Ready

The Way Things Are

Some things you should know. Yes, we feed off blood. It's what sustains us. But in the same way you consume food and drink, we consume blood and- you guessed it- drink. Water? Yup. Alcohol? We can, but it's pointless. Coffee and tea? Yes please and thank you. Caffeine doesn't affect us either, but if you don't love coffee and tea, I don't care if you're a vampire or a human, I don't have time for you. Get out and goodbye.

We are not all flawless beauties. The marks and scars I had before I turned are all still there. Though I haven't gotten any new ones or aged in, oh, about one hundred and twenty years. It's a perk. You can be jealous if you want.

We will not burst into flames if we're caught in the sun. It's no more dangerous to us than it is to you. Less so, actually, when you consider the fact that the most I'll suffer is a very mild, very temporary redness after prolonged exposure. Whereas you might develop skin cancer, or god forbid, wrinkles.

Showing us a cross will not result in us hissing and running away. Unless you try to push your religious beliefs on us. I know some people, vampire and human alike, who get real fucking testy about that. Holy water is a joke too. Except nobody likes having water thrown in their face. I don't have to be invited in in order to enter your home. But I like to be, because otherwise I'll just stand awkwardly on your porch, and it's generally considered rude to just walk into somebody's house unless you're really close or have a key.

Garlic? If you reek of it, I'll steer clear, but that's just because I have a sensitive nose. As far as I know, unless you're throwing bulbs of it at a vamp and they tire of the abuse, it's not an effective deterrent. We also don't sleep in coffins. It's not comfortable. I've done it. Don't ask. A stake through the heart will take anyone down. But good luck getting that shit past the armor that is our skin. I've never seen it done, and don't know that I believe it can be done. It might be, I just have my doubts, and I don't feel the need to put that particular unpleasantness to the test.

Was there something about silver? I can never remember that one. Let's just say there is. Guess what? Also bullshit. Completely draining somebody of blood is not only frowned upon, but also usually unnecessary, as it doesn't take that much blood to be satisfied (Yes, I've done it. Several times. I'm a monster.) We're not really supposed to go around creating other vampires either. It's a moral gray area. Is immortality a blessing or a curse? Do people really know what they're getting into when they ask us to turn them? Do we have the right to take death away from somebody?

A vamp who drains somebody, or turns somebody without a permit (Yeah. A permit. Imagine getting a marriage license, except about thirty more dotted lines to sign) will find themselves in a hell of a lot of trouble. As we've already established we are damn near indestructible, I would like for you to imagine a vampire, cut off from the world, provided with only what is necessary to survive, waiting in a prison for eternity to end. They would be very cranky. As would the taxpayers providing their room and board for who knows how long. How do you determine how many years a vampire gets in the big house when time means basically nothing to them?

Theo and I have been together for one hundred and fifteen years. You and your best friend have matching tattoos? Cute. My best friend and I have matching emotional trauma from every time we've had to leave people we'd grown to love behind. And also from when handlebar mustaches were in vogue. Hipsters, I beg you, let that go. It was bad then, and it's worse now.

Anna came along about thirty years ago. She's new. By which I mean we taught her everything she knows about being a vampire because she's only been a vampire for thirty years. We found her, bled nearly dry, curled up in a ball, and just beginning to turn. Not sure who did it, and she never really cared to find out. "What's done is done. I just have to keep moving forward."

She was twenty, and remarkably upbeat. You know, for a person who'd just died. I was still a ball of angst at twenty. I'm a ball of angst now. But Anna has done well. We've asked her, a few times, if she'd like us to try and find out who turned her. She's answered the same way every time. "I know who was there while I turned, and who's been there ever since. That's what matters." Infuriating. But endearing and adorable. I think I've just decided that we'll keep her.

I can't give you an origin story. Not the way you'd probably like, anyway. I remember my childhood. I remember my adolescence. I remember every detail of my mother's face, and the way my father's voice would echo through the halls as he sang, and the way my brother beamed the day his son was born. I can remember the feel of my nephew's chubby little arms around my neck and the sweet smell of his fine, blonde hair.

I don't have any recollection of an intriguing stranger, or a traveler seeking shelter from a storm. There's nothing in my memory to suggest any violence, or any unsavory characters. There's just a blank. I don't know who did this to me; I have nobody to blame for making me the way I am. And that sucks. I just know that I remember going to bed one night, and waking up to discover I was dead. Sort of. Everyone had apparently thought I was, because I woke up in a casket. Thankfully, I wasn't in the ground, or in a vault. No, thankfully, my family was old school. We'd lived in the same big house (I say house...but last I heard, it was more of a tourist attraction) for generations, and we had a motherfucking crypt. I was laid out prettily in a box and put on a shelf to spend eternity in the company of the bones of great-great-great-aunt whoever.

As you might expect, I found my way out, found my way to the house, and found I was no longer welcome. A ghost, you see, does nothing but frighten their mother to the point she faints, and a demon isn't always recognized, even by their own father. I was either a ghost, or a demon. What happened next wasn't very exciting. I found out quickly what I was. Instinct and hunger made sure of that. I made a mess of things. Or rather, I made a mess of an inn. I ran to the woods in an attempt to put some distance between myself and humanity, but it didn't work.

Theo saw me in a tavern about five years into my new life, and recognized what I was immediately. I'd never met anyone else like me, so I was a bit slower on the uptake. Once we'd sized one another up, determined neither of us was a threat to the other, we'd quietly taken down our separate targets, and disposed of the bodies together. There's never been any denying that we're monsters. But over the years, it's been easier to live with, easier to control, easier to blend in, and easier to find alternative sources of blood. And again, in the last few years, since we "came out", we can literally just buy what we need.

Theo knows exactly who turned him and why. It's a story that, at first, made us both angry. Him more so, obviously. But they say that times heals all wounds. I don't know if it heals them or just sort of dulls the ache. It's his story to tell, and not mine. But he didn't have an easy life. And when he finally found himself somewhere he thought he was safe...well, he wasn't. We found his creator. We didn't kill him, but not for lack of trying. We don't have to worry about him anymore though. He apologized, and I believe by the time he did, we had made him truly sorry that he'd ever laid eyes on Theo in the first place.

Have I bored you with these details? Or have I satisfied some of your curiosity? Shall we move on? Because the fun is about to start.