What The Night Will Bring [OPEN]

[Mylène]

When people are hungry they go eat out, when they are thirsty they go to a bar – that wasn’t any different for vampires. Just that maybe they won’t be feasting à la carte… Truly, you could find the most peculiar things to eat nowadays, but blood still wasn’t on the menue anywhere. How very inconvenient sometimes. Then again, it was not like the choice was limited. Something that hadn’t changed over centuries was that people still liked to gather in the evening, drinking, dancing or doing anything else to forget they had just wasted a long and exhausting day with work. Just maybe that they had made a big step up on the cleanliness department. Nothing was worse than an unwashed neck… bleurgh!

One of the first things Mylène always did when coming to a new town was checking out the places to go, where people of her supposed age might hang out in the evening, clubs, bars and the like. That made it so much easier to get to know people, settle in, have fun or really just drop by to find someone to snack on. It all depended on her mood and on how hungry she was. Tonight her eyes had fallen on a little bar right in the city center, with a name she had already forgotten the minute she stepped through the door. Either way she would check this place out and then decide if it was worth a second try, and until she decided the name didn’t matter much.

Sauntering over to the bar she ordered a Mojito and gladly convinced the barkeeper with a sweet smile that he shouldn’t bother carding her. Ah, Mojitos… they did indeed hold some bittersweet memories, always reminding her of Cuba. And wasn’t it ironic that the town’s name she connected with Mojitos most was so similar to the one she had chosen as her dwelling place for now? Santa Clara on Cuba and Santa Carla in Cali… just two letters reversed and yet it made all the difference. Or did it? A catlike smile appeared on her lips as she leaned back, sipping from the straw thoughtfully. Maybe this town had a good fighting spirit as well? Something she could kindle, find some allies to stir up trouble? You never knew a town’s full potential until you hadn’t sniffed out its possible weaknesses. Also a reason why she loved to hang out at places such as this. People usually talked with free spirits over a glass of alcohol, they became bold enough to share their visions and dreams and denounce any grievances in their life or community. This was how revolutions started. That as well hadn’t changed in two hundred years.

Her eyes lazily moved over the few other customers attending the bar at this early hour. The night was still young, ample time to find what she had come here for. Or something completely else. That was the fun of a night so young... you never knew what it held in store for you...

[Sam Emerson]

Sam hadn’t visited the bar scene in a while. He’d gotten a little too used to sitting in his house drinking alone. He was a little worried he was going from “social drinker” to “hermit alcoholic” status, so he decided he needed to get out more. He was a sociable guy and he didn’t mind talking to new people.

He lit a cigarette as he walked out to his porch. He probably smoked too much these days too, but there were worse vices to have. He stood outside for a few minutes, looking out into the night with the sharp awareness of someone who knew too much about what hung around in the shadows. It had been years since he’d encountered a vampire in Santa Carla, but he was always on the lookout for something to pop up. He’d read a few questionable obituaries in the past few months, and people were starting to go missing more often than usual. It wasn’t enough to make him start breaking out the holy water, but it made him uneasy.

Sam ground his cigarette out in an ashtray on a small plastic table that sat by the door. He wasn’t one to leave his cigarette butts lying all over the yard. He stepped off the porch to walk over to the garage and pull open the door. There was a time he wouldn’t have dared go into this garage without his grandpa’s permission, but his grandpa had packed up and left a few years ago. He said the place was too high maintenance for a guy his age, so he handed it over to Sam along with his treasured 1957 Ford Convertible. He’d left Sam with two rules: don’t wreck my house, and don’t wreck my car. Sam had done well with obeying those rules, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let that car rust in the garage.

A little while later, Sam had made the drive into town, once forbidden territory for this car. These days he took the car all over the place. He’d even had it in a few car shows.

Sam pulled into a paid parking area, handing the guy minding the gate a twenty before driving in and parking. You didn’t park a car like this just anywhere. He’d learned the hard way that a few bucks for parking was a lot better than a few hundred to fix a paint job or replace a stereo.

Sam locked up the car and walked a few blocks down to walk into his favorite bar. He walked by a few tables and headed over to the bar, where one of the regulars greeted him.

“Hey, Emerson. How you been?”

