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Here's the first drabble I owe ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
penchaft for her Snerffle prize! The prompt she gave me was "Too much glitter". I think you just *might* be able to guess where this is going...
"So, what do you think the chances are of the Browns making the playoffs this year? I hear they made some decent moves in the off-season," Rachel said, swirling the straw in her drink. She gazed over the scarred table at her companion, a ratty-looking man dressed in torn jeans and a t-shirt. He frowned and considered, his eyes constantly roving the slightly shabby bar and its equally shabby patrons.
"They certainly have a better chance than the Chiefs! Did you see-" Stephen broke off mid-sentence as the door opened, letting in a puff of cold air. Two girls stepped in, looking barely sixteen - let alone twenty-one. "Geez, I know no underage kids could get past Zeek, but man, kids these days are getting younger and younger looking!"
"That's just because you're getting older," she teased. Then she, too, paused to take a good look at the newcomers. They were dressed in black goth, with heavy make-up and tones of jewelry - the kind of look that is supposed to be dramatic, but more often than not just comes out looking awkward. They tottered to the bar in their high heeled boots and ordered wine coolers. She grinned as she saw Jake, the barman, roll his eyes and heave a sigh. He caught her eye and she shrugged, a lopsided smile still on her face.
Her smile quickly faded when the girls shifted and the dim light from the bar reflected back in a multitude of tiny, glittering pinpoints of light. "Damn," she muttered. "They're not just goth, they're..." She hesitated, not even wanting to say the word. It always left a bad taste in her mouth.
"Not again," Stephen said. "They just don't give up! I don't understand. You'd think they'd get the point that they're not welcome here."
"You'd think," she sighed. "But it's all the hype. And, admittedly, I suppose this place does look the part."
"It looks like every other dive bar in the city," he grumbled.
They stared at the girls, who were starting to look a bit uneasy. Their thin veneer of cool aloofness was fading under the hard stares of the rough-and-tumble crowd of the bar. Rachel sighed again and hefted herself out of her seat. It was her turn. She glanced around the room and saw Jimmie hunched in the corner, nursing his whiskey. He'd do, she decided.
She walked up to the girls and pasted a smile on her face, "Hi, you must be here about the vampire, right?"
The girls started, and one of them narrowed her eyes slightly. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said haughtily, but there was a tremor in her voice.
"Please, it's so obvious. If I may say, I think you over-did it on the glitter. A little goes a long way, you know." Rachel suppressed a smile as the girls turned a bit pink. "Anyway, I'll be happy to introduce you to our master, if you'll just follow me..."
"Wait, you're a... you're a vampire?" Both girls stared at her. Rachel grinned, then, to show her sharp, pointed canines.
"Ah, you've bought that load of crap, have you? All vampires are devastatingly gorgeous and breathtakingly beautiful and all that nonsense? Well, lemme let you in on a little secret - becoming a vampire doesn't change the way you look. You're the same person as before you were turned. There are pretty vampires, sure. But there are an awful lot of not-so-perfect looking specimens, too. Like yours truly." She waved a hand over her plump figure. "Now, c'mon."
She led them back to Jimmie's table, where she made a low bow. "Master, may I present you with some new initiates?" Jimmie grinned up at her, showing blackened, rotting teeth. The girls recoiled in horror. His face was a mass of scars and sores, and his scraggly hair fell in greasy hanks about his thin face. He extended a gnarled hand towards the girls, who simply stared at him in shock.
"No, it... it can't..." one of them whispered.
"If you will excuse me, my lord." Rachel bowed again, then pulled the girls a slight distance away. "What was that all about? Do you know how much disrespect you showed? Do you think you can ever make up for that? He won't turn you now, he'll just rip out your throat and leave you to bleed to death - slowly," she hissed.
One of the girls pulled herself up. "Please, he's not a vampire - look at those teeth! Vampire teeth don't rot."
