#deanwesley

Booty dancing on the street was probably not recommended. Especially not when wearing a skirt that was about two sizes to big and barely hanging onto her hips.But she'd been jamming to the ipod she'd stolen from some girl sitting on a bench who was studying from some text book like a smarty-butt. She hadn't been listening to it, and it had fallen on the ground, so that meant it was fair game, yes? Didn't matter that it had that girl's name engraved on it. Charlotte probably would have spit in her face anyway. It was fun to watch people get all grossed out.

But the booty dancing in the street had ended with the skirt on the asphalt and her bright green panties shining in the moonlight. That had been her cue to gather her skirt up, hold it around her waist and skip across the street, humming along to the Katy Perry song she'd just lost her skirt too.

She'd been headed to the park - specifically the playground. She'd seen Dean a few times since he'd been in town, but she'd found (in her knapsack of shit she'd stolen from her childhood home) a polaroid she'd snapped of herself laying next to Dean during the day while he was asleep. She'd been five or six at the time, and he'd been her very, very best friend. You could tell in the way her smile lit up the whole polaroid. The other one she had was them together when he was actually awake. She'd somehow or other gotten him to smile (she'd been very disappointed when she found he couldn't be tickled). But Charlotte had spent all the years he'd been gone smiling at that picture of her in his arms, both of them smiling.

She hadn't cared that he was a vampire, or that he was older than her (like way older than her). He'd been her best friend, and they'd laughed and had wonderful adventures. And she was so glad that he was back in town so that fun could start again.

Valencia was beyond frustrated. In two days, more than half her "coven" had deserted her and decided to go back home. How could they? After all that she'd done for them? Almost every single one of them were with her for a reason; she'd pulled them out of some dark time in their life, or helped a family member of theirs. For them to just up and desert her was like a slap in the face. One she didn't appreciate. She was most unsettled by her vampires leaving her. Sure, she could protect herself. But she enjoyed the company of vampires; and the protection they brought.

So, this was how Valencia found herself at Fangtopia. Dressed in a dress as red as the blood that pulsed through her veins and a pair of black heels, she looked like what vampires so affectionately called "Fang Bait". To further this, as she entered the bar, every vampire eye in the place turned to her. Her blood was the most desirable in this place. It pulsated with magic; it smelled and tasted sweeter than any other, and it was a draw to vampires like a flame to moths. 

Her eyes scanned around her. She was here on a good night. There were plenty of attractive vampires around. But her eyes landed on a particularly interesting and handsome men in the place, who was seated in a couch across the bar from her. The way he sat, the leisure in his manner. She liked him already. That trademark grin came to her lips and she walked towards him. The crowds parted like the red sea around her. She stopped as she stood before him.

Poppy was vaguely uncomfortable right now. Maybe it was the slightly too-tight dress that she'd borrowed from one of the other girls in her music theory class that kept riding up on her, or the still-heady scent of blood pulsing just under the skin of every human that passed by, or maybe it was just the fact that she was actually waiting in line to get into a freaking vampire club, and she was one of them.

She ran her hands up and down her arms gently, shivering more out of reflex than actual lack of warmth as she tapped her heel and craned her neck to see if the line had even moved an inch in the last half-hour. "Of course not..." Poppy sighed, rolling her eyes and wondering why the hell her friends had wanted to come here for the night. Her gaze traveled over to the much faster moving 'VIV' line--at least that's what her friends always called it, short for Very Important Vampires--wishing once again that she could just come out and admit that she was a fanger now too.

And hell yeah, it was great. Just as they all had gossiped and giggled about when talking about how they wanted Fangtopia to be their first real club so maybe they'd get fed off of by some hot fanger dude, the feeling of being a vampire was amazing. She was fast, strong, felt better and hotter than she had in years, but... what was the point if she still had to keep it a secret?

