(To Fina and her mun. I loves you guys)
And so it was that those long, lackadaisical Summer days were the ones that Fleck liked best; when everything was warm and ripe and moved in slow motion. The sort of climate that lent a heat-of-the-day warmth to her chilled skin at night.
Lionel had found them a nice little shack on the outskirts of a town that overflowed with both the supernatural and preternatural. How they had gotten there, she couldn't remember, but it had been their home for two days. Rhy'din. That was what he had called it.
Two days though and they had barely left their little hide out, feeding only from whatever wayward animals happened to cross their path. That was the only downside of the Summertime to little Fleck. As she studied the supine form of her maker, sprawled out on a threadbare and battered old couch by the door, she couldn't help but frown. He was so very subdued and she was beginning to wonder if he was really, truly dead. That is until an ear twitch or a snorting snort knocked the looped thought, for a moment, out of her head.
She didn't like it when she was bored and he was asleep. Fleck wanted him to wake up and, most importantly, she wanted him to soothe her boredom. First she slid one gnawed ragged fingernail along the side of his face, hard enough to draw a hairline gash across a stubbly cheek; the likes of which welled up with dots of blood in a matter of seconds.
To her chagrin all of this went unnoticed, save for an annoyed slap at the air from the elder vampire.
"Wakey, wakey," she whispered into his ear, bringing her bloodied finger to her mouth and licking it clean. "Eggs and bacey."
When there was no response at all, be it from too deep a sleep or from Lionel simply ignoring her, Fleck shuffled to her feet and started towards the door with her bottom lip jutted out into a pout. It seemed to Fleck that she was going to have to find her own fun.
**********************************
She walked barefoot down the broken bottle riddled path into town, oblivious to the debris cutting into her feet. The broken path spilled almost seamlessly into plush, evergreen grass that cradled her road torn feet as she walked.
Waterfalls and caves surrounded the lush, plush forest and Flecks wide blue eyes took in the scenery; madness for the moment awestruck. So many scents bombarded her that she felt more than a bit dizzy, her feet staggering sideways and sending her tumbling into a holly bush. A swirl of small, chattering creatures scattered from the bush; some flying away while others hovered over the confused girl, chirping and wailing angrily at having been disturbed.
Fleck squinted dark blue eyes and when one of the small creatures flew too close to her face, she snapped her teeth at it and caught it by a wing.
One small hand reached up and plucked the struggling little thing from her mouth and she pressed it against the palm of her hand; gentle, so gentle, so that she didn't kill it.
The wing, a clear dragonfly gossamer, was broken to be sure. Fleck tilted her head this way and that, fangs sinking into her bottom lip as she studied it. Too tired to struggle, the little creature just chirped in pain.
To Fleck it looked like a storybook animal; something out of a fairy tale. All small, no bigger than a child's thumb, and human shaped. Its eyes were solid gray, no whites, and almond oval and when she pulled back its lips, she glimpsed vicious little teeth.
She grinned to show off her own fangs and slid the little thing, cursing in its own language, into her pocket. Lionel would be very pleased at her find, she was sure.
*************************
She returned later that morning, when the sun was a mere hour away from showing itself over the horizon. Fleck could imagine the her skin burning. In her pocket she had the pixie- long since suffocated and as stiff as a board-, a chipmunks tail, a dragon's tooth, a few pieces of Bazooka Joe bubble gum, and a dead mouse.
All of these treasures had her very excited. Lionel would be so happy. Perhaps he would love the gifts so much that he would sing to her and tell her the story about how the Big Bad Wolf hunted down and ate those horrible, nasty little Pigs. That one was Flecks absolute favorite.
Had her cold, dried as a fig heart been able to break, it would have. The room was empty, save for the ratty couch and a note nailed to the wall near the window. Fleck could still smell him; his scent barely clinging to the old shack and she threw her head back and howled like a wounded animal caught in a trap.
