#aria 01

The cool thing about Earshot right now was how chill shifts tended to be. With the cold and the snow, people just didn't shop as much, and so, while the shop saved money by closing a little earlier, it was pretty much a musical playground with only intermittent customers.

Ren's sure, sipping their coffee, that this drought in business will eventually be a problem, but right now, it's allowing for a nice bit of catchup. Lis is on the counter while he sorts the shelves, and Aria is in tow.

It's wild, he thinks, that they've both wound up here - a shame that the whole Art collective thing had kind of gone to shit in that hurricane, but Ren wasn't about to tuck tail and head back to NYC to work for his dad. Ren was finding himself out here. And to stumble on Aria one day when she'd come into the shop, well...

this catch-up was long overdue.

"So, the photography's going, you're running a bookstore, and you're getting married?"

Since the incident, she hasn't spoken to Laure.

Morgan thought she could manage at first, but a fledgling vampire's emotions are too volatile for much reason, much rational behavior. Her sire dutifully understood and has been giving her space, but without a heartbeat, without breath, she's suddenly aware of how she doesn't belong in her own world anymore.

The arcade has been closed for repairs, mostly, but also because Morgan can't bring herself to tell Kevin she died. She misses the thump of music in her chest, and the way she could almost feel the tingling of electronics on her skin when Retrocity was all lit up. Now, if she says and does nothing, there is utter stillness. The heart of this place is missing.

Still, she wants to keep her morality -- keep her humanity -- as long as she can. And that means no killing arcade customers. But, god, she's hungry. Morgan wants to keep a perimeter if she can. No customers, and no kills within three blocks in any direction. It isn't difficult, with her speed and quietness that take over when she's truly feverish -- and what she lacks in vampiric finesse, she can get away with in the modicum of innocence she still possesses.

And that's how a quick, "I'm so sorry, my car won't start and my phone is dead. Can you help?" becomes the small woman hunched over in an alleyway, having pulled down a man almost a foot taller than her so she could feed. At the sound of footsteps behind her, though, she drops him, her face a mess of silvered tears streaking down her cheeks and cutting tracks through the red mess of her chin. Morgan turns to the intruder, hissing in anger before all but turning away in shame at the sight of the girl.