Read me.

It was a chilly October evening, the streetlights cast a yellow glow through Long Island City, bands of teenagers were roaming the hallways and alleys poking at one another's turf, the odd junkie was slumped in a corner muttering to himself, and the streets ran pink with whores. My boots crunched crack-vials and sloshed through oil puddles as I wandered the back streets in search of a pair of humans. I needed a pair specifically, prefrably hispanic teenagers. Spiked wheels, apparently were the ones I wanted. My plan was to find a couple of these gang kids, knock 'em around a little, filling my belly in the process, and in so doing establish my dominance, and their luck to be alive. I then only needed the little punks to take me to their leader (probably a kid himself...bonding him'd be a good idea), and then the dealing could start. I'd calmly explain to them that I have crippled the asian gang in the city and will continue to do so, so their land, resources, clientele, products and whatever else they can get their hands on can be taken -- for a considerable fee, of course. Prosperity for all, ain't it grand?

It's during dealings like these that I regretted being the stranger swathed in rags. I suppose this is what the Nosferatu feel like...sort of. Oh well. I can hope it's at least intimidating. I felt a greedy pawing at the back of my mind, and decided to find something to snack on before I found my prospective employees. With so much feeding to be done, everyone I encountered had a good chance of living. A nice night for everybody.

While wandering around looking for my meal it occurred to me how tremendously crappy my feeding grounds are. God dammit I'm gonna kill that Blackwell. I turned a corner and paused, seeing a small cloud of smoke rising from a nearby park bench. I grinned in spite of myself. Lunch. I backtracked around the block and leapt onto a fire escape, scaling around the corner of the building, and soundlessly onto a tree slightly above my intended victim. I inhaled cautiously, filling my lungs for the first time in several minutes, and smelled marijuana. I nearly laughed. I love watching mortals with their distractions, be they whatever. As for the individual in question, I watched him carefully, quietly, for several minutes.

He was a pale kid, years younger than I would be if I was still breathing - eighteen, maybe nineteen, wearing a black sweater, with short dark hair. I couldn't see his face. I wanted to, and leaned forward for some ridiculous reason. Some other predatory instinct momentarily overrode the drive to seek food with impugnity, and I (idiotic childe!) shook the fucking branch I was perched on. The kid's head looked up sharply, and we were nearly face to face. His dark eyes swallowed me up in their shock, fear, and indignation. He had the longest eyelashes I'd ever seen on a boy. Faster than he could even see me move I pounced on the kid -- his thin, warm frame collapsing to the ground under my own comparable mass.

He yelped briefly at the shock of the attack before the sound was cut off by the penetration of my canines into his warm, inviting flesh. The boy recoiled and then slackened under me, his struggling muscles melting into tender submission. I slipped my arms around him, cradled his head and shoulders and drew him off of the ground. He gave himself over to me, and sighed warmly in my ear. I slipped my fangs out of his throat and the first gush of hot blood washed over my tongue. I could hear, feel, smell, and taste the boy breathe, bleed, and groan into me, every beat of his lush, defiant heart offering more of that indescribable blood. I suckled at his throat more gently than I've ever treated another human being in my entire life. I stopped after just long enough to put him under, and licked the wound, my tongue gently scraping along his soft skin. I sat there a moment with the sleeping mortal in my arms, gazing at that angelic face. There was something about him lying so close to me -- in such immediate danger, but never quite so safe -- that set something off deep inside me. I had no intention of killing this boy, and something about his life, and the gentle, harmless sharing of it, warmed me to my cold extremities.

I picked up my new charge and redeposited him on the bench on which I'd found him. I knelt at his side for a moment, and cast a quick glance around to ensure that I hadn't been spotted, feline eyes piercing the dark corners of the nearby alleys. Slowly pulling off one of the black leather gloves that assist in the masking of my various deformities, I stroked his hair, allowing one blunt claw to trace down the side of his face. Running on instincts I never even knew I had, I leaned forward and my gnarled lips pressed his perfect ones in a moment of sheer electric excitement. I sighed like an amorous teenager as I realized I'd been holding my breath since I was up in that tree. I forced myself to my feet and began to walk away. I stopped for a moment, pausing to consider checking the kid's wallet, but figured I'd let this one stay anonymous...for now. I kept moving, and after some time managed to tear my eyes away from the slumbering form on the bench. I restored as many sensibilities as I could, fighting the impulse to watch him until he woke up, and once again shrouded myself, donning scarf, gloves, and glasses. My meandering path through the night continued, and my mission would as well, as soon as the giddy effects of the drugs in the boy's blood stopped percolating through my brain.

The degree to which I enjoy being a vampire never ceases to amuse or amaze me. My mortal's face danced through my mind for hours yet, and I stumbled through the streets high and contemplative. I am Christian Parker. Life made me into a monster. Mobea made me into an animal. Maybe, someplace deep inside, something still flickers that could be called human. As this occurred to me I laughed softly to myself as I paced the bland brick landscape.