Vampiric Interdiction

[5] Lost For Words

Stepping out of the icy spray, onto a wooly cream bath mat, Villahr reached for something to dry himself from the rack next to the abandoned shower. With a sharp snap of his fingers the water immediately stopped pouring and the curtain slid back to it’s original place, concealing the soaked wall tiling from view.

It felt good to wash away all the blood, sweat and strain from his pores and watch it disappear down the drain, never to be seen again. Villahr loved his job, even though at times it was taxing. He had to. Besides, it was mainly his idea to set up the small shop in the crotch of the village in the first place, so it would be kind of ridiculous if after all that he didn’t enjoy his labour.

Business was booming, and even without Karolinna and their family included amongst his top paying clientele, Villahr was certain he would still be raking in plenty of devin to keep him comfortable.

The infradai he made were more than just a piece of metal and momentary relief. He put great care and precision into every hand-crafted piece, and they came to be symbols of status and importance. A razor blade would do it in the end, but for Villahr’s ornate style alone there were those willing to shell out the big bucks.

Villahr had a real flair for capturing his customers in the very core of each blade he produced. With that — and of course Karolinna’s gift of gab — it wasn’t long before he was the talk of the Vicio community and the number one seller in the business.

The name Villahr was on every envious, poverty-stricken tongue, and written, along with great amounts of cash, in near every up-scaled Vici’s chequebook.

Wrapping a fluffy towel snuggly around his diminutive middle, Villahr exited the bathroom. Steam followed, billowing up and out of the doorframe like great white storm clouds, and radiated off his dewy skin. The water itself had been colder than the lowest of winter nights in the region, but upon connecting with the Vici’s heated flesh, the vapour was immediate and lavish.

Karolinna looked up from her book as she heard the door open and her friend’s foot steps cross the floor. The bed sunk a bit under his weight as Villahr sat down next to her, pushing the faelna onto her back. He smiled deviously as he shoved her copy of what looked like another sappy mortal romance novel onto the floor, and then turned protests into angered objections giving Karolinna a generous sprinkling.

“Go to hell, Lahr!” came Karolinna’s irked reply, wiping the drops from her face, then pushing at his broad shoulders, as Villahr continued to wring his white hair out above her.

“There’s no such thing, remember? Your words not mine,” he replied, grabbing fistfuls more of thick, snowy locks and twisting like he’d seen the help do with the soggy dish-rags before hanging them up to dry.

“As true as that may be, this expression is not meant to be taken literally. I've learned it is more so used to show one’s irritation towards certain asshole behaviour. Right now that's coming from you!” Karolinna shot up on the bed, which shook in disapproval of the pair’s horse-play, and like a bullet out of a gun she knocked Villahr over.

She could never physically overpower him in a fair fight, but sometimes when they were rough-housing he left openings for her which she took full advantage of.

Keeping a hand firm against his impressive, but not bulky, pectoral muscle, she used the strength of her entire body to keep him there. Sitting upon the lower region of his abdomen, Karolinna leaned in and seized a mitt of the silky, wet strands, now splayed out around his head.

“I will rip this right out of your skull, you know?” she said in a stern tone that for a very brief moment almost made Villahr think she was being serious. He laughed.