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The Dropsy
6 November 2006 06:13They looked odd coming in as a pair. They had no business being together. He had the body of an aging heavyweight boxer. His skin was a dark night-time velvet. He had on a beige wool overcoat and a matching bowler hat. Tucked up under his chin was a leopard print scarf. He had leopard print cuffs as well poking over his caramel coloured expensive doeskin gloves. His dark intelligent eyes glittered like obsidian marbles under a thick brow. He had to have been close to fifty.
I took all this in very quickly. I didn’t want to be caught looking at him. Not for a second. I flicked my eyes away from him to his companion.
She could not have been more than 15. A Young One. There are those that aspire to a vampiric ideal. She surpassed that ideal. She was like a mannequin brought to life and freshly infused with a heartbeat. A kind smile twisted her lips. Her face was pale like ivory and shone with a light grease of health. Her eyes sparkled like glass. There was a ruddy warmth to her cheeks. Her black hair caught the light and twinkled. She was a wind-up Slavic Bettie Page here to drain a life.
She was wearing a tight leather motorcycle skinsuit with a white winged heart stenciled on the front.
If the intent of this pairing was to be unsettling, it worked. For one thing, seeing an AfriCain and Young One together was unheard of. These gangs occasionally hired each other but because of the obvious high rank of both of them, I couldn’t tell who worked for whom. Their areas of influence were far apart from each other. I couldn’t tell which one of them was the muscle in this situation. They were both to be feared, that much was certain.
This bar was a place that was way beneath both of them. There was a look in their faces of disgust that they were forced to be here. She had a wry amusement to her features that didn’t touch her eyes. He merely glowered.
It was the look of recognition on their faces when their eyes fell on me that undid what little composure I had left. I suppose I stood out with my green Mohawk. I spilled my drink in a clatter of long limbs and straight up fear as I dashed for the exit. They casually stood in front of me before I’d taken two steps.
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I took all this in very quickly. I didn’t want to be caught looking at him. Not for a second. I flicked my eyes away from him to his companion.
She could not have been more than 15. A Young One. There are those that aspire to a vampiric ideal. She surpassed that ideal. She was like a mannequin brought to life and freshly infused with a heartbeat. A kind smile twisted her lips. Her face was pale like ivory and shone with a light grease of health. Her eyes sparkled like glass. There was a ruddy warmth to her cheeks. Her black hair caught the light and twinkled. She was a wind-up Slavic Bettie Page here to drain a life.
She was wearing a tight leather motorcycle skinsuit with a white winged heart stenciled on the front.
If the intent of this pairing was to be unsettling, it worked. For one thing, seeing an AfriCain and Young One together was unheard of. These gangs occasionally hired each other but because of the obvious high rank of both of them, I couldn’t tell who worked for whom. Their areas of influence were far apart from each other. I couldn’t tell which one of them was the muscle in this situation. They were both to be feared, that much was certain.
This bar was a place that was way beneath both of them. There was a look in their faces of disgust that they were forced to be here. She had a wry amusement to her features that didn’t touch her eyes. He merely glowered.
It was the look of recognition on their faces when their eyes fell on me that undid what little composure I had left. I suppose I stood out with my green Mohawk. I spilled my drink in a clatter of long limbs and straight up fear as I dashed for the exit. They casually stood in front of me before I’d taken two steps.
tags