Caution this is a strange story with strange language. If you perhaps have played Vampire the Masquerade: Bloodlines you might notice a certain similarity. All persons living and dead with a resemblance to said game are unintended and purely residing in your mind, I swear.
Fresh from the grave, sounds like something someone would tell a necrophilia lover doesn't it. Well if you happen to be one sorry but I am and I'm moving, well sitting, darn taxis never give you any room to stretch out anymore.
Ah look we are off the darn highway and onto regular roads we must be close to my destination, now if only I could remember what it was. I guess he remembered because we've stopped and he's looking at me. Grabbing up my things I open the door and step out into the night.
Well out into the night is a misnomer, I stepped out into total chaos. There is a club across the street, apparently there had been something of a bloodbath there are police and news cameras all over the place, some arguing with each other. A microphone attached to a rather attractive young lady is shoved into my face followed by a barrage of questions and a rather bright light behind her shining into my eyes.
"Pray tell us little miss fake blonde what you are prattling on about." Are the first words out of my mouth since that room where I had that undying.
She gets a shocked expression on her face, looks back over her shoulders at the lighted man before turning back to me.
"I was asking what your opinions are on the massacre that happened here at Club Meteor just two hours ago. Did you know anyone that was inside when it happened?"
"I fear I missed out on the massacre that must have been a quite red experience. I do not think I knew anyone inside likewise the likelihood of me knowing anyone inside there now is slim to none. Now if you would kindly excuse me little miss fake blonde I really must be about my own affairs that have no bearing on yours."
She turned a few shades of red as I turned back to the ever helpful taxi driver, his grin from ear to ear as he points me to where I am going he even knew which room I had a key for. I would have asked him to join me inside, I'm quite sure there would be a bed, except the expression on his face at my question was not a nice one.
As I walk to my destination, finally knowing it is such a relief, it dawns on me I never actually asked him to come to my room with me. I suppose there are nice perks to being a living dead girl.
Inside my room, well rooms there is a separate bathroom, a fact I giggle over as I look around. Overall it's a nice place, there is a kitchen with a nice stove and big fridge, great big old king size bed with a lovely dark blue bedding set. A TV is against the far wall with a loveseat before it, a cheapish stereo adorning the wall besides the doorway to the bathroom. The other side of the doorway is where the important thing is, a computer.
I turn the TV on and flip channels as the computer powers up, ah there we go, a news report. Not on this massacre that I missed, instead it is about an abandoned freighter that was spotted earlier today. Turning back to the computer I find a note on the screen telling me the email address I was given and the password to access it. I guess they do take care of their own living dead people, the emails are all sorts of great information, some warnings about things to avoid, massacres being one, more's the pity a great blood spurting massacre sounds rather appetizing at the moment.
Among all of these large emails about things to do, and not do there is a small little blurb of an email, saying to meet this person at a location tomorrow. I guess I will have to do the old Google map bit, but not right now, now I think would be a good time to find a companion for the rest of the evening since I'm not needed anywhere tonight.
After a quick search on the yellow pages I open up my luggage to put something on, always best to not wear what you died in if you can avoid it. Finding a teeny tiny little miniskirt with a matching top I quickly shed my clothes, before donning the mini and heading out sans panties of course.
Outside I sidestep the reporters and coppers before walking my almost merry way to another club, open of course. The bouncer outside takes one look at little miss me decked out in a lovely tiny little red top and mini and waves me right in. Many of the men waiting outside giving whistles and cat calls, though not sounding like cats, they really must be working on their cat calling.
Inside the club I am awash in the music, and smoke, the smell of alcohol and vomit under the almost overpowering aroma of deodorant, perfume and after shave. Eyes darting about looking for someone, anyone to spend time with, at least part of it in a way they wish, my hungry little peepers alight on a most striking specimen.
Companion spotted, my feet swiftly steer away from their original path toward the bar and instead straight at him. My companion, though he does not know it yet watches my approach with eyes alight in hunger of his own. I reach him and pull him close to me while beginning to dance with him, against him, into him. The powerful aroma of his interest and health almost drive me to do something most not good, but I manage to hold on, partly because he wraps his arms about me and begins to whisper in my ear his name.
