Would you love a Monsterman? (Avdol x Polnareff)

Chasing the Sun

Polnareff had been in Cairo for three days, and he was loving every minute of it. He slept in his cardboard box in an alleyway where nobody would stumble upon him in the daytime, and at night he roamed the streets of the vibrant desert city. Most of the museums opened late, and the souks and bazaars were open all night, so he didn't even have that fear of missing out. Not only that, all the tourists had gone back to their hotels by the time he woke up, meaning that it was nowhere near as crowded as it was during the daytime. As Polnareff walked through the bustling streets, past street traders and coffeehouses, he felt a familiar twinge in his throat. His senses intensified, and his razor-sharp fangs slid into view. Jean Pierre sighed, as it was obvious that he had to feed, as he hadn't done so in a while. He wouldn't dream of feeding off a human, and Cairo was too busy for him to just steal someone's goat or chicken and drain it dry in a discreet alleyway- but luckily, there was an easy solution to his problems.

Jean walked along the streets until he saw a butcher's shop, the windows displaying chiller cases full of chickens and lamb shanks. It was currently closing up for the night, with the butcher packaging up unsold meat that was still perfectly fine to eat to be sent to the homeless shelter, to feed those who needed it. All the employees were busy, so they didn't notice an incredibly pale man walking down the alleyway that led to the back, and hopping over the fence. He needed permission to enter a house, of course, but a back yard  was fair game. Polnareff crouched behind a bin until the door opened, and the butcher's assistant lugged a plastic container full of blood out into the yard, to be picked up by a refuse disposal service. Since halal meat has to be blood-free, the blood was drained off into sterile containers, and then a hygiene disposal team took it away to be safely disposed of. The bucket was still nice and cool from the fridge, and it was under twelve hours old, making it fresh as can be.

As the assistant walked back in, his mind on nothing but going home and putting his feet up, he didn't notice Polnareff reaching out a hand and pulling the bucket towards him. The vampire pulled off the plastic lid, and took a paper cup from his pocket. Filling the cup, Polnareff took a long, satisfactory drink. He felt himself rejuvenate and become more alert, and as he drank down two litres of the red stuff, he gave a happy sigh. That should be enough for a few days! He popped the lid back onto the plastic bucket, wiped his mouth, and put his paper cup into the recycling. There was no evidence left of his nighttime feeding, which was just the way he liked it.

The museums were open late, their light spilling out onto the darkened pavements. His curiosity piqued, Polnareff walked into one, as all the tours of the pyramids only ran at night. Of course, he was planning to go later, but it couldn't hurt to check out the artefacts first. The vampire stood before a gigantic sandstone slab, engraved with dozens of pictures and hieroglyphics. They appeared to be in a list of sorts, yet one of the names had been violently chiseled out, as if it was unlucky just to write it down.
"Why's that bit smashed up?" He asked the curator, who was an old man with a beard and spectacles.
"Well, we don't know exactly who they were, but this slab is a list of magicians who served Pharaoh Khafre. It appears that his last magician somehow disappointed him, so they were scribbled out of the pages of history. We've got several other incomplete artefacts, which means that every depiction of this person was destroyed." The curator replied.
"And what happened to the magician?" Polnareff said, fascinated by this story.
"We've no idea. There's legends of a tomb where the living can't enter, yet there's no rush to find this magician. Chances are that they're in a private collection in England anyway." The old man checked his pocket watch, and gave a gasp.
"I must go, they need me to give an evening lecture at the university. Still, enjoy the museum, my friend!"

Polnareff's mind churned with thoughts of this mission magician as he walked through Khan El-Khalili, the biggest bazaar in Cairo. The scents of incense, fried meat and perfume blended with the chatter of tourists and the calls of the traders, filling the air with a beautiful cacophony. Jean Pierre sat down at one of the stools next to a food stall, and checked the menu. Vampires sustained themselves mainly off blood, yet they did need to eat some human food from time to time- one medium-sized meal a day would do the trick. The food stall had a picture menu for tourists, and after some consideration, Polnareff decided to go for the stuffed Squab and couscous. He had quite the taste for game meats (growing up in medieval Europe had ensured that), and pigeon was amongst his favourites, especially when it was cooked up with spices.
"Back again?" The cook said as he bunged a squab onto the grill.
"Yeah, my allergies are pretty bad." Polnareff replied. Middle Eastern food, despite being delicious, was full of garlic. Polnareff had lucked out and found a food stall where the cook was allergic to garlic (he wasn't a fellow vampire, as his face was reflected back at him in his shiny spatula), and thus proceeded to eat there every night. He chose a different menu item every time, as it was either this is McDonald's. And you'd have to be insane to fly halfway across the world, yet to eat no native cuisine, in favour of eating flabby burgers, and being told that the ice cream machine was broken when you asked for a milkshake.

With a full stomach, a satisfied grin, and a slice of honeyed baklava to go, Polnareff strolled out of the bazaar. It was closing for the night, and the streets were emptying of people. The tourists were back in their air-conditioned all-inclusive hotels, the bazaar traders were sleeping in the flat above their stalls, and even the birds on the telephone wires snoozed. Polnareff glided through the streets, eventually coming to where he'd been wanting to visit for so long- the pyramids! They loomed overhead, still as imposing as ever despite being surrounded by city blocks and high-rises. The sphinx sat before them like a guardian angel, and Polnareff sat down in the sand, gazing lovingly at these majestic beauties.
"Champollion was right... they are wonderful." He smiled. Polnareff gazed up at them happily for several hours, before terror raced through him like a needle of ice.
It was half an hour until sunrise and he didn't know where his box was!

"Shit shit shiiiit!" Polnareff gasped. He had his dirt in the bag on his pouch, but he needed somewhere to spend the day! With no better option, Polnareff ran up to the sphinx, and started digging a pit to hide in between its mighty paws. With a bit of luck he'd be able to make a hole deep enough to slumber in, without being disturbed. As he dug with his hands, he felt something crack- and then he was tumbling down a pit.
"Ow!" The vampire yelped as he hit the stone floor. He'd fallen down a tunnel, and although he hurt, it was a blessing in disguise. As right at the end of the tunnel was the entrance to a tomb!
"May not the living enter here... heh, creepy." Polnareff gave a laugh at the inscription over the doorway, and walked in. It was pitch black, yet his night vision let him see perfectly. The tob was tiny, about the size of a modern day bathroom, with nothing in it except some broken canopic jars, a small chest, and a plain stone sarcophagus. The walls were painted with a few inscriptions and drawings, yet there were none that appeared to be protective spells of any kind.
"That's weird. Wouldn't whoever's in here need protective spells to get into the afterlife?" Jean Pierre wondered.
"Oh, they didn't want me to get there." A voice said.

Polnareff screamed as the lid of the sarcophagus moved, and then slid off. He went to run out of the tomb, remembered the sunlight, and instead kept his back to the wall, screaming as loud as possible as a thin, bandaged hand reached out of the now-open sarcophagus. Polnareff had seen all the old movies- mummies chased archaeologists through pyramids, and created hoardes of scarab beetles that ate through your skin! The mummy sat up, and fixed Polnareff with his undead eyes.
"Tsk tsk tsk... calm down. After all, you're already dead too, correct?"