Aquamonkey92

"Toothbrush, clothes, pyjamas, travel case, blood bags...standard." Vanessa laughed, latter sat next to the milk, needing to be kept chilled. She didn't need to look inside bag, Vlad told her what he'd brought. She knew he'd bring food, this making her curious as to what her blood type was. Inquiring as to where this may go, woman sat, closing eyes, let mind wander. *** When she was younger, Vanessa would have said her type of man was tall, broad, sun-kissed skin, blue-eyed, steely, but had air of calmness, serenity, seas tranquil. This was because she was told that was what she should want, female friends ordered her to date someone who looked like he'd just come straight from a GQ magazine shoot. As she got older, she realised neither height nor weight, or the width of their arms mattered. What did, was personality. She wasn't attracted to her first boyfriend, in the beginning. *** What struck her was his humour, very quick-witted, made everything fun, the world that little bit

"Do you know that the more cocks a woman has in her, the more of a whore she is?" "That old adage should have died out, aeons ago." Vanessa smirked. "Whore times," she held up three fingers, "three." Vlad bellowed, scotch sloshing in glasses, precariously close to its lip. "And...what if that applied to you? Not you, in general, of course, Vlad number three." Woman laughed, unabashed, man needing to hear glorious sound. "A whore times a thousand." "I'd say that's far too many, but that would involve me forgetting that you've lived many lives..." *** Vlad agreed, strangely enough, woman perplexed, dark tresses falling over shoulder, man aching to weave hand through them. *** "It is large number. However, I decided not to count after certain number. I made a, rather uneducated guess. It meant little, after a while." "Just warmth of release, another body. It dies quickly, when it means little." "You must understand, Vanessa..." *** From the time he arrived, up until now, the way man

Vanessa picked up tumbler of rum, savouring vanilla, quick hit of cinnamon swallowed up swiftly by toffee note. "How come the poles you used end up going through people's shoulders, when they are inserted straight up?" "The rib cage shifts, cracks, doesn't break, the bones move the pole steadily." "So, you just sat there, watching people die, agonisingly slowly?" "Sat, on my horse. Do you think I would stain my clothing with their blood?" Woman was, understandably, disturbed. "Vanessa," Vlad spoke, tone respectful, "do not ask questions you do not want the answers too." "I wouldn't." Sapphire irises sharpened, blades against man's throat. "Honestly. Anyone would think I was a dolt." "Dolt is as dim does. If I thought you an idiot, I wouldn't have entertained this." "I know what you've done." Woman offered hand. "I also know that, if you wished me harm, I'd be dead," she clicked fingers, "just like that." "True, and true. You ameliorate me, I cannot envision letting you stray into