[open] The Lights That We Fade In

[jackie damiano piazza]

How long had it been since I fled Northvale? To be truthful, I can't quite recall when I made the hasty decision to drop everything and disappear. At the start, my plans never included my return back to the town but, the longer I was away, the stronger a certain thirst for revenge began to bubble in my gut. Those faeries. They'd stolen what was almost my life's work and trashed it, as if it were as meaningless as dirt. Returning to Northvale wasn't exactly one of the brightest ideas I've ever had but it was the one I wanted.

It seemed as though lying low for these past few months had done the trick though. I was able to apply for a job as a simple bartender at the frequent vampire haunt: The Blood Inn. It's quite a rudimentary job but, right now, I suppose it's one of the only ones I could hope for. My last house was destroyed beyond repair and my business fell into ruin after my sudden departure. To put it simply, I was and am broke. And much too proud to turn to any relatives I might have for a possible helping hand.

I stood there behind the bar and stared down the fanged punters lining the counter as I wiped the same glass for a prolongued stretch of time. I don't dress the same as I do anymore - with my suits and ties -, my hair has a flash of bright red and my eyes are ringed with black kohl. It's not exactly meant to be a disguise but I suppose it helps deter anyone from recognizing the old me. As I do every night, I continued to stand behind the bar, boringly cleaning glasses and wearing the typical face of a sullen and begrudging teenager or young adult. I'm not friendly nor do I wish to be. I wait for someone to place an order, I get it them and I take their money. End of story. The common banter shared here doesn't interest me so much.

I slapped the grimey cloth over my shoulder and returned the dull glass to the shelf with the others. It was a slow night tonight and the low lull of idle conversation was beginning to irritate me, like the constant buzzing of a trapped fly. Usually I get along with my kind but I know that a couple of the drinkers sat at the bar are bitten, you can see it on their necks most of the time, and working for them like this... just urgh. I couldn't wait to run into one of my old faerie friends and get them back for this. I should be still running funerals, be the one making orders instead of taking them. Just because I applied for the job didn't mean I wanted it. I just wanted the money to pay for my horribly plain bungalow which I'd describe more of a shack than a home.

I sighed heavily and bit the inside of my cheek, dragging my bored eyes away from the riff-raff and back to the glass which I was probably dirtying rather than cleaning with the rag. They get what they pay me for in the end. I get paid shit, they get served blood in shitty glasses.

[Milo Dakota Lark]

He wasn't going back to the Gateway again, not when he wasn't working. Apparently his clientele there was incapable of understanding the words 'night off' without getting snippy and grabbing for his ass. And anyway, the drinks there were too expensive. Milo had been warned that the Blood Inn was a rough and tumble sort of place, but, hey, he was a rough and tumble sort of guy.

Things had been going well lately. His plans were slowly but surely falling into place, money was coming in somewhat steadily, and even his grades weren't bad enough to get the administration on his ass. Life was...dare he say...good? No, that couldn't be. After all, he was still forced to go to classes, stuck selling himself for cash, and Alex still wouldn't sleep with him. Ah, well.

Shuffling into the bar, Milo cast a glance around the place warily, making sure he didn't recognize anyone. Anonymity was good. Plus, he'd gotten into a fight the night before and was not about to explain the black eye that hadn't yet had time to heal. "Just...I dunno, straight A positive," he mumbled to the bartender, rubbing at the back of his neck uncomfortably.

From his pocket, Milo unfolded a small scrap of paper: the newest address the detective had sent him. One more and two hundred dollars and...well, that would be it. He was so close.

[jackie damiano piazza]

It wasn't until I heard the surprisingly young mumble of a boy did I look up from the glass I was 'polishing'. What did this place look like? A kindergarten? We didn't look after kiddies in here. I gave the kid a sour look, my hazel eyes flicking up and down in a smooth, judging sweep over his juvenile body. I'd place my last quid on that he was underage if I had one. His face and jaw were still visibly lacking the masculine hardness of a grown man. The book says I should ID but... who asked for ID anymore?

With a drawn out sigh through my nose, I turned to get the half-pint what he wanted in spite of having the feeling he was too young to serve. Taking my beautiful time with it, I finally turned back around to hand the kid his blood with a sharp knock of the glass on the weathered wood. "An A for the battered pup." I grunted with my faint Italian lilt, holding my upturned palm out for the cash. "Two-fifty."

