callouses and fangs

SIMONE ASHLEY photographed by Rebecca Spencer

aamon  felt  a  certain   self-important   responsibility  to  get  mal  out  of  the  house  around  a  full  moon  —  he  was  a   relic   compared  to  her,  even  if  the  both  of  them  looked   young  and  spritely,   and  he  had  allowed  himself  to  fall  into  the   full  moon  blues   enough  times  to  know  what  they  looked  like.  "well,  you  know  me...  gotta  let  my  pernicious  energy  out  somewhere,  lest  it  come  pourin'  out  on  an  undeservin'  gas  station  attendant  or  sum',"  aamon  shrugs,  taking  a  gleeful  sip  of  his  diet  coke  before  leaning  forward  on  his  elbows.  "i  almost  got  fired  a  while  back  for  punching  some  guy's  nose  into  his  brain,  but  i  quickly  figured  out  it  was  more  fun  t'  just  cut  their  breaks  n'  read  about  'em  in  the  news  a  week  later.  i'm  just  surprised  no  one's  caught  on."  aamon  chuckles,  ever  the  miscreant;  toying  somewhat  valiantly  in  the  lives  of  humans  like  a  bored  house  cat  toys  with  a  dead  roach.  "i'll  keep  that  in  mind.  seems  like  you  could  use  some  fun,  eh?  ya  seem  a  little  worse  for  wear,  over  there.  been  climbin'  too  many  cliff  sides  or  sum'?"

"Pernicious? Do you have word a day toilet paper or something?" Mal repeated but there was a faint smile on her lips. Just the idea of it was entertaining enough to shift her out of her absolute hopelessness. Just barely though. She still felt as though everything was pointless and gravity was growing heavier by the moment. For a moment though, that descent was arrested. "You're a degen." She shook her head. Then again, what did she know? She was still climbing on to her humanity even though it was peeling away every time she looked in the mirror and saw herself exactly the same. Mal didn't bother to look around the diner; it was always safer to mind ones own business in Blackwater. Her voice still lowered. "I fucked up. Thought I could maybe resist it or go longer without it. Like maybe being older gave me more mastery over it." Mal let out a bitter laugh. "I was in the woods. No humans then no problem, right?" Then desperation took over and her actions were more violent than she thought herself capable of. Aamon could pick up the pieces of her fragmented story, Mal couldn't handle talking through it.

        "𝚈𝙴𝙰𝙷   ,"   𝚁𝚄𝚂𝚃   𝙼𝚄𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙳   ,   𝚅𝙾𝙸𝙲𝙴   low,   “guess   you’re   right.”   he   glanced   toward   the   door,   half-expecting   one   of   his   deputies   to   come   through   with   a   problem   that   needed   solving,   or   maybe   an   old   friend.   maybe   even   a   familiar   stranger.   he   wasn’t   picky.   there   was   always   work   to   be   done.   always   something   pulling   him   back   into   the   thick   of   it.   but   tonight   ?   tonight   there   was   nothing   but   silence   and   the   slow   burn   of   whiskey   ,   leaving   a   trail   down   his   throat   that   did   little   to   ease   the   weight   in   his   chest.   his   fingers   tapped   again   ,   more   out   of   habit   than   hope.   "just…   one   more,"   he   murmured.   "then   i'll   head   out."

"The food is amazing of course, but then this guy comes up to our table. He's like in his eighties and using a walker and everything. We all get a little tense cause you know, this is rural Kentucky. Turns out he saw our climbing gear and he used to climb. We ended up back at his place and he brought out some whiskey he'd made. It was the best I've ever had, made by this guy who once climbed Everest." Mal chuckled. Mal still remembered the taste. The dimension was unimaginable. She'd never found anything that compared. She raised her glass of whisky to her lips and took a small sip but her smile faded. "Or maybe it was the time and place." Not that she'd ever get to experience that sort of carefree joy again.

"(  ...  )  and...  maybe  a  strawberry  milkshake.  with  some  sprinkles  on  there,"  aamon  finishes  listing  his   exorbitant   order  to  the  diner  waitress,  who  gives  him  a  wide-eyed  look,   expertly  disguised  behind  a  polite  smile,  before  she  returns  to  the  kitchen  to  pass  on  their  ticket  to  the  chef.  rubbing  his  hands  together  excitedly  for  the  prospect  of  food,  aamon  wiggles  his  brows  playfully  at  mal  across  the  table,  an  ever-charming  grin  on  his  face.  it  had  been  4  days  since  the  full  moon,  since  he'd   fed,   and  he  was  still  pointedly  avoiding  thinking  about  it.  almost  200  years  on  this  planet,   most   of  them  as  a  vampire,  and  he  still  couldn't  fully  cope  with  the  thing  he  had  to  do  at   least   once  a  month  just  to  survive.  but  would  he  ever  talk  about  it   ??   unlikely.   he  preferred  to  just  ignore  the  hell  out  of  it  until  the  feelings  subsided.  the  presence  of  friends  helped,  though,  of  course—  which  is  why  he  was  eager  for  a  late-night  dinner  date  with  mal.  "how  you  been  doin'?  gym  things  goin'  well?"  he  asks  her,  sipping  mindlessly  on  his  iced  tea.  "club's  doin'  alright.  guys  around  here  been  gettin'  more  and  more  handsy,  so…  i've  been  cuttin'  a  lot  of  breaklines,   stealin'  a  lot  of  spark  plugs,   you  know  how  it  is."  he  shrugs  playfully,  smirking  at  the  scandalous  confession  of  his  vengeful  deeds.   there  isn't  anything  he  wouldn't  do  to  protect  the  garden  girls.

Mal slumped in her seat, the lights of the diner just too bright. What was wrong with a nice walk in the woods with only the stars to guide them? Her dark mood would hopefully ease the farther away they got from the full moon. As soon as that tainted blood cycled out of her body. She'd ordered a vegetable quesadilla appetizer with all the enthusiasm of a disinterested housecat who was only present by virtue of being small enough to pick up and put in a papoose for Instagram purposes. But she knew better than to argue with Aamon. "I don't know how you can handle working there." She grumbled. "I'd have committed at least three felons dealing with those assholes." She had a short fuse for certain individuals though. "Whatever, as long as you keep them safe I guess." Mal sighed. "But as soon as you switch to outright violence, you can call me. It sounds fun for bust a couple noses."

"How long do you think it'll take for these people to sweat off all that grease paint?" Half-joking, half-not, with his tone mostly flat. "I'm giving most of these people an hour before they look truly ghoulish."

"I think that's the point. Why else would the hay ride be so late in the evening?" Should she have been waiting in the fields? As one of those monsters? "How much would I need to pay you to get your face painted, though?" She glanced at the booth, already wondering whether her mood would be lifted by something whimsical applied on top of her reapplied sunscreen.