@a-kitten-with-claws
When darkness fell, and the clouds moved in like soldiers in the night; when the garish light of day was conquered once more; the monsters of Los Angeles came out to play. Velius watched the rats run their race, then scuttle to their homes once the clock struck five. They changed their skins and emerged young, glamorous, ready to worship at the altar of sin. Velius could not wait to be their new god.
He grinned from the pitch blackness of a downtown alley, and fashioned himself his favorite body decked in designer style. It was easy to mimic them - humans in their pretty flesh cages - and he rather liked to. One, brown, thick hand ran down his chest, fingers sliding delicately over the pale damask pattern on his vest. His eyes gleamed. This night, he would find another soul, one truly worth collecting.
Velius stepped into the routine chaos of downtown L.A. and reveled in navigating around the silver giants made of glass and steel. He let his hands graze the thigh or neck of a stranger, but would be gone when they turned to see who touched them. Window shopping. None sparked his interest, however, until he saw him.
A young man with long, blond, smooth hair down his back and eyes so blue, they reminded him of the color of heaven’s sky. Perhaps he was worthless, but Velius was willing to find out. He stepped casually, mortally, after the blond man. Into a hotel - a rather nice one, though it wasn’t exactly the Ritz-Carlton - and down to the bar they went. Who this mystery man was meeting, Velius wondered. He could a patient creature.
He chose to sit at the opposite end of the bar so that he might observe and decide if this man was what he was after. But the man ordered a light beer, and Velius rolled his eyes. A woman - terribly plain-looking - approached the stranger, and shook his hand. A cross hung around her neck. Enough. He wasn’t the one.
It was then that Velius noticed another. What a lovely one. In her face there was classic beauty, yes, but something else there as well. Something sweet, something which drew his senses to her. She sat not directly next to him, but close enough that he might turn his bearded face toward her and cast a charming grin her way. Accent hard to pin, a mix of the Indian man he appeared to be and something terribly sophisticated, he sat tall and asked, “I’m afraid I’ve been stood-up,” he lied with centuries of practice. “I had planned to buy at least one lady a drink tonight. Would you mind very much if it were you?” The low tone of his voice floated across the gap, smooth, like oil was smooth. Slick.
