Chapter 7: Chapter 7: Presence
Vampire Rule N°6: Being Alucard is the goal, not the starting point.
. . . . . . . . .
'It sure is nice waking next to somebody.'
These were her very first thoughts when she woke up, eyes still closed and enjoying the way her scalp was being gently massaged by those long, nimble fingers.
There was something stupidly amazing about it, the way she was being held, the sheer safety and comfort that offset any possible complaint she might have with their pretty darn bold sitting arrangement.
Yes, this was the life.
"Max." A calm, soothing voice called out between two caresses, further lulling her to sleep.
John chuckled, and she felt it rumbling pleasently in his chest.
What was even more pleasant was the way he cupped her cheeks, indulging her with soft, lazy kisses that truly did nothing to help calm her heart.
*Groans*
"You've turned me into a sappy b*tch," She growled, but still stayed glued to his now warm body, "I'll make you pay for that."
Another chuckle.
"I'm sure you will," The culprit said with a fondness he didn't bother hiding, "But you need to wake up, sweetheart."
"Don't call me that," She complained, "It's too condescending."
"Honey?" He tried.
"Too old school."
"Babe?"
"Too new school."
"Is it even a thing?" He asked, his voice betraying his curiosity.
"I don't know, can I go back to sleep?" She whined, opening her eyes and regretting instantly, looking this good should be illegal and she was ready to die on that hill, "Darn."
"What?"
"Nothing," There was no point in feeding his ego, he was already a bit too cocky for his own good, "I can't believe I fell asleep like this."
"I'm not complaining, you were really cute." He whisped, as if he was telling her a secret.
"Shut up." She smiled, but her face fell soon after, "You need to go, right?"
"No, I should've left half an hour ago," He grinned, "But I didn't have your number, so there was that."
"My shift end in a few hours, no chance I could convince you to wait?" She looked at him, looking more vulnerable than she'd ever allow herself to be, but he seemed to bring out the mushiest, most embarrassing parts of her.
"Mine starts in a few." He sounded genuinly regretful, "Maybe another time?"
As long as you don't throw me away, she wanted to say, but wisely kept her mouth shut.
She reache into her pocket to grab her pen, then feeling a bit unreasonable, she grabbed his hand and wrote her number on his skin, doing her best to make it as painful as possible without drawing blood.
'I'll let him have his revenge later on,' She smirked, thinking about all sorts of devious thing they could get up to when she wasn't supposed to be working.
Unfortunately, he didn't budge, as if he was made of solid stone.
"You're no fun, I hope you know that." She huffed, and absolutely did not blush when he was suddenly only a few centimeters away from her face.
"I can be a lot of fun, believe me."
And just like that, he was gone, leaving her alone in the diner to contemplate her choices.
. . .
John Harker was a happy man...undead...he was a happy humanoid mosquito.
His hunger finally subsided, somewhat, and he had sowed the seeds of what might grow to become a stable source of blood and entertainment for him.
Call him an arsehole, but he couldn't help but see the value in his relationships, even if said relationship was that of a predator and a particularly pretty snack.
It was a fair trade, as far as he was concerned.
He gets blood, an increasingly dependant and thus loyal asset, and a whole lot of fun.
She gets stability, safety, and the affection of someone beyond her reach.
Everybody wins.
'I'm just glad I got there before my sandwich got f*cked.' He thought, not caring about said sandwhich's so-called 'boyfriend' for even a second.
As far as he knew, that child would be the start of a long series of disapointments that would end up with Max becoming a less disgusting, equally promiscious younger version of her horrendous mother.
This kind of life would leave her lonely, filthy and might even let her perpetuate the cycle with a fatherless child of her own.
That, or she turns into a bull dyke.
Or worse, both things could happen at the same time.
'Yes, I'll make sure she has a happier life.'
If said happiness involved her being under his grasp, who could blame him?
He took a cab to get him home in that sweet, disease ridden, crime infested East End where the only game being played was one of murder, greed and self-destruction.
John planned to get back to his crackhouse before the sun showed it's burning self up to roast him up, maybe raid a few corner boys if the occasion showed itself.
And he almost did, if he didn't hear a pained groan.
Now that wasn' that uncommon, living in Brideshead with enhanced sense meant picking up on all sorts of cries, groans and moans of people in more or less distress.
But this one was different.
He knew that voice, how could he forget it?
It's the voice of the man who swindled him on his very first night in the streets of Gotham.
The one and only Bubbles, expert dopefiend and the indirect cause of half a dozen illegal drug-seizures, losing a bunch of gangsters a nice sum of money.
'Oh boy, he looks rough,' The vampire thought, almost wincing when he saw the state of the man,'Didn't it was possible, he was already rocking the weary crackhead look before, but now that's just depressing.'
