroom she stopped for a moment and leaned her forehead against the cool tiles, trying to stave off a bout of nausea. The intense scent of blood her newly improved sense of smell perceived just across the wall felt almost overwhelming. It was, for want of a better term, good quality. Her nostrils flared and her taste buds tingled, excited by the delicious scent. But she wasn't here to feed, she reminded herself. She really wouldn't do that.
When she finally put her head through the open bedroom door, it was dark in there but the new owner had not closed the curtains. In fact, it was quite clear, even in the low light coming from the neighbor across the fence (the one who never slept) that the new owner had not even put up curtains. And that, curiously, awaked different senses.
She steadied her nerves, trying to keep the right focus. The key, if she remembered correctly, was in the little front pocket of a pair of ratty jeans she'd left hanging inside the bedroom closet. Now, hoping the new owner had not gone overboard with the cleaning – which the changes in the garden showed was a real danger – if that hadn't happened, then she was only a few steps away from her goal. And then she could finally take care of her number one problem in a civilized manner.
The new owner was definitely in the bedroom. The scent of blood had wreaked havoc with her senses since she had stepped into the house but she had managed until now. This close she found it a lot harder to contain herself. Without even concentrating she could feel the steady pulsation of blood inside a sleeping body. It was a young body, though not a child's. A young, healthy body, judging by the relaxed and even circulation. Worst of all, she just knew it was a woman. And the complicated matters.
She steadied herself again and stepped inside the bedroom. Not a creak. Another step. Her arm extended slowly, fingers grabbing the armoire's handle. Softly, she rolled it open. Now for the hard part. This woman had a lot of clothes! The closet was crammed full. Instinctively, she pushed her glasses atop of her head, going by touch rather than vision. She pawed through the woman's clothes, stepping halfway in. She let her nose do a bit of scouting. Yes, there was a faint familiar scent coming from within. She kept looking and finally she found the jeans. She inserted a stealthy hand inside the pocket and there it was, cool to the touch, firm edges, metallic.
"Freeze!" she felt the cold barrel of a gun pressing aggressively against the back of her head before she heard the words. She had to chuckle at her lack of awareness. She must've left this feeding thing weaken her too much. "Do you find a gun to your head funny?" a voice behind her admonished in an irritated tone. "Hands up where I can see them."
"Look," Alex started, having amiably lifted her hands, "it's not what it looks like. Let me –"
"Did I say you could speak? Turn around slowly."
Alex did as she was asked, coming face to face with the previously sleeping woman. She was a lick shorter and had a surprisingly innocent face for someone who had not hesitated to put a gun to an intruder's head. Except, Alex thought, she's the real intruder. She couldn't suppress a smirk, which caused the woman to shove the gun in her face.
"You think this is a joke? Drop what you have in your hand."
Alex sighed and let the key drop to the floor with a clang. She's ripped out that stupid beige carpet from the bedroom as well, Alex mused, arching an eyebrow. Good move.
"Move and I'll shoot," the woman said, walking back slowly, gun still pointed at Alex's head. She switched on the light, causing Alex to wince.
The two of them exchanged a long look, each gauging the other. Cute blonde, Alex thought with a wry smile. The woman wearing pastel PJs was still pointing the gun at her. Taller than me?! That doesn't happen very often, the blonde mused, her eyes passing over Alex's tight black jeans with a pang of envy. Finally, she looked at the key, scrunching her cute, dark blonde brow in confusion.
"What's that key for?"
"I used to live here," Alex offered, "before you. I left this key in a pair of jeans in the armoire. It's the key to my storage unit."
The woman nodded slowly. The ratty jeans that almost fit her.
"I remember the jeans. I always wondered who they belonged to." She smiled and lowered her gun, giving Alex an appraising look. That's really nice hair, she found herself thinking. I wonder what product she uses. "Could you not, like, approach me during the day? I'd've given it back. It wouldn't have had to come to this," she motioned with the gun and then casually stuck it at the back of her PJs.
Alex shrugged, unable to suppress a small smile. The blonde really was too cute for her own good.
"You're gonna get yourself killed one day," the other woman continued, shaking her head. "Communication –"
"A bit late for that," Alex chuckled, wistful smile floating on her lips.
"What was that?" the blonde was confused by all the private smiles Alex was flashing. This one has a full party going on in her head, she thought. She was feeling uneasy. Her hand twitched near the gun, wondering if she had been too cocky when she's lowered it. Her eyes were riveted to the woman's hands, resting calmly – by all appearances – next to her thighs. A tribal tattoo curled halfway up her right forearm and the blonde found herself thinking it was kinda sexy. Her brows furrowed and her eyes shot back up to Alex's inscrutable face.
"Nothing. But you should take your own advice, you know? You left the kitchen door open. This isn't suburbia."
"Clearly not! Luckily, I'm a good shot."
Alex's smirk returned. Under different circumstances she'd like to keep the blonde talking but right now her vision almost doubled from hunger. She slightly leaned against the armoire, trying to keep the returning nausea at bay. The blonde continued speaking in an irritated tone. Smooth work, Alex admonished herself.
