California Gothic

Chapter 1

(CW: Gaslighting, sexual harassment)

Morgana Scriven watched out the window of the passenger side as her boyfriend, Balam, drove them down Ventura Boulevard. She unabashedly observed the streets with her roseate eyes, whereas the other undead wore their refractium masks and gloves to hide their skin from the sun; turning their faces into featureless, opalescent mannequins. A group of Aasimar flew a few stories above street level, holes designed in their jackets to allow their angelic wings to be free. A Goliath, eight-feet-tall, strode down the street, making eye contact with her as they hit a red light. Morgan gave the giant a modest smile, her fangs appearing out from just behind her red-painted lips, a stark contrast to her pale, white skin; he returned one in kind.

"Are you even listening to me?" Balam said, the tawny Wood-Elf aggressively gripping the steering wheel.

"What's there to listen to?" She asked, not looking him in the eye.

"You're going to be gone out here all the time and you won't even do me the decency of looking at me?" He whine.

"I told you about this. This internship is all I've ever wanted and now I have a real chance to prove myself on the floor." She said, with a scoff "I thought you'd be proud of me."

"I never said I wasn't proud." He interjected and shook his head, the tips of his bone-white antlers grazing the roof "I'm just pissed you signed up for such an extensive program in Studio fucking City."

"My only other option was work for PNN in WeHo." She said with a sigh "Why are you so against this?"

"Who the fuck is going to keep the apartment clean? Certainly not Raphie or Seth."

"Hey, that's not fair, Raphie does pick up after himself. More than I can say for you." She said with an eye roll. The car began moving again.

"Whatever... I'm gonna miss your fucking cooking, too... and that's not even talking about my needs." Balam groaned.

"When I signed up for the program you said it would be okay if we fucked less." Morgan said, her pitch hiking further in defense.

"You're remembering wrong," Balam said. Morgan didn't dignify this with a response. "We haven't been intimate, much as it is, and I was worried this would happen."

Meticulously, she checked her hair in the visor mirror shortly before they reached her destination. Shit, I need to replace those gods damned silver mirrors at home, she thought, slightly envious of non-Vampires at that moment.

Today Morgan would finally begin her internship in earnest and be able to work on the main floor instead of just being a shadow. Accordingly, she was dressed in a solid black halter top and formfitting smart jeans. Her blonde hair was held up in a bun, revealing her gold, Celtic cross earrings, the symbolism far from lost on her. Despite Balam's best efforts, she felt sharp and sexy.

"You trying to look pretty for your coworkers? Any of them you're interested in fucking instead?" Balam said, turning his head to see her primp herself.

"Oh my gods, you're, like, really on one today, aren't you?... I like to feel cute. I thought you would like my look, too. Shouldn't have even bothered." She said crossing her arms as they approached the squat but still sizable building. "The least you could have done is wait for me to get home tonight before you berate me."

"Look... I didn't mean to start shit..." he said sighing "I just worry."

Balam pulled his silver EV1 up to the curb, before what Morgan saw as her inevitable future: The Cryptid Chronicle. It was one of the few papers in the nation that catered to Humanoids and Preternatural peoples and their issues, a transformative place. It even boasted an Orc as the chief editor: Colt Harding, a serious, award-winning journalist also known for being a serious, award-winning jackass to anyone beneath him.