Vampiric Interdiction

[16] Should He Snooze, You Lose

Though in a such a  state of consciousness that to the unknown eye it would appear relative to a deep sleep, Villahr was still very much awake. He lay back in his room — the one he’d built in the depths of his shop for when he needed to escape a rowdy customer or simply to catch a few winks of sleep before diving back into his work — and tried his best to shut out the world around him. To very little avail, he grew frustrated as he could hear Dion rustling about out front, no doubt cleaning tools and polishing finished infradai. Having the responsiveness of a domestic feline held great value when one was trying to rest whilst anticipating attack, but when the fires of the enemy was not licking at the door it was simply annoying to say the least.

Villahr rolled over on his side, burying his face in the cloudy fabric that sheathed his right arm. Finding it much more comforting, despite the bone of his arm digging into his cheekbone, than the stuffy leather he had been using previously, he attempted to remain semi-insensible to his surroundings. 

He’d been here since the sun first peaked over the horizon, and although he’d fully intended to head back around noon, it was well past that now. Today he’d made three custom blades, all of a similar oval shape, but each with a different glittering centrepiece: Ruby, Diamond, and the last stone of Addia in stock. Villahr made a mental note to pick up some more later on in the week.

After spraying each infradai thoroughly with his own special brew of Korabon that he had spent the past several months making and adjusting until it reached the perfect consistency, Villahr hung the cutters up to dry and ordered Dion to keep an eye out. Although he was human and should any big, burly, Vicio brute decide they want to raid the place, all they’d have to do is sock him one good with a powerful fist and he’d go out like a light — Villahr had faith that that would not happen. The crime rate amongst the elna’s species was not particularly high, despite their subdued aggression that could pop like a cherry tomato in seconds; it was the vampers that did the real terrorizing.

Trying his hardest to divert his attention from a loud clattering sound that came from the front, Villahr stretched his long legs out on the sofa. Assuming the source of the racket to be Dion being a clumsy oaf as per usual, Villahr did his best to ignore it. He would have rolled his eyes had they not been closed and were the ungainly human here to see it. 

After several moments of lying completely still and using what energy he had to attempt to block out any further interruptions, Villahr soon fell back into the semblance of sleep he had managed a few short moments of earlier before being interrupted by a customer at the door and Dion’s irritating inquires. Soon the faint pictures that began to form behind his eyelids grew even stronger and much more vivid. Through his eyes he could see the world as he once knew it, growing up as a young child. A young child in search of his Doesono.

Clutching tight to a filthy, old nail, Villahr started walking down a long and familiar hallway, his eyes set on the safety of his room at the end, the plan to wait there until his Doseono got home, on his mind. The hallways seemed even longer than usual as the small male waddled slowly down it, passing each door he'd excitedly been racing through in search for Do. They were all still ajar, except for one — the workshop. 

This was the one room in the house he was forbidden to ever enter. Once when he tried, he'd received such a lashing he thought he'd never sit down again without the accompaniment of severe pain. That was the only warning it took, he got the hint, and never tried since. Until this day.

Looking down the remainder of the hall, back up and down once more, as if expecting any second, as soon as he reached for the handle, his Doseono would appear out of thin air and scold him, Villahr turned back to the closed door. If he even looked at that door, brought it up, or so much as wondered what was down there, he would either get yelled at or end up on the receiving end of numerous angry glares, each one with a different scope of ferocity.