Nocturnal

Old Sweetheart

On a cold Friday night, a slight drizzle rolled down the windows of a vampyre dive bar. A man and woman pair scurried onto the porch and inside to escape the moist chill, muttering. The faint yet tasteful scent of iron and grease seemed to hit the nose all at once, like the burst of heat from an open oven. Nocturnal, flickered in bold red letters above the crooked front doors. The 'C' flickered out of pace, alone in the blackness of night buzzing to the ear. Cigarette smoke filled the leaf-covered porch with such frequency the air tasted stale. It nestled its way into the building's bricks, growing into the foundation. An old friend once joked whisky or wine, cigarettes, and blood are counterparts you can't have one without the others. Ever since he said that she hadn't been able to separate them.

The two mortal-owned businesses that bordered Nocturnal were cleverly closed at 3 Am, like all the clever mortals in town too afraid to leave the house once the sunset. Randel, the head bartender and owner of Nocturnal, noticed last week after a concerned patron brought it up, that both businesses had newly printed, paper signs posted on their front windows. He could only assume for the fun of it.

"No Fangs allowed."

"We don't want you here."

Randel emerged from the rough back door of the building with a black bag of trash in hand. He parked himself on the porch watching indignantly from the shadows as both shop owners emerged with the paper signs in hand. Their stubby hats and pressed clothes, wrinkled under the alleyway stench. They gossiped with one another, laughing at their clever plan before simultaneously taping to their storefront windows a poorly made protest for vampyre existence.

Randel waited with an abundance of patience only vampyres have, as the two mortals retreated into their shops. Then he strolled onto the empty sidewalk and ripped them down one at a time.

He did this every night, before 9 PM when they officially opened. He forgot tonight and was only now emerging from the back porch and rounding the building at 3 a.m.

He spotted his favorite patron beneath the front overhang, sulking with a cigarette between her lips. A minor smile ached on him, as he walked past her to the other shop.

"Late night?" He asked, his high-toned voice swallowed up by the ringing emptiness and the tapping of rain.

The women perked up, only briefly, then sighed. "When isn't it?" She returned. "You're late. Those offensive things have been up all night."

"You know. I completely forgot about them. Such filthy mortals don't really sit on my mind." He rebutted, sparking a giggle from the female.

"Good for you, Randel." She concluded, letting the lack of conversation embrace her. The tall, pale-skinned vampyre flashed her a wink before strutting proudly into the back, the two shredded signs crumbled.

The woman crouched beneath the front overhang, her black dress ridden up to her knees and her feet skillfully balanced on two pointed scarlet heels. Her cigarette exerted a dampened stream of smoke that turned into clouds above her. The rain trickled down at a steady pace, rolling off the overhang and staining the concrete. She never noticed the pressure of misery here. Even though Nocturnal was a shabby hole in the wall, cracking and crumbling as she thought, it welcomed her every time she visited.

Today though, the rain was miserable. She felt the loneliness in her bones and an unsettling anticipation in her fingertips. With each gentle tap of water on the cold stone beneath her feet, she knew. Sighing softly the women stood and flicked the cigarette into a puddle. Her cold blue eyes shuddered across the puddle's reflection, before turning and strolling back inside.

The building's soft banter embraced her and the cold air was quickly locked out. She felt that this place was more like a get-together than a bar, recognized the people here, and knew them closely. Vampyres filled the building, spaced evenly across the black leather couches and chairs. The women were dressed in raunchy clothes, with scandalous backs. While the men wore their best suits, with red accents. Vampyres had that rebellious itch, they liked to make a statement. Some eyes flipped up to greet her, and smiles were exchanged. A bright light illuminated the alcohol display calling her to the bar. She rolled the stool around and climbed on, propping her designer purse in her lap.

"Edine! It's been some time." The bartender arose from down the empty countertop, wiping the rim of an octagonal glass.

Edine smiled sweetly. Two pointed fangs peaking past her rosy lips. "Yes, it has. My manager encouraged me to avoid any potential controversies, at least until my clothing line is released." She chuckled meekly under her breath, "Whatever that means."

The bartender laughed heartily. "And yet?"

"It's sensible, but I just can't stay away."

"Well, what would you like today? Maybe a cocktail or something else?" The bartender's black nail aimed at a suspiciously relaxed man, in the corner of the room. He sat lonesome on a couch eying Edine through sharp eyebrows. "He's been staring at you since you came in. Do you know him?"

She tilted her head and landed her sight curiously on the mortal. Her predatory stare softened. Then she nodded slowly. "I do..." Her sweet voice drifted away as she rose to her feet and strolled towards the man.

He watched her intensely, like she would slit his neck if he blinked. As she approached, a surprised giggle broke past her plump lips, and she slowed to a stop. "I thought you went abroad."

"I was. Then I came back. That's usually how travel works." The mortal replied bitterly.

"Here to donate then?" She returned with a wave of her hand to the surrounding environment, and the few mortals that were seated amongst her vampyre counterparts. "You'll make me jealous."

"No." His voice dipped and deepened. A dangerous scowl yanked on his lips.

"I hit a nerve there." She uttered boredly. "But what do I expect from a PI? You've always been irritable."

"Have I?" He hummed smoothly, turning his head. "You never minded before."

She quickly grew tired of his back and forth and his irritating composure. "What are you doing here? I thought you hated me."

"I'm not here for you." He returned. "Not everything revolves around you."

The women scoffed with an offensive growl. "Then, what? You're suddenly back to doing the same old thing?"

The man gave her a knowing look, then shifted uncomfortably.

A devilish smirk grew across her lips and she approached, taking a seat directly beside him. Crossing one leg over the other she leaned in, grinning widely. "I wonder if your blood still tastes like strawberries."

A horror flashed onto his face, and he flinched away. His hand slipped into view, with a knife clenched in it. A thick silence befell the room, as both parties sat awaiting sequence. Edine chuckled deeply, "Don't forget where you are, Caden." He surveyed the space, dotted with vampyres but his demeanor didn't change. "I doubt that killing me is worth it." She soothed, tapping the end of her red nail on the blade. The subtle clicking only upset the mortal further. He withdrew hesitantly and inserted it back into its sheath.

"Right." She grunted, rising from the cushions. Her seriousness faded briefly through a crack of old emotion and she looked across the room at the front door. Then she sniffed, and flattened her skirt before proudly strolling out of the bar.