At this point, his face was just one giant bruise.
The poor man was barely able to limp his way forward, if it wasn't already obvious that he got mugged out of his already meager possesions, then he'd attract all of them East End hyenas looking for an easy meal.
John approached him, silently getting down from his vantage point in the poorly lit rooftop of some low income housing building, he creeped his way behind the man for the sake of practise if nothing else.
If he could sneak up on a veteran hustler, he could sneak up on pretty much everybody.
'Darn, I'm getting good at this.' He praised himself when he managed to stand right behind his injured not-quite-friend before clearing his throat to get his attention.
"Who?! Wait, Johnny boy? How the hell did your white ass get here?!" Bubbles all but jumped away from him, further straining himself in the process.
Great, now he was feeling bad for him.
A lesser man would be crying at this point, but Bubbles was no mere man.
He was a fiend, blessed with crackhead strenght and the resilience of a needy junkie, forged through being pierced by a thousand needles of dubious quality.
"Easy there," John said, trying to pacify the older man, but he got nothing but a few groans and panicked looks, whoever did that to him has hurt more than his body, "I need you to calm down, we need to get you some help."
"NO! Just leave me alone! Why won't you leave me alone!" Bubbles roared, eyes wide and bloodshot, but to John it sounded more like pained whining than anything else.
'There is no reasoning with the man, not while he's in this state,' He thought, now considering using this opportunity to test his newest power.
Presence must be ideal for this kind of situation, and the cost was meager.
Using it was surprisingly simple, as easy as moving his hand or looking somewhere, instincts engrained deeply in his being guided him and he was wise enough to follow.
In that instant, he felt the many possibilities his ability opened, the control it gave him was almost intoxicating.
For some blood, he could push Bubbles' fear to new heights, he could foster his rage and make him lash out, or appease him and give him some much needed peace.
John could awe, intimidate and influence on a level most people could only dream about.
"Bubbles, calm down and tell me what happened," He said, feeling the small amount of blood vanishing while his target's posture relaxed more and more. "I mean you no harm and you know it, right?"
"...Yes, I—I think so." The battered and bruised man mumbled in between two long, calming breaths, "I'm sorry I lashed out...it's—it's been a lot lately, even more than usual."
"It's alright," John said, putting even more power and blood into the ability, more than he ever intended, "You can trust me, I'm here to help you."
[Blood Points: 50/200]
'Bloody hell,' He cursed, knowing full well what just happened.
He got a taste of power and drowned in it, disregarding logic just to have a bit more fun.
In other words, he got lost in the sauce.
The affects were also rather...obvious.
*sob* *sob*
"Thanks kid, I'm really sorry—shit aien't right, I'm telling you, it aien't right." The man looked like he just met Martin Luther King, and wasted no time before telling him all about his plight.
John listened silently, only nodding every once in a while to encourage him.
"So if I understood correctly, some doped up fiend has been following you around, beating the snot out of you and taking all your money and junk."
"And my shoes! Nigga took my shoes!" Bubbles added.
"I see."
He thought about for a few moments, weighting the pros and cons of doing something about it.
For one, helping out a junkie was universally recognized as an exercise in futility.
These folks are virtually useless, spending nearly all their time getting high or looking for a way to get high. They lived and died by the corners, and would sooner die than give up the needle no matter what they say.
Most of them do die too, only a lucky few can break free.
Helping him out would also set up a troublesome precedent.
John couldn't keep giving a shit when it wasn't his turn to give a shit, or he'd never grow out of this garbage dump of a neighbourhood.
Let alone reach the limits of his potential as a vampire.
Every minute spent helping others was one he could've spent making money, hunting for blood or making his unlife that much more comfortable.
'On the other hand, Bubbles has already been a useful asset.' He thought, looking at the injured man rubbing his swollen face with a pained wince.
He was a reliable source of information, did a wonderful job snitching on every street-level dealer in the area, and that was only in exchange for some help carrying scraps.
If he was truly dependent on him, if he somehow managed to get him on his payroll, then there was no telling how profitable it could get.
Having eyes and ears in the streets, an invisible agent beyond all suspicion, who would suspect a known drugfiend in this business As long as he had his ten dollars, the hoppers wouldn't look at him at him twice.
Bubbles was also rather resourceful, more crafty than most folks out there, he'd call him enterprising if he had more ambitions than getting high and not dying.
There was also his own opinion of the man.
'I like this idiot,' He thought, it didn't have strategic value, but if he ever was to help someone than it better be a likeable person.
And Bubbles was as likable as one could be without having tits.
'What should I do?' He asked himself, but already knew the answer…
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Hello folks! Hamtaro here with another chapter.
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