Destined

Day Five

Cryptic plays once a week on the little stage in the back of Sound Bites; according to Joey, they do play gigs elsewhere, but I've never heard of any, though I never say anything about that. Wishful thinking isn't dangerous since they don't rely on royalties to survive, then I may have to step in and give a reality check. For a local band, they often get a ridiculously large turnout with a large portion of the Dallas teenage population crawling out of their houses at seven o'clock at night to congregate in the back of the store and watch Cryptic-and whatever other acts they've booked-play for two or three hours straight. As a teenager myself, you'd think I'd like the atmosphere, but usually I spend the time in the very back of the room, propped up on the makeshift bar/countertop that functioned as a room divider during the day drinking a cherry and coke Slushie from the gas station down the road while reading my book of the week until Cryptic starts playing. 

This week is no different as I prop myself up on the counter with one leg dangling off, Slushie in hand, and Wuthering Heights spread open across my lap. I dress pretty tame compared to most of the other people who come to see the shows who dress like they've come looking for company to bring home at the end of the night. Me? I'm nearly completely covered in a Cryptic band tank top, black shorts, and my usual pair of firetruck red Converse with my straightened hair back in a high ponytail and a pair of lens-less glasses on. The dull roar of the crowd echoes through the room while the first band sets up when suddenly I hear the door to the store open (which is unusual given that most of the regulars have already turned out) and whirl around, peering across the store to see someone walk in. 

My first thought is to dismiss the kid whose face I can't see. He's dressed in jeans and a dark, fitted t-shirt, which isn't exactly unusual for this particular crowd. However, what stops me is his milky skin, close-cropped brown hair, and the strange half-circle shaped tattoo peeking out of the v-neck of his shirt. No fucking way. I raise an eyebrow as I see him, "They let you out for good behavior?" 

Godric shakes his head, moving shockingly quickly and appearing by my side to sit on the stool beside me, looking up at me with amusement. "I'm a 2000 year old vampire. I cannot be contained." 

I shrug, "A suicidal 2000 year old vampire; if I was your friend, I wouldn't let you out of my sight for at least the next hundred and fifty years." 

"You think surveillance would stop me?" 

"Hey, we have pact," I shoot at him. 

Godric smiles slightly and inclines his head, "We do." 

I give him a small smile and hop off of the counter, "You want a drink." He hesitates and frowns at me, "Yes, we have TruBlood; the owner's roommate's a vamp, so is the co-owner." He raises his eyebrow at me, and I shrug, grinning, "The owner's sister got turned recently by his roommate's maker...or something like that. I didn't really ask for too many details," I shrug, "I don't really want to know." 

We walk around the counter and open the small mini-fridge tucked underneath stocked with TruBloods of every kind due to Gina and Ajax's varied taste in blood...ew. I look up at him, trying not to grimace, "Do you-like-have preference." Godric's lips twitch as he shakes his head, and I sigh but grab a bottle out of the fridge and putting it the microwave right beside the mini-fridge and heating it up just slightly like the way Ajax taught me to do. I wonder when the hell the last time Godric actually, truly smiled, because he seems to make a conscious effort not to smile. It's a little depressing. When the microwave beeps, I hand him the warm liquid and try not to grimace. I have nothing against vampires, obviously, but that doesn't mean I'm not seriously grossed out by the blood drinking, synthetic or not. I'm a foodie, on the one hand, but I'm also just not a fan of blood in general, probably because mine is tainted and malicious.