[color=gray][h3][sup][sup]Who’d have imagined a world where gambling could be boring? A world where the most exciting part was picking which betting system to use on the roulette? Vegas: Stats City! Sam idly scrolled as the roulette spun. His phone vibrated.

“Fuck.”

He cleared his throat. One of the drunks next to him had a snide comment. Sam pulled away from the roulette table and booked it to the cashier’s cage. His eyes darted between the passing seconds and the line ahead of him. Did he have seconds to spare?[/sup]

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[sup]Ruining a feeding was impossible. Every troubling thought and illusion of feeling were washed away from the moment blood passed her lips. The precise sensation differed, and still Caroline couldn’t help but to close her eyes, fall limp, and embrace every new experience. Blood was, in a word, [i]life[/i]. It didn’t taste so much as it felt. The experience merged all the best life could offer, in countless different ways she could never imagine a way to articulate. Notes of joy, elements of tranquility, touches of relief—it felt as if her unbeating heart was being caressed by the hands of God and fed Olympian nectar from His very teat. If any living wine could be even a pale reflection of this, she’d have drowned herself in a barrel of it years ago. For all it had done to her, for all it had taken, Caroline could not help but to fully immerse herself in a gift greater than heaven itself.

So then, was it so wrong that she wanted to lap those stray drops of blood off the floor? She hesitated and stayed in place a moment longer, longing for another moment even now. She wanted to return to the dream. Caroline dragged her phone and stylus back into her purse, then stumbled to her feet. She knew she should have been panicking. She should have been running. But a stroll felt right. Everything was going to be fine. Maybe if she could fix some of these problems—maybe then she could slip home? Attend evening galas again? Get Paul to explain? Make things right again? Taste Kelsey’s blood? Take Jerry’s life? She donned her mask again. She’d get better. They just needed to leave and regroup.

She chirped goodnight at the librarian and pranced out without a second thought. It’d take a while for him to find the janitor anyway, wouldn’t it? There was no need to act crazy. After all, running would only attract attention. And why ruin the good feeling with bad vibes? She could just stay calm, act calm, and make a clean getaway.[/sup]

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[sup]Caroline pulled her mask off and snorted. He was still packing? What had he been doing—what kind of mess had he made—that made him take this long? He should have been long gone by now. Was he really this—. Sam looked up from his rummaging. They met eyes. He looked like he wanted to jump out of his skin. 

“Do you think this is funny?” 

He stammered for a moment.

“What the fuck did you do? All I asked was for you to be [i]careful[/i]?”

Caroline smugly crossed her arms.

“And how much tibe habe we washted on what you call [i]’carepul’[/i]?” She punctuated [i]careful[/i] with air quotes. 

“ ‘Wasted!’ Is trying to cover our asses a was—” began Sam’s retort. But Caroline spoke over him before he could finish.

“We were alwaysh on a timer. It’sh always been about getting our money, and [i]getting—out[/i].”

Caroline approached Sam as she spoke. Sam clenched his fists, darted to the door, and pushed it shut.

“And how are we supposed to [i]do[/i] that if the Feds get on to us?” he hissed. “I’d rather waste time than get my brains blown out by a fucking sniper!”

Caroline rolled her eyes and scoffed. Sam retreated and groaned. 

“This is serious, Caroline.”

Caroline bobbed her head and wrinkled her nose. She pointed at his luggage and clothes, still strewn about as they were.

“I—you know what? No. I don’t wanna hear it. We’re washting time again. All ober your crazhy conshpirashy t—teo—your crazhy conshpirashies. I killed a damn janitor, okay? Dat’sh all. I texhted you ash shoon ash it happened; to be [i]proactibe[/i]. Sho ip it did caushe problemsh, we’d be ahead ob it.” She slipped back to the door and opened it as she spoke. “Don’t act like you’re lessh ob a monshter jusht becaushe you’re lessh ob a p—pr—hr—”

She groaned and sighed, searching for easier words, words her disfigured, clumsy mouth, her new mouth, could fashion.

“Ugly, bullshit...chimera.”

She brought the door to slam it behind her, but halted right before it closed.

“Shee you in a little bit,” she chirped.

She shut the door gently.[/sup][/sup][/h3][/color]