#ar.reading

serena: and you didn't?

rosalia, confused: no, of course i didn't.

serena, also confused, but laughing: what? he totally deserved it! you could've gotten your lick back after he pulled that shit. start like, hissing, turning into smoke, all of that. he would've cried to his stupid mortal momma about it.

rosie was cornered once, long before she met serena. it was her first few years of maturing not only physically, in her mortal body, but as a vampire, as it laid dormant in her dna. her father was finally out of the picture at that point, the human life rosie celebrated with her mother not doing it for him anymore. rosie always wonders where he is these days, but sometimes she'll see him. when a coyote drops a dead field mouse on her doorstep, she knows it's him again. when there's a flyer for a rooftop party between the hours of 9pm to 4am, she recognizes the moniker he's chosen for his dj name. when she's freshly 15 and a random human man tries to bait her into biting him, as a "joke", she knows it's because of what he left inside her when he left for good. whatever. she didn't ask to be born this way. it's not her fault other vampires think she's a joke and humans think she's an exotic little oddball.

rosalia, sitting on serena & leyla's couch, back on the cushions as she is upside down, fringe flipped to tickle the well-kept floor, from this angle serena looks like a giant, a saltwater goddess in a mini skirt: i can't even...

serena, tickling rosie's knee with a freshly dried set of nails: hmm?

rosalia, blood rushing to her head: i can't... do... any of that stuff.

which is true. she's never tried shape shifting, never read anyone's mind, never used glamor, never even sped or flew her way to class when she went to college, got in a lot of trouble because of it. she's never done anything "cool" with her vampirism, to much people's- odd and mortal alike- disappointment. vampirism for rosie is only taking the night shift at her tattoo parlor, ordering a dark red slushie with as much syrup as they'll let her get, and getting dizzy when too many right angles are in the same place. she dreads her monthly feeding, waiting in line at the food bank and getting weird looks for having a medium sized black suitcase under her arm, when all the other humans have cans of beans and loaves of bread.

serena, shocked: what?! no way, nooo way, you can hover, i've seen you do it.

rosalia: i can hover, i can't do all that other... um...

serena sees that she's making her nervous, uncomfortable, but finds it cute. rosie's hands always cross her chest when she's getting defensive. very dracula. makes it even harder to believe that her sweetheart doesn't "have" any extra abilities.

serena: okay, well, if you can hover, you can fly. don't you have wings?

rosalia, groaning: that's a birth defect.

she's talking about the fuzzy nubs at the bottom of her shoulder blades. serena has a habit of grabbing them when they have sex.

rosalia: they go away when i feel normal.

she means when she goes months at a time without feeding. no one recommends this, odd doctor or human doctor, but she likes to push herself. likes to feel her fangs dull and tips of her ears get round. it doesn't matter, ultimately, as the more she ages the more people see what they want to see: their desire is always mirrored by the vampire's appearance. walking down the street, she can always tell by the way men look her up and down, or the way women cover their children's eyes, that there's something she can never really hide. to them, she exists as extreme beauty, breathtaking to the point of threatening. she can especially tell by the age people assume her to be. she's so lucky to have serena, the only person she's met that's attracted to her because she looks like an adult. and other stuff too, but it's a relief to her perceived youthfulness. too many people, like that rotten human begging to be bitten, see her as a nymphette with a driver's license. serena is different, always has been.

rosalia: but i shave the hair off when they grow back-

serena, her hands over her face, dramatic: oh! don't tell me that! i don't wanna hear about you shaving, please, it kills me!

rosalia, rising from the ground, hovering above it while still upside down on the couch, smile on her face: what? you don't have any body hair!

they both look at each other, realization of what rosie said making serena beam, hiding her smile with her nails.

rosalia: okay, whatever, i didn't say anything.

serena starts to laugh.

rosalia: fucking stop! i didn't mean it okay, i forgot, i'm-

serena is clutching her sides, jewelry dangling through her laughter.

rosalia, now smiling herself, ears burning a deep pink: whatever. whatever. fish girl.

serena: ooh, i'm sooo scared.

rosie is being pulled in by her shirt for an apology kiss, and they have sex. rosie hisses whenever serena searches for her- currently smooth- tertiary appendages.

