Teeth

Decorate Part 3

"Bottoms up I guess..."

I won't lie. It sounds repulsive. It's drinking-raw-eggs-for-a-hangover gross and then some, but maybe that's a normal trade off for something that apparently comes with the power to bring someone back from the brink of death.

It makes me wish I were a scientist not an author, because I can't help but wonder, and I know I'm probably not the first to do so, what it can do. What it could do without the demon reputation. You would think it would play to vanity, that it would draw people with a vested interest in not aging. I wonder if they screen for this when they pick up people.

Lily sure seemed to know what she was getting into. One more reason to be glad I'm not in her shoes. That and I'm pretty sure I don't have the balance for her taste in heels.

I suppose that's the other problem with it as well. If I could stop ageing and heal dire wounds, I'm not sure I'd want to be put in the position of being treated like a fountain of youth either. Or ever hear someone demanding to know why one person and not another; Or being blamed for the limitations.

Like most creatures we're unreasonable when we're in pain, it doesn't matter if it's physical or emotional.

It's a lot of thinking over one glass, but there's a lot more weight in there than the... I don't know... ten or eleven ounces of juice and blood... which when they hit my taste buds in their 'pinch your nose and try not to taste it' glory taste exactly like you'd expect them to. Only they also don't.

It's sour from the cranberry juice and coppery from blood, even with my efforts to swallow without tasting, and all of it sort of not-quite-cold. It also almost instantly seems to hit the lingering remnants of the headache and wipe it away.

It's like getting a fix of coffee when you're desperate, but faster, and without the jitters... but still gross.

"Give it a couple minutes and your heel will be fine." Carolyn informed me. "Not that it hurt to clean it out."

She eyes my clothing critically as she reaches to take back the glass, and I glance down at myself with a helpless shrug.

"What? You told me to pack. You didn't say pack for clubbing." I pointed out, feeling preemptively defensive, but she'd also been happy to accuse me of sleeping too long and hadn't, that I knew of, made any effort to roust me. Just waited in my kitchen.

"No, I know. I was just guessing sizes since we're going to have to pick up some items." She waggled the glass in amusement, eyeing me with a look of pleased mischief that I wasn't sure I liked on her. "And since it's probably still a bad idea for you to get into your bank account, that means it's on us, which means... " She waggled her eyebrows like an old Groucho Marx skit. "Our Choice. Or... my choice."

My obvious trepidation at this idea makes her grin more. It's not that she has no sense of taste... her clothes are immaculate and not unflattering, in all their sort of magazine bland way. But somehow I picture being dressed by Carolyn sort of the way I imagine she'd handle dressing a pig for dinner. What's she going to do? Put a bulls-eye temporary tattoo on my neck? Maybe one of those obnoxious shirts that says "Bite Me"?

----

Neither, as it turns out, as some time later I'm being shoved authoritatively in the direction of a changing room with an arm load of bags.

"Just get CHANGED." Carolyn huffs, yanking the door shut behind me.

"I'm working on it! Jeeze!" I call back, latching the door, and digging through bags. "Hey I think you got the wrong size shirt, this is a size smaller than I wear..."

"Put it on!" She calls back, unhelpfully.

I wince. I don't generally tend to up the gym, it's just never been my thing, and I just don't have the abs for this. The new pants at least are in the right measurements, though I feel kind of ridiculous and pretentious, since everything is in black, the jeans, the boots, which I think cost more than I've ever paid for a pair of boots...

I unfold the shirt last, since I'm not looking forward to having my inferior abs crammed into a too small shirt... and then grin in spite of myself. It's still a slightly too small black t-shirt... but it's a slightly too small black tshirt with a familiar 'S' logo on it in red. I pull it on over my head and sneak a peek in the mirror, twisting my arms to see if it's going to be too uncomfortable to wear, or just a little unflattering.

Or...maybe not quite as unflattering as I was afraid of. It's still snug, and there's nothing I can do about not being that valiant about my abs, (Alas, apparently miracle cures do not come with a personal vanity upgrade.) but it's comfortable, and the fabric has enough stretch that even snug around the arms it's not hurting me or my mobility.

I'd go so far as to say I think it even looks pretty good, even if... well... the amount of black is a bit over the top for me.

"Well?" Carolyn calls sharply from the other side of the changing room door, rapping her knuckle against the overlayed slats. "You're holding up the evening, Kent."

She's even dressed up herself, a dark purple silk shirt and khakis with sensible, but elegant flats, and a small coin like necklace on a chain, my t-shirt and black jeans don't quite stack up by comparison, but then I'm not sure what the target audience is, and I'm happy enough my comparison. At least I can wear these again on a casual basis.

"I'm coming. I'm coming." I shrug my wool coat over everything else, and like the whole mess better with the gray to break up the black, and bundle up the other clothes. Everything's already been paid for and de-tagged, so it's more about putting my old things into bags for now.

"So where are we going?" I ask, as I step out with re-filled shopping bags hanging over my wrist, spreading my free arm to the side to let Carolyn and Lily have a look. Lily, does an polite, quiet applause with her fingertips, and Carolyn does a sort of polite side to side gesture with her head that suggests that it's not too bad.  "It's a bar, right?"

"It's called the Dearg Due." Lily offers, pronouncing it like 'DAH-ruh-guh DU-ah'. "Arguably my favorite take on an Irish Pub."

"OK I'm going to say that sounds like something out of a fairy tale, but to my untrained ears, so do a lot of things from that part of the world." I frown curiously, dropping my arms again as we start to head back to the car.

"It is... sort of. The name means Red Blood Drinker, after a beautiful girl who was forced into a loveless, abusive marriage, committed suicide, and rose again as a blood drinking creature." Lily smiles, and the glitter on her make up flashes cheerfully, though there's very little of that brightness reaching her eyes. "Supposedly she feeds on children and handsome young men." She glances at me as she says this, and her lips curl back from her teeth just enough for me to make out the line of fangs. They don't retract, she's just skilled at redirecting attention away from them.

"Did she get the guy who drove her to it?" I ask, trying not to cringe. It's not exactly a fluffy bunny style little story, but then I suppose it may not be intended to be.

"I don't recall it saying." Lily shrugs. "But I like to think so."