Sam gave him a nod and a smile.

“Hey, Jackie. Not bad, man. How’s it goin’?”

Jackie Morris was in his sixties and had a permanent scowl on his face Sam blamed on years of whiskey. He liked to talk to Sam about sports and cars.

“Ah, same shit different day. How’s your pa?”

“He’s doing alright. Traveling all over the place.”

Sam took a seat beside Jackie at the bar and waved down the bartender.

“Can I get a Sam Adams?”

The bartender nodded.

“Draft or bottle?”

“Draft, please.”

She nodded and turned around to get his beer.

[Mylène]

For now, there was only one other man sitting at the bar, a rather old fellow with a face that reminded her a little of an indignant boxer (the dog). He stared at some particular point on the bar Mylène couldn’t quite make out what was so fascinating about, a half-empty glass of whiskey in front of him. Not quite the company she was wishing for, for none of her concerns. To make the situation even more uncomfortable, he also had a slight odour of garlic about him, nothing but a whiff thankfully, probably still attached to his clothes from a previous day spent wherever, but it was enough to make Mylène wish to not make any closer acquaintance with him. Oh well, yet again the night was still young.

The bartender now came over again, leaning across the counter with a friendly smile.
“Haven’t seen you here before.”

“Well, that might be due to the fact that I am new in town”, she answered simply, but not unfriendly herself. “I’m just getting settled to town and people.”

“Ah.” The girl’s curiosity seemed to be satisfied for now. “Well, then welcome to Santa Carla for what it’s worth. If you need any help or info, just ask.”

Mylène nodded with another smile, then resumed to sip her Mojito. Just then, another person entered the room. Her keen senses detected him approaching even over the music that played in the background, and she turned her head in interest, to watch a man probably in his late thirties approach the bar. Hmm… also not quite her type. With an inward smile, Mylène scolded her feral instincts for being so prominent tonight. It was not like she had not learned to restrain her needs if need be. And patience was a virtue after all, wasn’t it? For now, the main goal was to pass as a normal girl, that didn’t cause anyone to chuck her out of this bar. Could she manage that? It would have to remain to be seen…

Boxer-Face and the newcomer seemes to know each other, as they greeted each other with a few words that gave away their acquaintance. Also, there were no animosity vibes floating between those two, or at least not as prominent ones as Mylène would be assaulted with uncalled for. The first thing an Empath had to learn was to shield his ‘receptors’ from unwated approaches, else he would not be able to stand in an agitated crowd – as she had done so often in her life. Returning her mind to the situation at hand, Mylène examined the man who just ordered a Sam Adams more closely.
There was not much you could tell by his outward appearance, nothing outstanding, apart maybe from an… interesting clothing style. He didn’t look exactly in perfect shape, but the way he held himself at least suggested he had no issues with that fact. As for his mindset… well that was even harder to tell. The only thing Mylène could catch from him seemed to be an indistinctive watchfulness she couldn’t quite place. Oh well, that’s what she was here for after all, right? MAKE acquaintance. And this guy, whoever he was, seemed the most likely option for now.

Turning slightly on her barstool, Mylène now faced the newcomer waiting for his drink and raised her glass in greeting.

[Sam Emerson]

“How’re you feeling about the Giants this season, Emerson?” Jackie asked.

Sam shrugged indifferently. He didn’t really follow baseball. Football was really more his speed, and maybe some soccer if he happened to catch it while flipping through channels.

“I don’t know, man. They probably have a decent shot at the Championship.”

“No, no, no. The Raiders are where the action is. You wait and see.”

Jackie raised his glass of whiskey in emphasis before downing a good sized gulp. Judging by his slurring Sam figured he’d had quite a few glasses already.

“Yeah, okay, Jackie. I guess we’ll see.”

He caught the eye of a young lady sitting at the bar. She tipped her glass to him and greeting. He nodded and gave a wave.

“How’s it goin’?” he said.

[Mylène]

The guy, Emerson Boxer-face had called him which Mylène assumed would be his last name – if not she really had to feel sorry for him, Diable, which mother would think up such a name?! – responded to her greeting, which was fortunate and promising. It would not be the first time that her friendly approaches to start a conversation had been blatantly ignored, because either she had not been eyed as an adequate dialog partner or the respective people had had any other issues. Not so XY Emerson. He did not only wave, but started to speak up first. Definitely not afraid to make new acquaintances. But whatever could come out of this would have to be seen.