"Oh, and you're such an expert, are you? Pray tell, where do you get your oh-so-credible information on vampires?"
The girls stared mutely at one another, then the ground. Rachel grunted in satisfaction. "I thought as much. Now, I'll explain it to you, in the vain hope that you'll stop spreading disinformation around, okay? He was turned in early 1300s, during the Black Plague. He was a peasant farmer who'd been infected, then turned. This made it impossible for him to truly heal, though he is not sick. And no, he's not infectious," she added, at their look of horror. "Otherwise, the Plague would still be running rampant, wouldn't it? But he's survived almost 700 years, making him one of the oldest and most powerful vampires in existence. And that commands respect. If you want to be part of this family, I suggest you go over there and offer yourselves up to him for forgiveness." She nodded in the direction of Jimmie, who grinned at them.
The girls looked at each other, then at Jimmie, and turned and fled the bar. As the door shut, the other patrons broke out in applause.
"I think we have a new record," Jake said. "Eight minutes, twenty-three seconds! Let's hear it for Rachel!"
"I couldn't have done it without Jimmie's help," she said modestly. Jimmie bobbed his head at her.
"What are you going to do if one of them ever takes you up on the offer?" Jake asked.
"I have no idea," she said, still staring at Jimmie, who was now having a silent conversation with his whiskey. He wasn't able to talk at all, the accident that had caused most of his brain damage also robbing him of his speech. She reached up and pulled out her fake vampire teeth. "I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. Now, don't you think a new record deserves a free drink?"
Jake grinned at her and pushed her usual across the bar to her. She accepted it graciously, and went back to her table.
"-that last preseason game?" Stephen continued as if there hadn't even been a break. The man had a one-track mind when it came to sports. "They had nothing. I hesitate to say it, but we may be looking at a season where a single win is an accomplishment!"
"I think you're being a little pessimistic, there. I'm sure they'll at least go 3-13." She took a sip of her drink, then caught sight of her sleeve glittering in the dim light. "Damn."
Stephen nodded. "Way too much glitter."
penchaft for her Snerffle prize! The prompt she gave me was "Too much glitter". I think you just *might* be able to guess where this is going..."So, what do you think the chances are of the Browns making the playoffs this year? I hear they made some decent moves in the off-season," Rachel said, swirling the straw in her drink. She gazed over the scarred table at her companion, a ratty-looking man dressed in torn jeans and a t-shirt. He frowned and considered, his eyes constantly roving the slightly shabby bar and its equally shabby patrons.
"They certainly have a better chance than the Chiefs! Did you see-" Stephen broke off mid-sentence as the door opened, letting in a puff of cold air. Two girls stepped in, looking barely sixteen - let alone twenty-one. "Geez, I know no underage kids could get past Zeek, but man, kids these days are getting younger and younger looking!"
"That's just because you're getting older," she teased. Then she, too, paused to take a good look at the newcomers. They were dressed in black goth, with heavy make-up and tones of jewelry - the kind of look that is supposed to be dramatic, but more often than not just comes out looking awkward. They tottered to the bar in their high heeled boots and ordered wine coolers. She grinned as she saw Jake, the barman, roll his eyes and heave a sigh. He caught her eye and she shrugged, a lopsided smile still on her face.
Her smile quickly faded when the girls shifted and the dim light from the bar reflected back in a multitude of tiny, glittering pinpoints of light. "Damn," she muttered. "They're not just goth, they're..." She hesitated, not even wanting to say the word. It always left a bad taste in her mouth.
"Not again," Stephen said. "They just don't give up! I don't understand. You'd think they'd get the point that they're not welcome here."
"You'd think," she sighed. "But it's all the hype. And, admittedly, I suppose this place does look the part."
"It looks like every other dive bar in the city," he grumbled.
They stared at the girls, who were starting to look a bit uneasy. Their thin veneer of cool aloofness was fading under the hard stares of the rough-and-tumble crowd of the bar. Rachel sighed again and hefted herself out of her seat. It was her turn. She glanced around the room and saw Jimmie hunched in the corner, nursing his whiskey. He'd do, she decided.