God, this kid smelt like a medley of shit. One of the Academy's scrawny shrimps probably - it'd explain the array of scents I could catch off him. It was like raisins and vanilla and mint and a bit of spice. If such a smell even existed. I looked at him closer now, my eyes narrowing just the slightest bit in an examining way - not a great deal of students came this way and all the ones I'd encountered so far where idiots wanting to go to the 'scary vampire bar' for a tale to tell their equally idiotic friends no doubt. This wimpy-looking runt better not be one of those or he'd be out on his arse before he could chug his swig down.

[Milo Dakota Lark]

Milo took his drink with an unpleasant expression. A pup? God, that guy had some nerve comparing him to a dog. He fished around in his pocket and produced one crumpled bill and the rest in coins. "I hear 'pups' aren't good tippers," he snapped back with a scowl. He shoved the disorderly pile of money across the table.

He didn't like the way the dude was looking at him, like he knew anything about Milo's life. Well, dude could suck it. He took a long sip of blood from the grimy glass, eyes never leaving the bartender's. It left a bloody mustache in its wake, which he wiped away with the back of his hand. Milo rolled his eyes at the man. "The hell are you looking at, sunshine?" he sneered.

[jackie damiano piazza]

Like I gave a flying fuck about tips? They were more like charity from drinking strangers rather than a monetary incentive to do your job well. I wasn't here to go out of my way to bend over for people in exchange for some meager copper change. Working here was already demeaning enough without me lowering myself to please some old geezers that shouldn't give two shits about the 'customer service' here. I didn't offer the boy the sharp-tongued retort I had waiting and instead I just continued to looks his way with fathomless hazel eyes fixed on him. This sad, sad excuse for a vampire was but a child and not worth any witter and bitter words I could hurl up.

What was I looking at? That one was easy. I felt how a smile crept across my lips yet behind my hollow eyes there was no mirth. "Nothing." I said with an easy simplicity. "Absolutely nothing." The word rolled off my tongue with slight emphasis and directed towards the runt sat at my bar counter. He was but a boy in a bar. My bar. I wasn't about him to talk to me as if I were some shit he'd trodden on and walked into the bar with.

So I leaned forward, my elbows resting on the worn wooden worktop. I wasn't too close but no bartender would professionally encroach a customer's space like this if they didn't know each other on a personal footing. "The attitude stays out the door with the other scum if you want to drink in here, pup." My voice wasn't exactly threatening, but it was low and quiet, smooth like a light silk. And another smile, a larger one, and the tips of my ivory white fangs peeked from between my lips. No kid, paying customer or not, was going to talk down to me Jackie Piazza. I may have fallen from a certain grace I'd acquired for myself but I still had my pride about me. This was going to be the brat's one and only warning.

[Milo Dakota Lark]

Milo glowered at the man, trying his very best to not lose it and cause a scene. It was taking considerable effort. He had to let go of his glass, afraid he might shatter it, and instead gripped the edge of the bar. His jaw clenched, he managed to grind out, "I am not a 'pup' or 'scum' and I'm definitely not 'nothing.' My name is Milo." Oh, God, he was tearing this guy to shreds in his mind. In his imagination, there were innards splattered across the floor.

He carefully picked up his glass and took another sip of blood to calm himself. He let out a slow breath, then fixed Jackie with the steady gaze of someone three times Milo's age. "What I am is someone with nothing to lose. So you can either watch your mouth or watch your back. Your choice." He quirked an eyebrow at the bartender questioningly.

Outfit: Clicky!
Tagged: Jackieeeee!
Notes: zomg these two together is like asdfghlkjsg
Lyrics: Pretty Vacant by Sex Pistols
Credit: Chloe!

[jackie damiano piazza]

So the kid's name was Milo? I snorted my audible amusement at such a name. So the brat said he wasn't a pup but he definitely had the name of one. And would you just look at that mean, little stare he was giving me? If my mood wasn't so foul, I might have just reached over and given the thing a pat on the head for his effort. To be intimidating you needed body mass, not just a piercing pair of eyes on the face of a scrawny teenager.

And I believe that gobful of attitude was Milo not heeding to the warning I'd just given him. Just who did this brat think he was? Strolling in here, spitting sass and trying to defy me like no one's business. Fuck professional image. That runt had just hit a fuse.

My large, calloused hands lunged over the bar with no prior warning and they went straight for Milo's shoulders. I gripped the fabric tightly in my paling fists and went to heave the noodle of a boy right out of that seat he was sitting so comfortably and superior in. I may slave over this bar like just any sad, old sod but I wasn't one. I'm a Piazza. We don't take shit and especially not from pathetic schoolboys.

