Have a rewritten tidbit from chapter one of why do ancient vampires fall in love ?
Stoker hadn’t been the problem-solving type since he got himself exiled from the Vampire Court. In fact, he’s been far better at creating problems for himself in recent years than he’s been at fixing them for others.
A year ago, he wouldn’t have been caught dead at a queer bar, yet here he was swirling a bloody Mary around in a champagne glass, getting lost in his own thoughts again. He didn’t think when he got the tap on the shoulder. Didn’t care what monster he was flirting with, didn’t give a damn about their gender as they fumbled their way into the room he was staying in later that night. He didn’t question the pale blue skin as he was pinned to the cheap bedsheets, and not once did he look at those crooked teeth and wonder if he should leave while the other monster slept soundly beside him.
He had nothing better to do after all. He refused to arrive any earlier than on time for this wretched community service he’d been dumped with at that embarrassment of a high school.
Monster High. How awfully vague.
He woke to a cold arm wrapped around his waist and a thick clump of pearly white locks tickling his shoulder. The other monster snored like a hog, their mouth dangling open and drool dribbling out onto Stoker’s back.
He wrinkled his nose in disgust and swiftly transformed into a bat so that he could wriggle free from the other’s deathly grip. He reached the window, which was wide open, plastic blinds flapping madly in the wind. It was like they knew he’d leave before they woke up. He glanced back at them, their face now buried in the mattress.
That hair. He’s definitely seen similar before, but where?
He shook the thoughts from his head and continued towards the general directions he’d been given for the school.
The Headmistress wasn’t nearly as…preachy as he’d originally thought. She was polite and professional, but there was always that underlying wariness to her tone; she knew him, knew of him, and made it clear that any further incidents involving Dracula’s little brat and her gaggle of lesser monster friends would mean an immediate life-sentencing in the blood dungeon.
He’d deny the shiver that ran down his spine until the end of time at the mere mention of that thing.
She’d led him to the staffroom first, and that was where the real problem decided to make himself known.
“Alright, Stoker, these are your new co-workers!” She’d grinned enthusiastically.
The first thing Stoker had noticed was the lack of fellow vampires, which he’d scoffed at-inclusivity apparently didn’t count the species that (rightfully) scoffed at the idea of all monsters being equals. The second was the presence of a monster with pale-blue skin, crooked teeth, and thick pearly-white locks, who watched him with wide eyes and a strained smile.
He approached him after a beat of awkward silence, the same hand that had been wrapped around his waist mere hours ago reaching out for a handshake.
“You can just call me Rotter, I teach Dead Languages!”
Stoker lets his eyes flicker down to the jewel on the other monster’s scarf for a second before he plasters on a smile and shakes his hand. He recognises the jewel, knows that it’s unusually warm without having to touch it.
He doesn’t know how he knows this, though; he keeps getting a strange wave of deja vu around this ‘Rotter’ monster. He makes a mental note to avoid the other as much as possible while he greets the others.
annaxmalina
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ellievsbear