serena: me next.

rosalia: what?

serena, devious: bite meeee, pleaseeee.

rosalia, unable to focus on the rhythm of their bodies: cut it out.

serena, pouting: if you loved me you'd do it.

rosalia, stopping. her heart is beating too fast. she can hear serena's. she can feel the sides of her body flutter, almost gill-like. she knows she'd love it, love her, with or without the bite, and is just fucking with her. rosie takes it seriously, though. she closes her mouth over her woman's, grabbing as much of her body as she could fit into her two hands, and they finish, serena's breaths of pleasure trapped between rosie's lips.

rosie, sweaty, heart still pounding, irises gone, a sharp, dark green pupil left, her fangs bares. in a brief moment without any self control, she drags her bottom pair over serena's neck, stopping herself when she reaches her jaw.

rosalia, voice deep yet distant, an echo in their quiet setting, more akin to a long, hollow pit of snakes than any person's voice: i love you too much to ever do that to you. you understand? ever.

courtney: you let sasha do whatever he wants. he's a fish.

prudence says nothing, rolls her eyes. sasha is asleep in his tank, bubbles popping at the surface while he's counting sheep.

courtney: just once, okay, please? then i'll totally leave you alone.

prudence is reading her emails, glasses down her nose and tea sitting dangerously close to the keyboard: i am alone, right now, and you're interrupting it.

courtney: you never let me get off early, prue, all i'm asking for is an hour off. an hour? i can't have an hour? the fish gets pellets by the pound and i can't get a fucking hour? that's messed up, prue, like i'm supposed to get a break, and i didn't get one today, like okay yeah i got us food and you let me use the computer while you took a call but fucking really? excuse my french, y'know, but jeez. just because you don't do anything outside of work doesn't mean i can't.

wrong thing to say. prudence would like to peep into his mind to see how badly he's regretting that, but doesn't. she can smell his shame in his sweat.

prudence, lifting away from the computer, crossing her arms and pointing with her eyes: curt?

he's crossing his arms too.

prudence: go find something to sweep.

he's sour, real upset, huffing and puffing and wishing sasha was awake so he could flip him off. he wants to be there when bloody bones perform. he's somewhat friends with them, at least that's what he thinks. the bones see him as the guy at all their shows who makes copies of their mixtapes.

courtney: i swear, you'd make me work if i was fuckin' dead.

-

week after it happens, neither of them sure what to do. arnie tries to call, say he's sorry, find his way into the store. prudence has a map of runes and sigils in place to keep him out. she doesn't really know what he means to courtney, but she needs time to sus him out. if he's near her, she sees red, and she hates letting people know she gives a fuck. whatever he means to her boy doesn't matter, he doesn't deserve her rage and courtney deserves peace of mind.

the store is quiet. no arnie, no tommy, no dr algernon. small business day. feels like one.

courtney can only breathe, having not been mobile on his own until earlier that day. prudence isn't using a spell, more like her willpower as courtney can sense that she needs him, that they're open and because she's on the clock, so is he. he doesn't slouch anymore, doesn't walk anywhere unless prudence thinks to do the same, stays put when she wants him to. she doesn't know what to do with him, or even what to say. she misses when he'd busy himself with his little stupid tasks, beg and beg to use the computer, pretend to be cleaning when really he's listening in on gossip to report back to her.

their eyes meet. well, whatever courtney has in his face that are meant to serve as eyes. courtney blinks at her, slow, with a tilt of his head. prudence taps her nails, now as long as they have ever been, along the counter. she puffs her cheeks up and sighs, shrugging, looking around as if she isn't thinking a mile a minute. sasha bubbles in his tank, awkwardly.

courtney moves on his own, slow again, turning around and dragging his feet somewhere else.

prudence: are you...

she can't ask if he's okay, that would be weird. how okay can a dead person be?

courtney emerges from behind a shelf, feet still dragging, glasses dangling at an angle. he reaches out his hand, it's wrapped around a broom.

prudence is beside herself, tucks a laugh behind her lips and shakes her head, hands smoothing out the wrinkles at the side of her face: don't make me evoke someone, kid. honestly...