"Save my spot, okay? Don't go in without me." She said to one of the other girls in the group, half-smiling. "I'm just gonna call Rachel, make sure she knows where to find us in line once she gets here." Poppy ducked under the rope, then, teetering along the length of the human line and pausing before the bouncer, as if wondering if a night in a bar was really worth the trembling she felt all the way down to her knees.

'Can I help, you, miss?' The bouncer asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow at Poppy.

"I... I-um..." She muttered back, realizing she hadn't even thought of what to say on the way over here. Obviously he had seen her duck from the human line. Of course he'd think she was just some crazy fang-banger (well, not that Poppy wasn't, after the events of the past month but whatever, okay?!) trying to jump the line so she wouldn't waste valuable nighttime. "M-My maker's inside." She quickly blurted out, glancing to make sure her friends weren't watching before forcing her fangs forward with a grimace. "See? I was supposed to meet him, but then these humans tagged along with me, and..."

Surprisingly, as Poppy glanced through the tinted windows of Fangtopia, Dean Wesley was actually here. Slowly, she raised a hand and waved at her Maker little before giving another toothy grin to the bouncer. "He'll be really upset if I don't go in now and meet him. I'm already half an hour late and he doesn't like to be kept waiting."

'....Whatever. Go on.' The bouncer muttered, letting Poppy past the rope and through the doors into Fangtopia.

She breathed a sigh of relief and forced her fangs back again, taking in the nightclub with wide eyes. It was beautiful... So many people just like her. It finally felt like maybe Poppy was a part of something exotic and special. After all, her friends had been practically foaming at the mouth to get inside.

"Dean!" The girl called out, waving a hand again before tottering over to the other vampire and taking a seat next to him on the bar. "I didn't think you were going to be here. I thought you were out wandering around tonight..." She smiled brightly, tucking a lock of red hair behind her ears and fidgeting a bit more in her seat.

Okay, so maybe she'd picked Dean to be her Maker because he was weirdly cute and super adorable ninety-five percent of the time. And maybe, she'd admit to some semblance of a crush on him, but Poppy also sometimes wondered if part of that had to do with the whole... whatever it was that changed her thing.

"No, no, this won't do," Millie sighed. She placed a hand to her face, her thin fingers tapping against her temple. It had been easy enough to find a home that seemed to fit the needs for she and her maker, but furnishing it had been a different story. True, she'd gotten a lot done in her only few days of being here, but these last few touches were proving to be the most difficult.

Millie could smell the anxiety in the human interior designer that stood beside her, could hear her shifting back and forth on her feet. Millie turned her eyes to the petite woman, not much bigger than herself, and gave that amiable and charming smile that Millie was known for using to get what she wanted. "Something... More elegant. This was a good first try, though, Miss..." Millie couldn't recall the woman's last name, but she didn't much care to. "Find something else for us and I'll see you again tomorrow night," Millie said curtly, waving her hand for the woman to go.

She watched as the woman left, and the two men carrying the rejected piece of furniture did as well. Letting loose another airy sigh, Millie turned to examine herself in the ornate mirror she'd had for years now. The long black dress she wore clung to her figure just perfectly, but flowed softly away from her legs. The dress bared her back, and in it's place, her long waves of golden hair hung down. Yes, she thought, Still as beautiful as ever.

It was then that she felt her fangs begin to ache. "Feeding time," she said, turning and leaving the bedroom. She slid her feet back into the heels she'd worn earlier, then headed out of the house.

She hadn't gone far when she caught a familiar scent, one that nearly caused her to fall over from the nostalgia it brought. Could he really be alive? Millie's green eyes turned around her, and sure enough, standing just down the street from her in the moonlight was Dean. Her first love. Her fiance. He must have smelled her as well, because it looked like he'd been stopped in his path to turn and look at her.

"Dean?" she asked, though her voice was barely above a whisper. She had to be hallucinating. Dean couldn't really be here. But the more she thought about the way he smelled now - that old familiar scent mixed with death - she knew it was true. He was as she was, Vampire. And somehow, they'd both ended up here.