How To Not Eat Thy Neighbor

Chapter 2

(A/N: if Michael comes off as manipulative, he's not supposed to- I'm just not great at writing scenes like this-)

I spent a good portion of the day at work. As expected, it's not exactly the most fun job. The monster stash they have towards the back was my little home when I wasn't dealing with people. Dealing with people happened about twice per hour, usually some Karen who tried to bother me or some middle schooler who came from their lunch break. 

And yes, before you ask, I did have to wear the apron and visor, which was not a good look on someone who looked like 2007 threw up on them. 

True to his word, after I'd finished closing up the shop for the night, Michael leaned up against a wall outside.

"I've only known you for two days, but god, I never expected to see you in an outfit like that." He chuckles. 

"Same to you." He looks fairly laid back, dressed in a hoodie with his dreads tied up. 

He laughs. "Had to become a little more inconspicuous for tonight. Besides the loitering, if I have an issue, it's better for them to not recognize me."

I raise an eyebrow. "Just what the hell do you have planned?"

"I was going to get into that, and before you react, please, hear me out." He takes a breath. "You're one of the very few people I've met to survive an attack like that. I'd say you're pretty well versed too. There's been a rise in attacks like these lately. Half of them aren't even reported.  People can't keep covering them up as accidents and attacks for much longer. In my 200 years, there haven't been more. It puts both our species at risk. Mine of exposure, yours of a mass attack."

I raise my eyebrow again. God, if I had a record of times I've raised my brows in one conversation, this one would easily top the chart. "What exactly do I have to do with any of this?"

He takes a breath. "Call me batshit, but I wanna teach the newer vampires a thing or two. Specifically, how not to kill everyone in their path. With a bit of help, they'll learn how to feed correctly, and learn what to avoid so they don't get themselves into trouble."

"You're asking me to teach?" I narrow my eyes. He told me not to say he's crazy, but he sounds it right now.

"A class, specifically. That's why I'm dressed like this, actually. I've got the keys to a room at the high school, but I don't imagine the locals know that." He scratches the back of his head. "I'm not exactly interested in becoming a jailbird."

"Personally, Mikey, I think you're a little crazy. I'm 23, didn't finish college. You need a degree to teach. I didn't even go to school to teach."

I was a music major, actually. Not great for someone who hates loud noises, or someone who hates early classes, but I was. I'm still a kick ass drummer, though. 

"As much as I want to, I'm not even sure I have the time. I work nine hours a day."

He has this smirk on his face, I can't say I've seen it many places, and I'm not sure his intentions, but my gut says it's a good thing. 

"I've been in the workforce for a century, trust me, I can pay you. Being immortal is boring as hell. I've been to college six times and have 2 PhDs. You don't wanna know about all of the strange jobs I've had. But please, don't ever call me Dr. London. That feels weird."

"You're serious about this? We met like, less than a day ago."

"Sure am! What's it that people your age say nowadays? YOLO?" I roll my eyes for a second. "Whatever it is, I've got the keys already, and a curriculum written. Don't mind my dad jokes, please."

I laugh. "Sure thing."

——-

The walk to the local school was fairly short, but Michael and I had spent the walk exchanging stories about ourselves and our pasts. He kept out most of the 1800s, which was reasonable. He was a man of color. His life was probably hell. 

Physically, he was my age. Born 1803, turned 1826. He didn't mention much else besides that. He'd almost said a name before stopping, all I could make out from it was a C.

When we reached the stairs of the school, he did a little spin, pulling out his keys and opening the door.

"How'd you get that, anyway?" I asked. What can I say? Curiosity killed the cat. 

"You don't wanna know." And the satisfaction brought it back...

Interesting.

"Nefarious methods?" He shows me to the classroom I'll be teaching.

"Depends on who you ask." He puts a few paint cans on a desk, dragging some bins out from under it.

"The hells' in that thing?" I ask. "Looks like some kids craft bin."

He shrugs. "By technicality, it is. If you view redecorating this place as a kids craft."

I deadpan. "You're serious? We're redecorating?"

He shuffles through the bin, pulling out a few paintbrushes. "Yep!" He grins from ear to ear. 

By the time he's done shuffling, he's given me an apron, a bucket, a roller, a separate brush, and a wall to paint.

And of course, in traditional Michael fashion, the paint is red. Blood red. Good job, buddy. 

"Are we even legally allowed to do this? It's state property." He doesn't look concerned at all, but here I am.

"I'll 'nefarious methods' my way out of it if I have to." He puts air quotes up. "While we're painting, I figured I'd give you a rundown of what you'll be doing. Basic safety wise, there's a couple stakes in that desk, and there's a few things of blood in the cooler under there." He says nonchalantly. It's almost scary how chill he is. "You start in about a week, it'll run two hours a night, five days a week, and it runs until the semester mark, where it'll restart. New people and all."

"Well then, I'm excited to start."

——-