Die For Something (Remington Leith/ Palaye Royale/ Denis Stoff)

Death Is A Party

Still zonked out in bed, I crawled out of Remington's arms and made my way to the bathroom with a new set of clothes. The digital clock on the dresser, next to the door, read in bright red numbers: 

3:36 pm

Remington wouldn't be awake until sunset in a couple hours so I took time to myself in the shower. I'd never needed a lot of sleep, even as a human. Three hours was enough to keep me energized for school, surprisingly. 

Thoughts raced through my head as I stripped and stepped into the shower, the hot water pressure massaging my back. It was enough to put you back to sleep again. 

About an hour passed and I thought it was time to get out. Beings it's winter, the sun usually set about 5-5:30 pm, meaning we get up earlier then the rest of the year. 

I'd chosen one of Remington's short sleeved white shirts, my laced black underwear, and thigh high socks that looked like a corset tie at the top, holding the laced top together. 

Yeah, I know. A lot of lace, right?

I didn't even know my plan with the whole lace thing, I just really enjoy lace. It's comfortable. 

Like I expected, Remington was still sound asleep like a baby, in bed. The covers wound around him and a pillow in his arms to fill my absence like the night I first caught him sleeping. He tried to sell me the tale of "Vampires don't sleep" shit but I caught him days later, passed out like an overweight guy who just walked home from a bar after eating a couple tray of tacos. 

Alright, that's a weird description, but the picture is clear I guess. 

Problem was I had about an hour until he was to awake and there was nothing to do here. All his books were in the Vampire script I wasn't taught yet and he had no electronics. No tv, no phones, no computers. In my opinion, we were lucky to have electricity from how old timey he seemed. 

Maybe it was just his choice of living. Either that or he just didn't have money to cover it, considering the Royal Council pays for this cabin and all that's in it since he's technically "underage". Oh man, if a job were to find out how old he actually is, they'd flip shit. I'd pay to see their reactions. Too bad it can never happen. We have to keep it a secret from immortals, even if they are true believers in us.

To my luck, he did have a record player. Now to find some records. 

A shelve to the left of the fireplace held what looked like thin covers, also known as the covers for the records. I'd never been able to hold a record, as my family was so modern and hated buying even CD's from the store. It had to be digital. 

The one that caught my eye was a set of three boys, crammed together on what looked like a burgundy love seat, in front of a wall of black and white art. The boy on the far left was dressed in a tan dress shirt, black pants, and black top hat with a golden ribbon around it. He held a glass of whine and a drunken looking face. The boy next to, actually in the middle of the boys, was a more gothic looking kid. One arm looked to be behind the previous boy while the other reached out for a brown, curly haired dog in the corner of the picture. Laced black sleeves, leather black pants with a rip on the right knee, farthest from the previous boy, and two necklaces around his neck. His black hair spiked up and the sides framed his powdered white face that had an expression that made him look like he was yelling at something. A cigarette placed perfectly behind his showing ear and black eye shadow on. The boy next to him, on the far right had on, what looked like a floral shirt that was autumn colors, a black shirt under it and black pants. His hair was in the style of the Beatles, his head tilted down like he was looking at his hand placed a little below his chin. So much was going on in the picture that it would take days to fully describe everything.