“Excellent for me”, she replied with a bright smile. “Just settling here, arrived in this little jewel of a town a few days ago.” Mylène was by no means sure if Santa Carla would turn out to be said jewel, but a little praise never goes amiss. “How are things with you?”

She really hoped he now wouldn’t emerge in the same topic Boxer-Face, Jackie apparently, but Mylène liked her selfmade nickname better and chose to stick with it at least in her head, had delved into. Sports. So not her field of interest. She only liked the emotions attached to it, the hustling and bustling that accompanied a game and the mix of tension, rage, frustration and rapture. Only the reaction to music could be compared with the reaction to the ups and downs in the suspense of a field game.
But apart from that she couldn’t care less if men succeeded in chasing after balls of various size and shape succeeded in their goal of winning.

[Sam Emerson]

Sam studied the woman. She looked a little young. Then again he’d looked like he was fifteen for a good chunk of his twenties, so he guessed it didn’t necessarily mean she was underage. Still, he was a little suspicious. He knew the bartenders here were a little lax on carding during tourist season. They made more money if they served more kids, unfortunately.

“Excellent for me,” the young lady replied. “Just settling here, arrived in this little jewel of a town a few days ago. How are things with you?”

He shrugged.

“Oh, not too bad,” he said. “What are you vacationing here with your friends or something?”

Sam turned his attention briefly to the bartender as she came over with his drink.

“Thanks,” he said.

She smiled and nodded.

“No problem. Let me know if I can get you anything else.”

Sam took a sip of his beer and stood up, clapping Jackie on the shoulder.

“Hey, I’ll talk to you later, man.”

Jackie glanced up, seeming to have forgotten they were mid-conversation.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Take care, son.”

Jackie threw back another glass of whiskey and called over to the bartender for another.

“Hey sweetheart! ‘Nother Wild Turkey over here before I die of old age.”

Sam chuckled and rolled his eyes as he grabbed his beer and walked over to the other woman, motioning to the seat beside her.

“D’you mind if I sit here?” he asked. “I’m not tryin’ to be a creep or anything. But he’ll yack my ear off all night if I don’t make a quick escape.”

He gave a discreet nod to Jackie. He didn’t mind the guy, but once he’d already had a few drinks he got kind of rude, which made it hard to hold a full conversation with him. He was also well aware that this girl was way too young for him to even consider picking her up. Not that she wasn’t pretty, but he also wasn’t a perv.

[Mylène]

Mylène wondered what he was thinking right now as he was watching her. There was nothing she could read from his emotions, as he either guarded them well or they were not distinct enough to be named without doubt. That was a good thing, in some aspects, as she didn’t have to worry about him being overly annoyed, angry or even having his own secret thoughts why he was talking to her at all. It would not be the first time she was warding off advances she was not ready to accept, but it always was bothersome and she yearned for a normal night.
So was well allowed to keep his thoughts and feelings to himself for the time being, he didn’t seem to post any threat to Mylène.

“What are you vacationing here with your friends or something?”
She took a moment to consider how best to answer that. Vacation? Hmm, it was not like she worked much, so she was probably in vacation all the time. Then again, passing as a schoolgirl on vacation would make things so very easier. It would avoid the tricky questions about why a young girl such as her could manage all on her own… but what if she wanted to stay longer than just usual vacation time? So far Santa Carla seemed like a good place to stay for some time.

“Not quite”, she settled on a draw. “I’m out of school and just taking a look around the world before I consider where to settle down. This place drew me near because it’s remote but exciting at the same time. I don’t know how long I will stay, but so far I don’t have any friends here to call mine”, she finished with a wink, that was just friendly, not in any way suggesting.

Watching him wind up his talk with Boxer-Face, she waited for him to come over. She didn’t mind at all, calling across half of the bar’s length wasn’t a good foundation for any longer-lasting conversation, and Mylène had a hunch that though this man surely didn’t make many words, the conversation with him might last a while. That was totally fine with her. He seemed grounded, a down-to-earth but by no means boring guy.