A couple of casual gazes wandered our way, along with a single alarmed one, as I brought Milo chest down on the weathered counter that'd seen, I suppose, many a bar brawl. I wasn't gentle. If the kid felt like he could rough it with the big vamps who was I to treat him any different? Glasses rattled and the wood vibrated from the force I used. He was acting like a tough, little shit so he could take this and much more, I bet.

"You aren't in that prissy Gateway, Milo." I hissed, quiet, and pushing him on the counter top with my mouth right by his ear. "That might work there. But not here. You either sit and drink like a good boy or I'll throw your bitch ass right out of my bar. Capisce?"

[Milo Dakota Lark]

Milo let out an indignant yelp at being manhandled so suddenly, hands scrabbling at the counter and at Jackie's arms. "Hey man, what the hell!" he shouted before hitting the counter hard enough to knock the wind out of him.

He was stunned for a moment, just jerking instinctively in the man's grip, but then he felt that weight on his back. He didn't even hear Jackie's words, just the breath on his ear. Milo started shaking before he even knew what was happening. And then all he could think was no, no not this. Not now.

And suddenly there were hands on him, everywhere, hands that he knew and that heavy weight that crushed the air right from his lungs. Milo started panting frantically, his movements getting more and more violent and irregular. He was in a full-fledged panic. His voice cracked as he shouted, "Get off me! Get off me!" and he could feel tears pricking in the corners of his eyes as the fear overtook him. "No! No, please!"

Outfit: Clicky!
Tagged: Jackieeeee!
Notes: zomg these two together is like asdfghlkjsg
Lyrics: Pretty Vacant by Sex Pistols
Credit: Chloe!

[jackie damiano piazza]

Out of all the possible reactions I could've been expecting, Milo gave one that surprised me slightly. I'd been waiting for understandable anger and indignation from being roughly manhandled like this out of the blue and in a public place. But instead I could smell fear and panic radiate off him in strong pulses the more frenetic he got. This reaction didn't amuse me any less though. It'd been a long while since I'd last tasted someone's unbridled fear, tangy and sharp in the air.

Maybe now the pup would show me the respect I deserved.

I didn't let off his small body immediately, I took a couple of long moments to savor his dread. Last time I'd smelt fear like this was, I think, around half a year ago when I had those two faeries cutely bottled away in a jar. Those two faeries that'd ruined me. Those fucking blighters. A spark of anger ignited on being reminded of the two bugs and I gave Milo one last, crushing push into the counter before easing off. As much as I would've enjoyed teasing his panic out more, I had to remember that I worked here. And although this job was... not deserving of my ability, I needed it.

"Not such a tough, little shit now, are you?" I grunted, more to myself than anything, as I hulked the boy back up by his shoulders and pushed him back in his seat heavily. Urgh... his drink had been spilled. The blood was smeared over the already stained counter and dripped steadily off the side with a gentle tap of each ruby droplet. You could hear the soft rapping of the liquid on the dusty floor. The room was so quiet and still after all that sudden drama. But anytime I looked over at the other vampires I didn't meet any of their gazes, they pretended to be immersed in their own drinks, gravitated towards their shots of blood and uncaring of what went on around them.

"Now, then." I began, my voice never losing its gruffness, clearing up the knocked over glass and mopping up the crimson liquid soaking the wood counter. "Gonna sit and shut up? If you are, I'll get you a fresh one."

[Milo Dakota Lark]

Milo felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes as the pressure on his back increased for a moment, mind lost in a sea of bad memories. When he was finally released and fell back into his seat, the boy was shaking visibly, his hands gripped on the edge of the bloody counter. He'd gotten blood on the shoulder of his shirt and the side of his face. He made no move to wipe it off.

He wanted to be indignant and belligerent and cuss the bartender out for doing that. He should be embarrassed about losing it so spectacularly in public. Instead, he was still valiantly and fruitlessly trying to shake off the fear. Milo didn't dare look up for fear that other vampires were staring at him, taunting.

So when the bartender asked if he would behave, all he could hear was an old hiss in his head of "Are you going to be a good boy? Are you going to be quiet?" Milo jerked his head up and down in agreement. "Okay," he whispered.

Outfit: Clicky!
Tagged: Jackieeeee!
Notes: zomg these two together is like asdfghlkjsg
Lyrics: Pretty Vacant by Sex Pistols
Credit: Chloe!