InsaneJournal

I got every reason to feel like I'm that bitch
Who: Harper & Livia (NPC!nobody guy)
Where: Sherry's Bakery
When: Just before 8pm



“So, like, did you say you had coffee?”

Livia’s disco-ball nails drummed a steady rhythm against the kitchen table. Right now, the continuous and unwavering sound of her own frustration was the only thing that had stopped her from automatically lashing out and destroying the cretin perched at the breakfast bar a few feet away. Well, that and her concern for the upholstery. Experience taught her that ending him in any one of the multitude of manners that was swimming through her head would leave her apartment in an unholy fucking mess. Nevermind the fact she was a fucking Toll Collector -- she had more sense than to spread her irritation around her apartment like a goddamn garden sprinkler.

“... Is that a no?”

Pressing a tight, entirely insincere smile to her lips, the Styx forced herself not to up-end the table. As much as she had a reputation and a temper, there was still specific ways Livia did and did not behave. Like not totally losing her shit because some complete dolt did not understand that the phrase “now get your shit and leave” really did mean exactly that. She was not going to subject a fucking one night stand to a Stygian smackdown because he’d had the nerve to be there when she woke up. As though he could make her breakfast or something. The stupid bastard actually seemed to think he could boil her an egg and make it better. She couldn’t even remember what egg tasted like. The only thing curbing her temper was the memory of the expression of sheer panic on his face when she’d turned on him after realising he was still there. He had been so close to losing each and every one of his limbs right there in her bed. This -- this -- was why she so very rarely took humans home with her. They were all fucking idiotic. Horny with a vampire fetish, but still idiotic.

“Sweetheart, the closest thing I have to coffee is right there in your veins,” she said dryly as the drumming stopped so she could wave a finger in his direction. The general effect this had was kind of satisfying in a vindictive way. With the eyes that suddenly went big when it dawned on him -- then even wider when she laughed, purposefully showing off her fangs. It was like he’d forgotten what she was. “I drove your ass here last night, didn’t I?” Jesus H. Fucknut, by did I bother? That was not the best revelation to have given herself. At least, she consoled herself, I don’t know his name.

The guy looked at her with huge brown eyes, widened them to the point where most women would want to adopt him but Livia really wanted to kick him in the ribs, and then tilted his head. The Styx wondered if he had learned his ‘cute’ behaviour from his dog. A genuine canine might’ve had more luck. “Uh huh. That means you’ll drive me back…?”

Livia arched an eyebrow, her own head tilting. “Why not?” As if she actually would. To Heme, maybe. Let him meet his end with another vampire. Or perhaps she'd just drop him at the side of the road... “But first I need to eat.” It just required a little persuasion on her part.

After dressing herself more appropriately -- it was late enough to dress for work already and no, she didn’t care if her outfit for tonight gave her a more masculine edge than usual -- she dumped her human cargo in the passenger seat of her car and made him drink an entire flask of water while she drove around, trying to remember where the food places were. Livia had a map of Scarlet Oak and portions of the surrounding areas more or less burned into the inside of her skull, but ask her to find a food store at this hour and she would usually answer with an obscene finger gesture. The food of the living wasn’t her thing -- she even turned nose up at bloodless marys at Heme. But this was now. Ideally, she needed a decent source of iron for the breather she had gained feeding permission from without a second’s thought. Apparently that was not so readily available, not that she would recognise what most humans these days would call food from the outside of the store.

Stopping at W 8th and Gratiot Street, the Styx stepped out into the evening and made straight for the storefront that called itself Sherry’s Bakery with her cashmere cape slung over one shoulder. Really, it was there to make the breathers feel better under the illusion that she might actually need it rather than anything else. If she got really irate she might use it to smother the idiot in her car.

She knocked once, then twice, then three more times just to make sure that, well, the whole damn street knew she was there. There was no damn way she was going to be even more late for work than she probably already was. (Fuck. What time was it?)