Drac Snack Shack

Chapter 2- Designer Clothing, Facial Hair, and Their Little Date

Chapter 2

Designer Clothing, Facial Hair, and Their Little Date

    “I prefer red,” I heard a man’s voice whisper in a way that was disgustingly seductive.

    Lets see here, disgusting, attempting to be seductive, red…

    I inhaled to calm myself as I felt his breath tickle my ear in warm puffs. I silently unsheathed the combat knife I had concealed in my handy dandy motorcycle jacket  and spun a around pressing my knife where his chest once was. Before I could gut him however, he had hissed and moved to my other side. The movement wasn’t so fast that he had blurred, but certainly at a speed that eliminated any doubts I had about his race.

    “Va piersic putred!” the vampire cursed in some language I couldn’t discern. His facial features, that I had the chance to examine now that I was facing him, were  contorted with rage as he looked down at his torn shirt. His white-blonde hair seemed to reflect the neon lights of the seedy nightclubs in the vicinity and his luminescent green eyes were filled with disgust as they narrowed.

    “Was it really all that important to you?” I asked gesturing towards his shredded shirt that was underneath his sports jacket without really expecting an answer.

    “Well, obviously you have no idea how hard it is to get designer clothing,” he replied sounding irked. “You have to have all these connections and get there early and give donations… Oh, and don’t get me started on getting them tailored! This wasn’t even in stores yet…”

    “Would you please just shut up about clothes!” I groaned as his eyebrow furrowed at me insulting what had obviously been his favorite topic of the short time we had spent in each other’s company.

    Before he  could retort, I let fly one of the throwing knives I had stashed in boot, hoping that he would shut up long enough for me to kill him.

    “That wasn’t polite,” he scolded, moving a fraction of an inch just in time for the blade to barely miss his head. He took a few moments to attempt to pull the knife from where it had been stuck between the bricks behind him before giving up and turning to continue speaking. “But how could I expect any form of classiness from a girl who walks out of the house wearing an outfit that so obviously came from the sale rack.”  After he finished what he apparently thought was a clever comeback, he took his time eyeing my clothing before shaking his head with all too apparent disdain.

    “So what if I get a good deal on clothing? And who are you to be talking about being unfashionable, mr-trying-to-bring-back-the-soul-patch! For the love of all things holy, shave the chin-curtain off!”  After my speech I was short of breath and there was a pause as though he was shocked that I had dare insulted his precious facial hair.

    Then it hit me.

    “Why are we even arguing about this? What a waste of time, I’m supposed to be killing you!” I stated, voicing my realization.

    “Oh is that what you were doing?” he mocked while popping his collar which made him look even more like the douche he was. “Well, you  better get on with it, dawn is coming and then I’m afraid we’re  going to have to end our little date.”