“D’you mind if I sit here?” he asked. “I’m not tryin’ to be a creep or anything. But he’ll yack my ear off all night if I don’t make a quick escape.”

To this Mylène gave a chiming, carefree laugh, throwing her head back slightly. Oh how sweet! Of course, how could he know she didn’t need to fear him even if he was, that she could hold off any advances or approaches he intended to make on her single-handed? So, with his human mind that reassurance was well needed and she took it with good grace.
”Oh, I don’t mind at all, truly, you don’t look like a perv to me. Come, sit!” she encouraged him, tapping the barstool beside her. “Is that old fella really that bad?” she asked then, lowering her voice conspiratorically. “No worries, I’ll save you from him and his sport talks. By the way, I’m Mylène LaCoquine, but my friends call me Lenny or Cocky, you’re free to choose.”

[Sam Emerson]

The girl laughed when Sam asked if he could sit. At first he wasn’t sure how to take that. Did she think he was some kind of creep trying to pick her up? Or had she heard Jackie yapping on and on about whatever in his drunken whiskey slur?

“Oh, I don’t mind at all, truly, you don’t look like a perv to me. Come, sit!”

Sam smiled and gave a nod.

“Thanks.”

Sam sat down next to the girl, setting his beer down on the bar in front of him. Maybe he should have felt a little self-conscious. But, it took a lot to make Sam Emerson feel self-conscious about anything.

“Is that old fella really that bad?” she asked.

Sam shrugged.

“When you catch him early he’s great. But once he hits his fifth or sixth drink he starts to get a little hard to follow.”

“No worries, I’ll save you from him and his sports talk. By the way, I’m Mylène LaCoquine, but my friends call me Leny or Cocky, you’re free to choose.”

“Interesting name,” he said. “I’m Sam Emerson, if you didn’t catch it.”

He took a sip of his beer and glanced over at Jackie, who was making conversation with the poor bartender. He didn’t know her as well as some of the others, so he couldn’t tell if she genuinely didn’t mind talking to him or if she was just tolerating the conversation until Jackie staggered his way out.

[Mylène]

Her first impression about this ‘Emerson’ seemed to be proven right more or less, he was relatively uncomplicated and down-to-earth, which made him definitely nice to talk with for the time being. Still waters run deep after all, and often enough those who didn’t raise such a fuss about themselves were the most trusting allies and fought with silent vigor for what they believed in. It was all about finding out what is was they believed in and then making them see where these beliefs were violated in their lives.

“When you catch him early he’s great. But once he hits his fifth or sixth drink he starts to get a little hard to follow.”

Mylène nodded to that thoughtfully. Oh yes, she knew such types of people very well, they were always a nuisance when you wanted to rouse people up. They knew very well how to complain about everything that went wrong in their lives, but when it came down to it they lacked both guts and backbone to really remedy the situation. You best tuned them out and let them drink their brain away, happy you were not them. It was not like she was without a heart and in good days she could even bring herself to care, just that she didn’t want to waste her time on wimps. There were enough people living one hell of a life but they didn’t over-indulge themselves.
“Ah, I see. He looks like he had it rough or such. I’m not one to judge, but I like to think people wear such scowls for a reason. Or is he simply displeased about the weather?” she finished with a loutish grin.

Sam? Hmmm somehow that name really suited him though Mylène could not for anything in the world figure out why exactly she thought that. “Did catch the last name, not the first”, she nodded, then gave a little chuckle. “yeah, you’re not the first person to state that. It’s French origin and I sometimes think one of my ancestors must have been one hell of a brat, cause that’s what ‘coquine’ means: loutish, cheeky and all that.”
Oh, the sweet irony! Mylène loved nothing more than to play with such things, as she herself of course was this said ancestor, her last name nothing but a cognomen that she had been given even in her living times.

Once again she looked Sam over and this time she noticed something that aroused her interest. Something that looked like a wolfs or dogs paw on the inner side of his forearm. “Nice tattoo you’re sporting there. Looks like a painful place to have it.”

