Not that I know every vampire in the surrounding areas, but I know (omit) all who are the native variety. We need to get out of here," Christopher sternly warns again.
"So, there are other vampires in jolly ole England? Whodathunk? We can't run away from every vampire we encounter Christopher. Who knows, they may be good allies," I optimistically suggest.
Christopher cautions, "As you learned from your experience with Aloy, you cannot determine what sort of vampire they are, what kind of past they embody or if they enjoy delivering pain upon others as compensation for their own pain or for their simple pleasure. And most importantly, you cannot verify whether or not they still feed upon the living, until they attack."
"Well, unless we sprout wings and fly outta here, we're not gettin' through this crowd too awful soon. And being in the midst of a crowd is probably the safest option at this point, would it not be?" I propose.
As we sit at our tables prepared for the worst but hoping for the best of outcomes, we notice two figures floating among the throng of scantily clad mortals. One slightly taller, lean gentleman, finely kempt in high fashion clothing is leading, while the other man close behind is shorter, small build and wearing more of the goth/punk style. I notice Christopher averting his eyes as they pass. The two nearly stroll by, then stop in front of our recessed area, and turn to stare intently.
I begin to probe, "Are they..."
"Yes. The older one looks familiar. The younger, no. Most likely, the older has turned the younger in recent years," advises Christopher.
"Perhaps they are in love." I suggest.
The older vampire addresses, "I can't place the name as I don't believe we've exchanged pleasantries in the last few... decades, sir."
Christopher raises his gaze from the faux velvet table covering, peers into my eyes momentarily, then shifts them to the visitors standing next to our seats.
"My name is Christopher Harewell. Nice to meet your acquaintance once again, sir?" Christopher inquires politely while tipping his cognac snifter.
"Ahhh, yes! Christopher, from Harwell. It HAS been a long time. I believe we met briefly during the time of the great war here on this soil. Must have been half a century or more ago. My name is Stroud."
"And my name is T-R-I-P-P, Tripp. My friends say I'm a real trip too! By the way, nice scarf draped around your lovely neck," Tripp voices energetically in my direction.
"Very nice name, Tripp. My name is Daniel, and I just love your um... attire. Real leather I presume," I inquire politely.
"Of course! PETA can lick my hairy asshole," snorted Tripp.
After I nearly expel the saltydog through my nose, wipe my spit and regain my composure, Tripp invites, "Come on Daniel. Let's throw down on the dance floor!"
While sensing Christopher staring into the side of my head, I return my gaze to his face. Softly I reassure, "I'll be back. I hope. Don't worry."
"I need to forewarn you, Tripp. I don't know how to dance very well. I may be 'trippin' up on you! I was hoping for Christopher to teach me some steps tonight." I playfully banter.
"The only step I could teach you is perhaps a good Baroque or Minuet, I'm afraid dearest Daniel," Christopher painfully sighs.
"That's okay. I could probably benefit from a slower pace," I reassure.
YOU ARE READING
Birthright ~ (LGBT-Fantasy-Vampire)
VampireDaniel finds himself embroiled not only in discovering his ancestral roots, but surviving them in an old manor, cemeteries, and the streets of England against formidable enemies with a long history of their own, spanning centuries.
