Collection of One-Shots

》into the night

"Good evening doctor." Her voice was dry and parched even as she took in the pristine conditions of the laboratory surroundings. A slightly antiqued light microscope -perhaps still from the nineties, the centrifuge with various disposable test tubes still inside the machine, the stench of antiseptics that only a hospital could provide and the sickening whitewashed walls, the purity of the color made her cringe. Izabella was far from comfortable in her current setting, though inexorable death hung in the air. Sluggishly the man swiveled around in the small chair, turning away from the microscope -on which a fresh slide of diseased blood was prepared for analysis; and stood, looking rather surprised.

"Ahh, Nurse," He paused, taking a moment to glance at the name tag pinned to the pocket of her medical scrubs, "Maddox; how may I be of assistance?" A knowing look crossing over his features as she presented the small briefcase, which was, in all honesty, much to modern for her taste, but sufficient to its purpose.

"The usual, five canisters of O negative." She responded, tucking a strand of auburn hair back into the pitiful excuse of a ponytail, only necessary to keep the disguise believable, her tongue swiping over the sharpened cuspids bringing awareness to exactly how hungry she was.

"I'm afraid all I can supply you with today is three, another man came in last night and nearly took the entire supply," Izabella arched a perfectly sculptured brow at the mention of another searching for the same sustenance as her; ignoring the condescending tone of the man as he placed the remaining three canisters into her briefcase. She had not known there to be another of her kind in the area.

"A man you say? Looking for O negative? What, pray tell, did he look like?" She inquired, sifting through a loose pocket to find payment.

"I'm afraid my other clients are confidential Nurse." He smiled, holding out the small briefcase until Izabella took it in her hand, exchanging a folded wad of hundred dollar bills. She had long lost track of how much she paid each time, but after so many years her monetary supply was far from depletion. Lazily he thumbed through the bills, before tucking them away in the crisp pocket of his lab coat, a sardonic smile crossing over his face.

"Is there any other way I may be of assistance tonight?" Izabella huffed, smiling in a manner that was equally distasteful, not giving a second thought to the vampirous teeth that she displayed. The man went pale, shocked, his eyes widening. Turning Izabella inhaled the filtered air once more, catching whiff of something strange, she smirked before opening the door to leave. "By the way, that blood, it's cancerous."

︽︽︽

The old '64 Mustang's engine rattled as the car came to a complete stop outside of the abandoned theater, the grandiose ceilings adorned with intricate paintings gradually faded, the paint chipping and falling to the floor, forgotten. Decaying. Briefcase in hand she stepped lightly over broken glass, splintered wood and creaking floors before coming to the back dressing rooms. One of which, she stayed in.

Morning would be in a few hours, she vaguely acknowledged the changing colors of the sky, the birds beginning to sing their dreadfully blithe songs. Tired, she pushed the door open and stumbled across the floor space to the divan, the upholstery wearing thin the floral patterns no longer able to be seen. Izabella sealed two canisters in the small icebox in the corner of the room, the inside light broken but it served its purpose.

The seal was easily broken as she fumbled around on the small coffee table, the sheen from the polyester resin wearing down to reveal the scraps upon the wood and grind that years provided. Knocked over, but not broken was the small crystal claret, stained a dull shade of maroon, but that became irrelevant as the glass was filled with the precious elixir of life. The scent itself was intoxicating and in one simple sip, she slipped into the euphoric high, her body livening to a degree that she had not experienced since being turned, turned by a chaotic and reckless man in the year 1743 on the streets of London, until that moment what she would become had been nothing but folklore and horror stories.