Emily leafed through a sticky magazine (doing her best not to wonder why it was sticky) as the absolute monotony of the DMV droned on around her. Alex had left to grab some coffee for the two of them when it became quite apparent that they weren't going to be seen any time soon, leaving Emily to her own devices when it came to entertaining herself. Which, perhaps, wasn't the best idea...
As she flipped through the pages, Emily felt eyes on her and glanced up from the magazine and found the person staring at her to be a young boy who was scrutinizing her like it was the first time he'd ever seen a vampire.
When she locked eyes with the boy, he instantly brightened. "Are you a vampire?" he asked, loud enough to be heard over the din of other voices and the distant crackle of the radio.
She sighed, preemptively weary, and prayed to a God she didn't believe in for the strength to make it through what would surely be an interrogation of epic proportions. "I am," she replied, flashing a grin so false it would've put Barbie to shame.
He nodded slowly, as if he'd suspected as much. "Do you drink blood?" he asked next.
Before Emily could answer, the boy's mother arrived on the scene with a snap of "Jake! You can't just ask things like that of a complete stranger – it's rude." She turned to Emily to apologize, but the words stalled on her tongue. "Emily!"
"Hello, Kristy," Emily mumbled, decidedly not amused by the turn this day had taken.
"I'm so sorry about Jake – he's going through a phase where he's really interested in vampires, but it comes out at the most inopportune moments." She offered a polite, yet nervous smile. "I'm so sorry about the whole..." She trailed off, gesturing vaguely to indicate the situation at hand. "You know, the whole...turning thing."
Emily winced. She'd kind of been hoping to avoid having this conversation at all, but especially with Kristy who was, afterall, the reason she'd been turned at all. (Or, at least, that was what she was telling herself.) "Don't worry about it," she said, falsely gracious.
Kristy seemed like she would've liked to argue that, but didn't have the chance before Jake once again piped up. "Are you like really old?"
"Jake!" Kristy hissed, because that was impolite to ask regardless of whether someone was a vampire or not.
"No, I'm not," Emily snapped, "And I'm in the middle of a very interesting article on..." She paused, glanced down at the magazine page where she'd been distracted. "...slow metabolism," she finished, though even she wasn't buying her lie that the article was interesting. "So, if you don't mind...?"
Jake did not, however, seem like he was done quizzing her. Thankfully, it was at that moment that the screen flashed Now Serving: Number 47. Rather than say goodbye, she flashed them a quick view of her paper slip declaring her to be number forty-seven before grabbing her purse and dashing off to the appropriate window.
After getting about halfway through the process of registering herself as a new vampire, Emily had rather unceremoniously been escorted to a dimly lit room in the back of the building and then left to wait and no one would tell her what was going on.
She couldn't have said how long she'd been waiting – immortality tended to warp your sense of the passage of time – before the door opened to admit a familiar face. Brows leaping up her forehead, she exclaimed, "Clyde?"
"Hello, Darling," he drawled. "You've really stepped in it this time, haven't you?"
"Excuse me?" He gestured vaguely in her direction and she took the gesture to mean the vampire thing. And rather than launch into an explanation of how and why her turning had been anything but her fault, she asked, "Why am I here, Clyde?"
His expression became quite serious then. "You're being recalled."
"Recalled?" she repeated as if hoping this were some kind of joke. "In case you've forgotten, I quit."
"Yes, well, Interpol is in need of your unique and newly acquired skill sets," he explained, as if that cleared things up at all. He leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on the table and resting his hands behind his head, all cocksure and smug in his belief that she'd somehow be unable to resist the allure of returning to Interpol, simply because he'd asked.
Rather than inquire as to what those skill sets were (assuming, quite accurately, that he'd meant vampirism), she instead asked, "How did you even find me?"
He nodded towards her ink-stained fingertips, following having been fingerprinted for the registration process. "Your file has been flagged," was all he said by way of explanation. When her expression remained a stony mask, he continued his explanation as to why she'd been spirited away in the midst of her registration, "I'm putting together a team to infiltrate one of the most wanted weapons dealers in Europe. And I need you on that team."
She stood from her chair and began pacing, hoping to unleash some of her quickly rising temper through physical movement, rather than verbally eviscerating her former boss. "Why me, Clyde? What is so fucking special about me that you're determined to disrupt the civilian life I've spent so long building for myself?"
"Well, I wouldn't be disrupting it if you hadn't gone and gotten yourself turned," he retorted. "I need a vampire for this mission and you're the only one that fits his type..." He visibly braced himself for her reaction, knowing her well enough to anticipate her anger.
She glowered. "Which is a polite way of saying you want me to fuck some terrorist for a profile," she snapped. "Well, too fucking bad, Clyde. I have a life now and I'm happy. I'm not about to risk that because the government asks nicely."
Clyde pursed his lips at that. "Yes, well, you see... The government isn't asking."
