A fresh morning. A fresh day. She rolled out of bed clumsily and stood up, looking around. Oh. Yes, she kept forgetting. She had moved with the hunters. She was... What was this place again? She had been here for a week but still it was so new. To be living off of what the church paid her to butcher night-dwellers. Her brain ticked over slightly and she remembered, at last, stumbling out of her bedroom and into the combination living room and kitchen in her new apartment. Middleborough. That was it- that was her new home, at least for now. She turned her coffee machine on and pressed two thumbs against her skull. She was not, and had never been for that matter, a morning person.
It was a good job then that she was fairly sure that vampires were much the same as her in that regards. At least she didn't burst into flames when she came into contact with the dawn sun, which, as she opened the curtains, was particularly beautiful. The light even had a pleasant blueish-white tint to it thanks to the snow that, as it tended to do here in the north, had fallen overnight. Yawning a little, her coffee machine made a pleasant 'ding,' and she quaffed the entire glass in one go, making a noise that Scooby-Doo would have considered over the top.
Now with a little bitterness in the back of her throat to tide things over, she placed the coffee cup back in the machine, finger hovering over the 'on' button as she attempted to decipher what the new light that had popped up on her machine was. Oh, low water. Unclipping the back of the machine, she filled it up a little over-exuberantly, managing to splash herself and her brand new sleeping top in the process. With an angry grunt, she slammed it back down, and then set to work on the rest of breakfast. Normally she would go running, but the snow and the fact that she had slept in late ruled that out, at least for now. Maybe tomorrow, if they had a bit of a thaw. Bread cut, she popped it in the toaster and filled up her kettle, leaving it to heat up as she located a pot and two eggs. Soft boiled yes sodding please.
Whilst that was done she had a look through her phone. A few missed messages from her friends, her parents had called her last night, so she would need to call them in a few hours... Actually, now that she thought about it, her father would already be up. The trio had had a pleasant Christmas, it had to be said, and she had managed to entirely forget what had happened on New Years, so she couldn't think about any sort of issues that might be urgently needed. She would call them later, she decided. However, there was one thing that fascinated her. The hunters had called her. Missed call from Luca. Hmm.
Eggs were on the boil. Coffee was made. Everything was ready for her breakfast. She idly looked out the window as she sipped a fresh latte, before thumbing her phone open again. She scrolled through her quickdials before reaching the number she wanted to find. Luca Petulengro, it said, with a little cross emoji next to it. She tapped the priest's name, and then his number again, the dialling screen for her phone cropping up. She was getting antsy- she had been hired to kill vampires, not wait around doing nothing all day- and that missed call intrigued her. Had she missed the call to action?
"Raphael?" The vampire who had just been called raised his head, curious. A cigarette smouldered in his fingers, half-smoked, and his other hand was splayed out to stop the pages of his book from springing together. He made a mental note of the page and snapped it shut- breaking the spine was for degenerates and plebeians and nobody else. Picking up the glass he had been drinking from- blood, as it always was, but this time in a crystal glass designed for whiskey rather than wine, he walked patiently towards the entrance to his study, smoke curling to add to the general atmosphere of the room.
He had a special fondness for his study. It was perfect- there was the musky scent of books that permeated every inch, added to by the Twain-like aura of tobacco smoke and an ever-so-slight wooden earthiness. He reached for the door with a ringed finger, the gold clinking softly against the metal of the doorknob as he twisted it and opened it, realising why his wife had called him. The curtains were shut totally, and he had no doubt the shutters behind them. Dawn had arrived as he sequestered himself in the study. Ah well.
"Raphael!" His wife smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder, the other one sneakily stealing away his glass and taking a sip. "You had me worried that you'd dusted yourself somehow in that room of yours." His wife spoke with a slight Mexican accent. Even though they hadn't lived in South America for more than thirty years, it never truly left, no matter how far you distanced yourself from it. Henrietta was beautiful, as she always was. In fact, that was as she always was and would always be- her ageing halted by his fangs when she was in her thirties.
"Hey, that's the nice stuff. Bought it from the butcher." He so despised drinking animal blood. Not that it didn't sustain him, that would be patently false, but because it was so low-brow. Perhaps he would take a trip- what did the Americans call it? A 'road trip?' Yes, perhaps they would take a road trip to somewhere where there was a military base. The taste of blood from soldiers was exquisite. In no other member of human society could you find the same tones and smokiness. The gunpowder- it drove into their skin, into the blood itself, rewarding the drinker with a palette as delicate as his cigarettes. Alas though, he had to now enjoy bull's blood. It had its own charm, he supposed, but he didn't like it in the slightest.
"Come to bed now. Or, at least, come out of the study. It's so dull around the house when you vanish into there, even though I know you need to take a break sometimes." His wife looked at him with a soft smile, and he had to shake his head a little bit.
"Yes, well. Alright, alright. No more reading for today- but you don't drink all of that glass, I swear Henrietta..."
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