[Sam Emerson]

Mylène commented that Jackie seemed like he had it rough and suggested maybe he was unhappy with the weather. Sam smiled at that. The scowl did make Jackie look meaner than he was. Maybe that was the intention. If you were sitting there scowling, less people bothered you than when you smiled. You kept your privacy that way, sure, but you didn’t make many friends.

Sam listened while Mylène explained her name. It was French, she said, and she told him her last name meant “loutish” and “cheeky.” He sipped his beer, shaking his head. So far he didn’t see those characteristics, but you had to give yourself time to get to know people before you started pinpointing things about them.

“I’m sure there’s more to you than loutish cheekiness,” he said.

He didn’t put much stock in names defining people, but he knew the meanings associated with his own name. Emerson was also the last name of the writer Ralph Waldo Emerson and Sam was a pretty common biblical name. He’d had a few discussions with his publishing companies while trying to get his graphic novels published. His name had been a big conversation point. Was it too simple a name? Did it pack too much weight for a comic book guy? What name they slapped on the cover had been the last worry on his mind at the time.

“Nice tattoo you’re sporting there,” Mylène said. “Looks like a painful place to have it.”

Sam glanced down at his forearm, where he had a tattoo of dog paws in memory of his dog, Nanook.

“Thanks,” he said. “Yeah, it was pretty painful,” he agreed. “Anywhere close to bone hurts like crazy.”

[Mylène]

Well, it was never too early or too late in the evening for a well-placed compliment, Mylène decided with an inward grin. Sam surely didn’t know what he was talking about, as she sure as hell did not know WHO he was talking with, but that made his sentence not any less genuine, oddly enough. It was almost moving. If anything, it was extremely nice, and it made her appreciate her choice of company quite a bit. Even if she wanted nothing of him or maybe even because of that, Mylène suddenly felt quite comfortable.
She graced his “I’m sure there’s more to you than loutish cheekiness,” with the sweet smile it deserved, and chuckled.

”Well, thank you very much! I would dearly hope so! After all, you can’t always be held responsible for your forefathers deeds, right? Though grand they were!” she chuckled again. Grand deeds? Well, she had never been one for self-flattery, but hey, she had a record to show alright! Revolutions, skirmishes, revolts, all for the greater good of course. And her own amusement… at least sometimes! She was only human after all right… well, superhuman… Diable, her own thoughts were too confusing for her tonight. That’s what you get when you play with your own past and person… you get lost between lie, truth and that little something in between that is called inward comment. She needed a drink!

Taking a deeper sip out of her glass, she pondered what to do next. Should she ask something about him?
”What about you? Any grand deeds attached to your name?”

“Thanks,” he said. “Yeah, it was pretty painful,” he agreed. “Anywhere close to bone hurts like crazy.”
Mylène nodded to that. Oh, she knew that all too well! You might be not human anymore, but you definitely still knew what pain was. And it was not like she didn’t have her own share of tattoos. It had taken some time for that one to be ready, it hadn’t been done all in one go.

”Tell me about it”, she grinned, then pulled down the black bolero jacket she was wearing to reveal her right shoulder blade and therefore her own tattoo.
”RIGHT on the bone, at least for someone all skin and bones like me. Can you say ouch?”

[Sam Emerson]

Mylène seemed flattered by Sam’s comment about there being more to her than loutish cheekiness.

“Well, thank you very much! I would dearly hope so! After all, you can’t always be held responsible for your forefathers deeds, right? Though grand they were!”

Sam chuckled.

“Ain’t that the truth?” he said.

He wasn’t sure what would be attached to his name, based on his ancestors. If his grandfather was any indication he’d be a badass monster basher. He’d given that a try for a while, but he just wasn’t cut out for hunting things down to kill them.

“What about you? Any grand deeds attached to your name?” she asked.

Sam thought about that. He wasn’t sure what deeds – good or bad – were attached to his father. But, his name carried his own deeds with it too: saving his brother from becoming an undead bloodsucker, for one. He shrugged.

“Not really,” he said.

Oh, yeah. Like he was going to start talking about slaying vampires to some chick he just met. He had close friends who didn’t even know about that part of his past.

He chuckled when she commented on how painful a tattoo could be for someone of her size and stature.

“I’m not exactly skin and bones myself, but believe me it still hurt,” he said. “Do you have any tattoos?”