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After The Storm
Trick storms into the local pub, the meeting place he asked Lena to. Having come back to the world of the living had been good -for the most part, due to her, but there was starting to be cracks he had no idea how to fix since returning. “I’ve been kicked out of my flat. Turns out Roman didn’t include ‘keep up with your bills’ when I signed up for rehab.”
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Queen of Peace
The worst has happened. The thing he fear most, the thing he constantly had nightmares about had happened; all in the blink of an eye, out of his control, and so damn quick he hardly has time to figure out what's happening until it's too late and Lena's blood is on his tongue. Too much and not enough, flooding his mouth. For one terrible second, he drinks and drinks and drinks- and then he hears her pulse and breaks free.
Nearly puking up the precious liquid out of pure disgust for himself.
"Lena, Lena, Love," He crawls over her, and fucking wants to die, seeing her throat opened and bleeding freely into his sheets. Like so many others have done, like the girls he feeds on like nothing and watches the life fade from their eyes. His stomach rolls and he presses the sheets to her wound. Offering her his wrist with the other hand. "Bite, love, you gotta bite. Just drink enough to heal, please sweetheart, please." Time is everything. A bite like this could kill her if she doesn't hurry.
Dig Me Up
This. This was not how the night was suppose to go. Admittedly trying to steal the bones of a gangster's beloved grandmother was always going to be risk, he had assumed the bastard would just rough him up.
Not bury him alive.
It's by luck at all, that Trick is still sound of mind enough not freak out. He wakes up fairly early on after passing out and being shoved in the coffin. It doesn't take much to put it together, the compression of weight around the box, the scent of dirt and decay. He sneezes once, twice and wiggles. It takes effort to get his spare phone out of his shoes. It takes longer to remember Lena's number. The first few turned out to be numbers buried in his mind, for chinese and car insurance.
Finally on the fifth try he gets her. "So...funny story. Any chance you're free to grave dig tonight?"
Lycanthropy Lunch
Trick is wrist deep in a new project, peeling back the rotten black flesh off an ancient bone (imported from a ruin in South America) when his phone vibrates in his back pocket. He curses, puts the bone gently down and peels off his gloves to grab it out and peer at the screen. The text message is just a handful of emojis, three skulls, a shovel and a heart. Followed up by a smiling poop sign.
Wanna help me grab lunch?
The phone vibrates again as an image comes in. One of Lena taking a selfie in front of a grave. Trick snorts to himself, still not understanding what to make of the wolf. He had personally studied pack life in his youth, and yet everything she did, went against the grain of what he knew. Still. He owes her. Is this really what you want to call your favor in for?
He only has to wait a second for a response.
Not cashing that in. This is lunch.
Trick makes a face and peers around. As if waiting for someone to jump out and scream gotcha at him. When no one does he writes back and asks for her location. Might as well see what's going on. He dresses in tight jeans and a shirt he won't care about if it gets dirty and a worn leather jacket. Heavy shades on his face.
“So. I brought my shovel.”
Organic O
Trick all but skips back to his flat. Grin wild and wide, eager to try out his brand new purchase. A special strand that just came in from his dealer, with a sensual name and a promise to get him twice as high. The second he’s inside, he’s singing, off-key but with clear affection. “Oh my sweet, lovely darlin’, I can’t wait to get my lungs on yoooou.”
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A Night Like This
Trick is having a shit day. The day had started all right, curled around Lena, rocking into her backside until she woke up too and they fucked, half asleep and warm. The second he had stepped outside however, the world had decided to remind him that he was too lucky of a bastard. The bar had been closed for some shitty reason, so his hunger made him snappy. Fangs pronounced he decided to hit the nearest vamp-approved club. But every fang-banger and groupie in the place had made his skin crawl. He was a big enough bastard not to be appealed by their overly desperate whines to be bitten. Their throats pumped hot, but was scored with old fang marks and try as he might he just couldn’t do it. With huff, he left only to ambushed by a bunch of wannabe vamp-hunter-cunts. Despite his strength and hunger, the trio didn’t fall easily. He snapped a neck or two, but the third managed to stab him deeply in the side before bleeding out. Trick growled and cursed, blood spilling out of the wound and onto the streets. It healed quickly, but by the time he made it to the bar, he was in state of annoyance.
Heir To The Throne
It was weird to see his sister off to Ireland, their mutual understanding had bore more than one surprise in her appearance. The death of numerous members of his family wasn’t one of them, but at her hand? For a plan for her to inherit it all, to change the family one corpse as a time...well Nory was born to rule. The added surprise was that she assumed he was too. Out of all their brothers and sisters, she had chosen the vampire, pot-head rebel. Had signed all the papers for him to inherit after her death, while opening a new account for his access to the family money. With only the promise to look after himself. Trick was shocked into odd silence during the whole thing, because what the hell could he say? He was not stupid enough to think he didn’t need the money or the support; but he had fought it all his life on principal. Never wanted hand outs from the man he hated...but he didn’t hate his sister and she was sharing it freely. Trusting him not to muck it up....and while that made him cautious enough to take it seriously it also made him jittery as fuck. “Jesus Fucking Christ, I need drugs.” Is all he comments after returning to Lena’s side. Cuddling into her frame, “Please, let’s go out and get smashed love. My head is fuckin’ spinning and all I want is to lose it in some drugs, drink and possibly your thighs in that order.”
High For This
Trick is bored. Very bored. Lena was to hid knowledge, sleeping. Tallulah and Craig, judging by the closed door and moans, were fucking. So he was left to his own devices, a dangerous thing. He tried to busy himself, with books, with music and videos but nothing held his attention. Finally he dug out an old playstation console and played a video game, that involved a lot of Disney characters and keys. It wasn’t the best, but with a couple of hits from his bong, it got better.
