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gently caress it, sign me up as a vampire. i'm in like flint.
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Aug 1, 2018 02:52
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| # ¿ Apr 26, 2024 10:17 |
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There's no reason to stay in, there's nothing on the television 1136 words Strength: Your vampire's voice, even just a whisper, can shatter glass, if they so choose. Weakness: Your vampire will attract inconvenient hordes of fireflies if they stay in one place for too long. “Steak for the lady, blue, and the house burger with half salad, half fries for the gentleman. Would you like another beer, sir?” “Yeah, that'd be great, thanks!” The waiter collected the menus and left. “So, you're a doctor?” her date asked. She stopped pulling at her napkin and looked up at him. He grinned, big and goofy like. “No, I'm not a doctor—” “Nurse, then?” “No, not a nurse—” “So then what are you? What is it that you do?” A beat. She tried not to sigh. “I'm a phlebotomist,” she said, “I draw—” “Phlegm-otomost? “Phlebotomist.” “Phlebotomost.” “Mist, it's phlebotomist.” “Phlebotomist.” “Yes.” Another beat. Longer. “What's that?” “It's, uh, a blood-taker. I take, draw blood. I draw blood.” “Like a nurse?” “No, not like a—” “Nurses draw blood.” “Yes, they, no, I'm not a nurse. I draw blood, but I only draw blood. I don't do anything else.” “Hmm.” “Yeah.” “So, that's weird job, huh?” He shooed away a firefly that had started circling around his water glass and took a drink. She sipped her red wine. He drummed his fingers on the table. She plucked at her napkin. “So,” she said, “you're a—” “Tattoo artist,” he said, “part-time. I mean, okay, I merchandise at The Brick, but it's a side gig. You know how it is: gotta pay the bills somehow. And moving furniture for old people? It pays the bills, haha. Man, what's with these fireflies, am I right? But tattooing, yeah, it's what I really want to do in life, you know? I love to create art. Any and all art. I draw, doodle, paint, both water colour and canvas, I use acrylics, I sketch with charcoal, doodle, chalk art on the streets—I mean, it's endless. My creativity is endless. But tattooing is where it's at. I mean, it's so personal. It's using the human skin as a canvas, right? And it's infinite and finite, you know what I mean? It's like, yeah, once you put that ink to skin, it's there for life. But then, people die. Right?” “Your beer, sir,” the had waiter returned. “Hey, thanks, man!” the beer had barely touched the table and it was in his hands, half its contents poured down his throat, “hey, what's the deal with all these fireflies? You guys leave a window open?” “I apologize for the inconvenience, sir, I'll look into it right away,” the waiter said, “would the lady like another glass of red?” “Yes,” she drained the glass, “bring the bottle.” “Whoa-ho! Hardcore!” her date said as the waiter took away her glass. “Yes, so, you have any tattoos yourself?” she said. “Well, I don't like to ink my own skin, at least not yet, but when the time comes and I find the right one, I'll it done. Do it myself, too. But here,” he had his smart phone out and half stood, bumping the table, “this is one I did on my friend Nick. It's an Ouroboros, a Greek dragon-snake that eats its own tail. It represents forever. I did two so that it was kind of like a yin-yang, which is—” “I know what a yin-yang is,” she said, taking his phone. It looked like a turd eating another turd. “Your wine,” the waiter had returned. She returned the phone and the waiter began pouring. “All the way,” she said, “fill it up. To the brim.” “Anything else?” “No, that's fine.” “So, do you have any tattoos?” her date asked once the waiter had left. “None that you'll ever see,” she said. “Oh, yikes, whoa now,” he said, putting up his hands, “what's with the shade?” She had gulped down the wine and was pouring another glass. A firefly flicked by her hand. “This clearly isn't going to work. This was a mistake,” she said and reached for her clutch. “Wait, wait, wait, come on,” he said, “don't go yet, we're just getting started. Come on, why can't we just talk a bit more? You should just, you know, at least stay for dinner. Look, I'll pay, right?” “You weren't going to pay before?” “I mean, I thought we'd split, ah, no, I'll get it. It's fine, hey, I'm sorry,” he said, “I'm not making a great first impression, but gimme a chance. Come on. I'm a great guy once you get to know me.” “It's an expensive steak.” “Yeah, sure, that's fine.” “And this wine is expensive.” “Yeah, yeah.” Yet another beat. The silence lingered. “Okay. Fine.” “Hey, alright. Right on,” he said. She sipped the wine. Fireflies shone outside the window behind his head. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled scrap of paper. “Okay,” he said, “okay, I know what we can do. This is fun. My buddy Nick has this great list of questions that he likes to ask on blind dates to get to know one another...” “No,” she said, shaking her head. “...it's good stuff, he swears by it. Alright, so here's one: what is your social life like and do you have a big group of friends?” She stared at her glass of wine. Her eyes narrowed. “Well, if I were to answer,” he said, “I'd say that my social life was like a djembe. That's a type of drum, right?” She continued to stare, her brow furrowed. She clenched her jaw and spoke: “No.” The glass of wine shattered and spilt its contents in her lap and over the table. “Oh, poo poo,” he said, standing, “what the gently caress? Hey, hey waiter! Man, what kind of bullshit is this?” “It's fine,” she said, also standing. “Here, let me get--” “Just, don't touch me,” she said. The waiter had come over, “My goodness, what happened? Are you alright?” “Your lovely glassware is ruining our evening,” her date said. “It's fine,” she said, “if you'll excuse me, I'm going to the bathroom.” She left her date to argue with the waiter, who was now waving over a bus boy to bring towels. She walked quickly to the restroom. There was a window over the toilet, practically glowing with fireflies. It looked big enough that she could climb through. She stepped onto the basin and it broke, her foot plunging into water. “Oh, for Christ's sake!” she said, “mist! A bat! Couldn't have been something more loving useful? Goddamned-loving-fireflies.” She forced open the window and the swarm flew in, brightening the dim walls. They filled every bit of space in the restroom. When there was no more, they began crawling under the door and into the restaurant proper. She could hear people shouting but was already halfway through the window. This would probably be her date's most memorable Tinder experience. Too bad about that wine. Ah, well. She had a bottle of AB+ waiting for her at home.
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Aug 6, 2018 00:03
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those sheets look rad as hell... i wish i wasnt unreasonably busy these next few week
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Aug 8, 2018 00:23
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Thranguy posted:
goonspeed you!
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Aug 11, 2018 06:27
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, gimme a second card.