Crimson tinted tears clouded her vision and she tore the letter from where he had nailed it, free hand clenched so tightly that her nails dug into the palm of her hand. Blood seeped from her fist and drip-drip-dripped against the splintered, wooden floor.
"Dear Fleck,
I assume you can try to figure out what happened. Rather than take the fall for this, I will simply place the blame on you. You were a bad girl and thus, I left you. No need to sugar coat it, right?
I know you'll try to find me, but I'm back on Earth; safe and sound while you, well, you're days are numbered my little thumb screw.
Love,
Lionel"
She crumbled the paper up in her bloodied fist and sent in through the wall. The old wood cracked and exploded around her, shards digging into her pale, cold flesh. The demon in her screeched and clawed and slung her body from room to room; knocking holes into plaster and her head into two already shattered mirrors. Finally, blood drained and tired, she slumped onto the couch and drew her knees to her chest.
Fleck didn't understand. Couldn't understand, but a part of her, that long forgotten part named Corrine knew and sadly, softly she whispered to her other half;
He's left you Fleck. Left us. We were nothing to him. No more important than some old cur. He was a coward, Fleck. He didn't even have it in him to kill us, just abandoned us like a dog.
As the voice reverberated in her skull, Fleck buried her face against her knees and sobbed. Her hair was matted with her own blood and her dress was drenched. Cuts and slashes and gashes and bruises covered her from head to toe; a far too temporary result of the demon's temper tantrum.
"He left because I was a bad girl..." she whispered to the air, cheeks streaked red on white.
And the voice cooed to her like a mother to a child.
No, no, please stop thinking that. You're not a bad girl. We're not bad. He thinks you can't survive on your own, but you know you can.
Fleck was too tired, too bloodless to argue. She stretched out on the couch, head resting against one of her arms, and closed her eyes.
"What do you know, " she growled, "you were a bad girl too."
Corrine shut up and after awhile, before dawn induced sleep pulled her under, Fleck wished that her old self would talk again.
And so it was that those long, lackadaisical Summer days were the ones that Fleck liked best; when everything was warm and ripe and moved in slow motion. The sort of climate that lent a heat-of-the-day warmth to her chilled skin at night.
Lionel had found them a nice little shack on the outskirts of a town that overflowed with both the supernatural and preternatural. How they had gotten there, she couldn't remember, but it had been their home for two days. Rhy'din. That was what he had called it.
Two days though and they had barely left their little hide out, feeding only from whatever wayward animals happened to cross their path. That was the only downside of the Summertime to little Fleck. As she studied the supine form of her maker, sprawled out on a threadbare and battered old couch by the door, she couldn't help but frown. He was so very subdued and she was beginning to wonder if he was really, truly dead. That is until an ear twitch or a snorting snort knocked the looped thought, for a moment, out of her head.
She didn't like it when she was bored and he was asleep. Fleck wanted him to wake up and, most importantly, she wanted him to soothe her boredom. First she slid one gnawed ragged fingernail along the side of his face, hard enough to draw a hairline gash across a stubbly cheek; the likes of which welled up with dots of blood in a matter of seconds.
To her chagrin all of this went unnoticed, save for an annoyed slap at the air from the elder vampire.
"Wakey, wakey," she whispered into his ear, bringing her bloodied finger to her mouth and licking it clean. "Eggs and bacey."
When there was no response at all, be it from too deep a sleep or from Lionel simply ignoring her, Fleck shuffled to her feet and started towards the door with her bottom lip jutted out into a pout. It seemed to Fleck that she was going to have to find her own fun.
**********************************
She walked barefoot down the broken bottle riddled path into town, oblivious to the debris cutting into her feet. The broken path spilled almost seamlessly into plush, evergreen grass that cradled her road torn feet as she walked.