She walked up to the girls and pasted a smile on her face, "Hi, you must be here about the vampire, right?"
The girls started, and one of them narrowed her eyes slightly. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said haughtily, but there was a tremor in her voice.
"Please, it's so obvious. If I may say, I think you over-did it on the glitter. A little goes a long way, you know." Rachel suppressed a smile as the girls turned a bit pink. "Anyway, I'll be happy to introduce you to our master, if you'll just follow me..."
"Wait, you're a... you're a vampire?" Both girls stared at her. Rachel grinned, then, to show her sharp, pointed canines.
"Ah, you've bought that load of crap, have you? All vampires are devastatingly gorgeous and breathtakingly beautiful and all that nonsense? Well, lemme let you in on a little secret - becoming a vampire doesn't change the way you look. You're the same person as before you were turned. There are pretty vampires, sure. But there are an awful lot of not-so-perfect looking specimens, too. Like yours truly." She waved a hand over her plump figure. "Now, c'mon."
She led them back to Jimmie's table, where she made a low bow. "Master, may I present you with some new initiates?" Jimmie grinned up at her, showing blackened, rotting teeth. The girls recoiled in horror. His face was a mass of scars and sores, and his scraggly hair fell in greasy hanks about his thin face. He extended a gnarled hand towards the girls, who simply stared at him in shock.
"No, it... it can't..." one of them whispered.
"If you will excuse me, my lord." Rachel bowed again, then pulled the girls a slight distance away. "What was that all about? Do you know how much disrespect you showed? Do you think you can ever make up for that? He won't turn you now, he'll just rip out your throat and leave you to bleed to death - slowly," she hissed.
One of the girls pulled herself up. "Please, he's not a vampire - look at those teeth! Vampire teeth don't rot."
"Oh, and you're such an expert, are you? Pray tell, where do you get your oh-so-credible information on vampires?"
The girls stared mutely at one another, then the ground. Rachel grunted in satisfaction. "I thought as much. Now, I'll explain it to you, in the vain hope that you'll stop spreading disinformation around, okay? He was turned in early 1300s, during the Black Plague. He was a peasant farmer who'd been infected, then turned. This made it impossible for him to truly heal, though he is not sick. And no, he's not infectious," she added, at their look of horror. "Otherwise, the Plague would still be running rampant, wouldn't it? But he's survived almost 700 years, making him one of the oldest and most powerful vampires in existence. And that commands respect. If you want to be part of this family, I suggest you go over there and offer yourselves up to him for forgiveness." She nodded in the direction of Jimmie, who grinned at them.
The girls looked at each other, then at Jimmie, and turned and fled the bar. As the door shut, the other patrons broke out in applause.
"I think we have a new record," Jake said. "Eight minutes, twenty-three seconds! Let's hear it for Rachel!"
"I couldn't have done it without Jimmie's help," she said modestly. Jimmie bobbed his head at her.
"What are you going to do if one of them ever takes you up on the offer?" Jake asked.
"I have no idea," she said, still staring at Jimmie, who was now having a silent conversation with his whiskey. He wasn't able to talk at all, the accident that had caused most of his brain damage also robbing him of his speech. She reached up and pulled out her fake vampire teeth. "I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. Now, don't you think a new record deserves a free drink?"
Jake grinned at her and pushed her usual across the bar to her. She accepted it graciously, and went back to her table.
"-that last preseason game?" Stephen continued as if there hadn't even been a break. The man had a one-track mind when it came to sports. "They had nothing. I hesitate to say it, but we may be looking at a season where a single win is an accomplishment!"
"I think you're being a little pessimistic, there. I'm sure they'll at least go 3-13." She took a sip of her drink, then caught sight of her sleeve glittering in the dim light. "Damn."
Stephen nodded. "Way too much glitter."
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