Repent: Gwyllomay of the Darkness (1.5) (MANUSCRIPT)

Chapter 5, Nights and Lights (re1)

        Lights. Trance. Drums. The loud fingering of a piano. 

        Ah, yes. I remember well the tune of a Grand Piano. In my old land, they drew all sorts of tales from those luscious notes. Hm. I'm... such an old soul. Such a very old soul.  
        This grocery store, previously denoted by some kind of pretentious name, is also apparently the hub for local dancing or... clubbing... as Grace would call it. 
        I stand close to a dark bar, running a small glass across my hand and feeling the condensation drip onto my skin. Mmm. Simply blissful! I run a hand through the side of my sable locks, the colorful lights all pounding on me from the club's ambiance and flare. 

       Wait. Why do I suddenly feel a familiar presence? 

      I turned from my blue swivel-stool at the bar to see... Grace. 
      Such a dim presence for such a dimly lit gathering. I sorta wonder why her demeanor is lacking as of right now. Just a matter of minutes ago, she had happily made me feel exposed by knowing the name of my homeland. It was something... I wasn't expecting. I also wasn't expecting Grace to be gracing herself with such scantily-clad shorts. They made her buttocks appear firm and ripened beneath her otherwise obscuring clothes. Hm.
       I steal another sip from my shot-glass of what the people in this area call 'whisky', I say that like I haven't been in the humans' midst for a few centuries now, and steal a glare over to Grace. 
       "Why aren't you dancing? The music is amazing." The French lady takes a seat next to me in a blue swivel-stool of her own. 
      "Hmph, I've been meaning to have a word with you as of recently." I raise my eyebrows and clench my teeth. 
      "How recently?" Grace leans over the table of the bar, her hands folded. 

      "As in... within the past amount of minutes in which it has taken us to leave the house and arrive here." I lick my lips, a tiny droplet of whisky almost escaping my mouth. 
       "Oh. What about?" Grace had a smug smirk upon those devilish lips... and, for once in my life, I felt the strange desire to... drink more whisky! 
       "Bartender? Bartender! Yes, I'll have another one. Put it on my t- tab." I hiccup a little, my cheeks flushing, if only a little bit. 
       I hear Grace chortling. "You're getting a little tipsy. Isn't that perhaps a funny thing for someone of your stature?" 
       Her lips have now spread out a little wider, a triumphant smile taking over her face. 
       Um. Listen, any creature can get tipsy when they've taken twenty shots of whisky. Actually, I'm getting the odd feeling only I can down twenty to twenty-five shots... and that it's not really normal. Well, that'd make sense... considering... the obvious factor in all of this. 
      "I... don't know what you're... t- talking about, madame." I continue to keep my eyes lowered, twitching, as my lips wobbled. 

      Dear me! My tact waned as the alcohol spread throughout. If this was a graded test of some kind... I would've gotten an 85%. Daniel has told me all about grading and the school-system. I am also not a complete stranger to the public charity of education.  

       "Gwyllomay Polidori... of Polidoria-" 
      "Yeah, alright. You. Shush." I run a flimsy finger across my lips. 
      "You're drunk." 
       I bounce a bit in my chair. Oh... my. "Oh yeah? Well, you're- Uh. You're... nosy! I never realized the French had such big noses. Oh, wait... I guess I couldn't tell from them always pointing them up all the time!" 
     Grace's eyes fell to a dark narrow, her lips retreating to a scowl. "You really are drunk. I never thought a Polidorian would be so easily intoxicated, or bigoted... to specific nationalities, anyway. How much whisky have you downed?"
       The damn woman teased up the back of her hair as she spoke, those carnal, blonde locks flowing so thickly. Fuck. She looked so... delectable. Drinkable. Enjoyable. So full of youth. I wanted to sniff her neck, run my nails down her back, and make her moan for me. 
      Too bad she tried fucking killing me the other day on a train! 
      Yeah, that's really too bad. Mhmhmhm! 
      The naughty whore needs to be taught a lesson- No.
      No. I don't think that... way... anymore. Bad, dirty, kinky thoughts. Ugh! This whisky is some bad stuff. I need to get a grip on myself.