Waterfalls and caves surrounded the lush, plush forest and Flecks wide blue eyes took in the scenery; madness for the moment awestruck. So many scents bombarded her that she felt more than a bit dizzy, her feet staggering sideways and sending her tumbling into a holly bush. A swirl of small, chattering creatures scattered from the bush; some flying away while others hovered over the confused girl, chirping and wailing angrily at having been disturbed.
Fleck squinted dark blue eyes and when one of the small creatures flew too close to her face, she snapped her teeth at it and caught it by a wing.
One small hand reached up and plucked the struggling little thing from her mouth and she pressed it against the palm of her hand; gentle, so gentle, so that she didn't kill it.
The wing, a clear dragonfly gossamer, was broken to be sure. Fleck tilted her head this way and that, fangs sinking into her bottom lip as she studied it. Too tired to struggle, the little creature just chirped in pain.
To Fleck it looked like a storybook animal; something out of a fairy tale. All small, no bigger than a child's thumb, and human shaped. Its eyes were solid gray, no whites, and almond oval and when she pulled back its lips, she glimpsed vicious little teeth.
She grinned to show off her own fangs and slid the little thing, cursing in its own language, into her pocket. Lionel would be very pleased at her find, she was sure.
*************************
She returned later that morning, when the sun was a mere hour away from showing itself over the horizon. Fleck could imagine the her skin burning. In her pocket she had the pixie- long since suffocated and as stiff as a board-, a chipmunks tail, a dragon's tooth, a few pieces of Bazooka Joe bubble gum, and a dead mouse.
All of these treasures had her very excited. Lionel would be so happy. Perhaps he would love the gifts so much that he would sing to her and tell her the story about how the Big Bad Wolf hunted down and ate those horrible, nasty little Pigs. That one was Flecks absolute favorite.
Had her cold, dried as a fig heart been able to break, it would have. The room was empty, save for the ratty couch and a note nailed to the wall near the window. Fleck could still smell him; his scent barely clinging to the old shack and she threw her head back and howled like a wounded animal caught in a trap.
Crimson tinted tears clouded her vision and she tore the letter from where he had nailed it, free hand clenched so tightly that her nails dug into the palm of her hand. Blood seeped from her fist and drip-drip-dripped against the splintered, wooden floor.
"Dear Fleck,
I assume you can try to figure out what happened. Rather than take the fall for this, I will simply place the blame on you. You were a bad girl and thus, I left you. No need to sugar coat it, right?
I know you'll try to find me, but I'm back on Earth; safe and sound while you, well, you're days are numbered my little thumb screw.
Love,
Lionel"
She crumbled the paper up in her bloodied fist and sent in through the wall. The old wood cracked and exploded around her, shards digging into her pale, cold flesh. The demon in her screeched and clawed and slung her body from room to room; knocking holes into plaster and her head into two already shattered mirrors. Finally, blood drained and tired, she slumped onto the couch and drew her knees to her chest.
Fleck didn't understand. Couldn't understand, but a part of her, that long forgotten part named Corrine knew and sadly, softly she whispered to her other half;
He's left you Fleck. Left us. We were nothing to him. No more important than some old cur. He was a coward, Fleck. He didn't even have it in him to kill us, just abandoned us like a dog.
As the voice reverberated in her skull, Fleck buried her face against her knees and sobbed. Her hair was matted with her own blood and her dress was drenched. Cuts and slashes and gashes and bruises covered her from head to toe; a far too temporary result of the demon's temper tantrum.
"He left because I was a bad girl..." she whispered to the air, cheeks streaked red on white.
And the voice cooed to her like a mother to a child.
No, no, please stop thinking that. You're not a bad girl. We're not bad. He thinks you can't survive on your own, but you know you can.
Fleck was too tired, too bloodless to argue. She stretched out on the couch, head resting against one of her arms, and closed her eyes.
"What do you know, " she growled, "you were a bad girl too."
Corrine shut up and after awhile, before dawn induced sleep pulled her under, Fleck wished that her old self would talk again.