"Again with your mockery. Did nobody tell you not to deride people with guns? Like you said, this isn't suburbia."
"Are you sure that gun makes you safe?" With the nausea starting to subside again, Alex decided a little play was in order.
The blonde tilted her head and looked at Alex, crossing her arms over her chest, legs planted in a confident stance. She was as threatening as anyone wearing bunny slippers could be.
"What an odd thing to say! Of course it does."
Before she knew what was happening, Alex moved to her side, pulled out the gun from her PJs and trained it on her. The woman's eyes went huge. She instinctively put her hands up and backed off until she hit the wall.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Where… what the fuck did you just do?!"
"See?" Alex smiled smugly, lowering the gun and handing it back to her, butt first, "not so safe, after all."
The blonde snatched the gun and immediately trained it back on Alex, eyes wild, hands slightly trembling. She caught herself and tightened her grip.
"Who are you and what the fuck do you want from me?" she shouted, her voice taking a high, metallic edge.
"I really just wanted the key. And I'm Alex." Smooth again. Getting a gun pointed at your face twice in 5 minutes is reaching a new level in fucking things up…
"Are you like a kung fu fighter or something?"
Alex laughed.
"Not really." When the woman didn't look satisfied with the answer she went on, "I import stuff."
"You what? What stuff? Hair products?" The blonde asked with a snide smile, her knuckles shining white under the light coming from the naked bulb. She hasn't invested in a shade, Alex thought idly. Her eyes traveled to the window, thought which she could clearly see inside the neighbor's kitchen. And he could see us right now. Wonder what he'd think, burglary or kinky sex? She shook her head. Focus, Alex, focus
"Stuff. Do you really want to talk about my job?"
"Listen, lady, I'm the one asking questions here. You came into MY house and gave me some bullshit story after which you disarmed me and pointed MY gun at me. Don't you think I should be getting some truthful answers?"
Alex shrugged. She didn't think this woman would really shoot her. In her rather vast experience with trendy blondes, they were all talk and less with the bravery, regardless of the subject. Then again, she wasn't sure how damaging getting shot would be in her very weakened state. I really shouldn't have put off feeding this far, she internally sighed. Maybe dares would be the end of her…
"What's that supposed to mean?" the woman mocked Alex's shrug.
"It's a shrug."
"Yeah, Captain Obvious, I know what a shrug is. What did you mean by shrugging? All this time you've been smirking and mocking me, pretending to be friendly, all the while plotting god knows what. It's time to come clean."
"Or?"
"Or I'll call the police, simple as that."
"OK," Alex opened her hands, ready for a new round of negotiations, "how about we don't involve the police? I'll tell you what you want to know and you let me go."
Slowly, the blonde's face scrunched into a crafty smile.
"Are you like… a smuggler or something? You don't want to talk about what stuff you're supposedly importing and when I mention the police you start to back off."
Alex laughed, trying to channel all her charm. She really would have liked to spend some time with this woman once her energy was restored. Not to actually answer her nosy questions – not truthfully, anyway – but for fun. The blonde had started to show some potential.
"I really can't gauge when you're bullshitting me," the blonde frowned and brushed a hand over her face, finding herself quite unable to focus and resist Alex's charm. How fucked up is that? She thought. It was kinda hot and kinda… not. What if she's like a female Damien or something? It was absurd, yes, but who the fuck moves like that?! "Also, I'm starting to think that maybe I don't want to know too much about you. You're giving off some… I don't know, some sort of off vibes," she said, waving her hand in slight confusion. "So how about I walk you to the door and you leave quietly?"
"I'm fine with that," Alex agreed.
Only she wasn't really fine. She was, instead, quite aware of her natural charm's effect on the blonde. Even in her weakened state, when it had taken most of her strength to disarm the slight blonde, that charm worked its magic to an extent. But the buzzing in her head, which she had had for the past week – way too long, really; she was always pushing herself to dangerous limits – was now starting to cloud her thinking process. Once she wasn't in control of that… well, she was too new to this to know what could happen. But she had a pretty good idea it wouldn't be good, especially for humans; especially for humans she felt a very human attraction to. It seemed that when hungry all her senses shot up to 11. Right now it took all her energy not to look at the vein throbbing in the blonde's smooth, slender, maddening neck. She could already feel the taste of warm blood on her parched lips (iron and wine, like the band); the taste of young flesh giving in to her extra sharp teeth, the blonde's body bending with a loud moan… It was so close, it would take her half a second to –
As if reading her thoughts – Alex smiled internally at that – the blonde chucked her the key. She caught it in midair and smoothly transferred it to her pocket.
"Thanks. See you," she smiled at the blonde and left the premises so quickly, the blonde did a double take.
"Uh, yea… see you."
Later on, Piper wasn't able to figure out why she'd said that. Except that she knew she really hoped to see that very strange Alex again. For scientific reasons, of course. With a cross in her pocket. Or a dreidl. That would be less conspicuous.