Business continued to boom for Decima Pompilius, the woman who made far too many puns with her name. English, after all, saw ‘Decima’ and associated it with ‘Decimate’. It had the same conations in her day, but not quite the same meaning.
Her business had little to do with the army. Modern-world decimation involved lawsuits and social drama, so naturally, she was involved in both. She preferred the media business, and deciding what shows to greenlight. The lawsuit business wasn’t as fun, even if it gave her a reason to introduce herself as a bloodsucker. That’s how lawyers were viewed.
“I’ll be swinging by later tonight,” she was saying as she entered one of the bars she frequented, black heels clicking over the wooden floor. It played at being upscale, but it wasn’t. “I need to get a bit to drink, first.” And alcohol wasn’t exactly on her mind.
Decima could drink alcohol, but it did nothing to her. Human food in general did nothing. She never lied when she introduced herself as a bloodsucker.
The black-haired Roman adjusted her phone near her ear. “I promise it won’t be near 5am again, Reggie.” He hated when she called him that. She didn’t care. “And I won’t drag any unsavories with me.” He really hated that. One time, though, she didn’t have a choice but to drag the hunters that were after her, to him.
Hunters were starting to figure out what she was. It was a problem. Most didn’t look to people like her as vampires—they sought those who prowled the streets and left bodies. Decima never killed—she never left bodies. Really, she didn’t know why hunters bothered to come after her. She wasn’t disturbing anything. “All right, cheers! Oh, do you need me to pick up anything,” she moved to a stool and took a seat.
A few things were listed, “Got it.” And with a click, she hung up, and set her green eyes upon the bartender. She lifted a hand to wave for attention, now that she was done with her call. Alcohol might not do anything, but it looked strange if she didn’t have anything to drink.
~***~
Regal Herst was busy in a bookstore when the call came through, after an announcement that the place would be closing in fifteen minutes. He cursed his luck and answered, “Hello?”
It was Decima, of course. He had expected her call, expected the good news about new advertising partners and the money that was all but being thrown at her. He chuckled a little to himself at her enthusiasm. There were perks to being friends with a vampire—in this case, money. “That’s nice.” He took the book he was debating over into his hands and turned it over, blue eyes skimming it again and again, trying to come up with a reason why he didn’t need it.
Decima continued.
Then she mentioned she’d be coming over. ‘Why?’ No point to asking that. “All right, just try not to be too late. I need to sleep.” No he didn’t, he was a night owl, why was he even saying that? He grabbed the book he’d been debating over and started to walk back towards the registers.
“Please don’t. Your friends aren’t any fun,” he got along with some hunters, but there were others who hated him on principal, because he dealt with the occult. It wasn’t like he’d made any deals with demons—the work he did was purely natural. She started to dismiss herself, then asked a query, “I could use some myrrh, lavender, and basil. And Tulsi basil, nothing else will work, I’ve tried.”
Spell components were annoying.
She agreed, and he smiled. “All right, see ya,” and he hung up. The blond wizard brought the book to the counter, “Just this, please.”
And the cashier scanned it, and he paid with card.
Her business had little to do with the army. Modern-world decimation involved lawsuits and social drama, so naturally, she was involved in both. She preferred the media business, and deciding what shows to greenlight. The lawsuit business wasn’t as fun, even if it gave her a reason to introduce herself as a bloodsucker. That’s how lawyers were viewed.
“I’ll be swinging by later tonight,” she was saying as she entered one of the bars she frequented, black heels clicking over the wooden floor. It played at being upscale, but it wasn’t. “I need to get a bit to drink, first.” And alcohol wasn’t exactly on her mind.
Decima could drink alcohol, but it did nothing to her. Human food in general did nothing. She never lied when she introduced herself as a bloodsucker.
The black-haired Roman adjusted her phone near her ear. “I promise it won’t be near 5am again, Reggie.” He hated when she called him that. She didn’t care. “And I won’t drag any unsavories with me.” He really hated that. One time, though, she didn’t have a choice but to drag the hunters that were after her, to him.
Hunters were starting to figure out what she was. It was a problem. Most didn’t look to people like her as vampires—they sought those who prowled the streets and left bodies. Decima never killed—she never left bodies. Really, she didn’t know why hunters bothered to come after her. She wasn’t disturbing anything. “All right, cheers! Oh, do you need me to pick up anything,” she moved to a stool and took a seat.
A few things were listed, “Got it.” And with a click, she hung up, and set her green eyes upon the bartender. She lifted a hand to wave for attention, now that she was done with her call. Alcohol might not do anything, but it looked strange if she didn’t have anything to drink.
~***~
Regal Herst was busy in a bookstore when the call came through, after an announcement that the place would be closing in fifteen minutes. He cursed his luck and answered, “Hello?”
It was Decima, of course. He had expected her call, expected the good news about new advertising partners and the money that was all but being thrown at her. He chuckled a little to himself at her enthusiasm. There were perks to being friends with a vampire—in this case, money. “That’s nice.” He took the book he was debating over into his hands and turned it over, blue eyes skimming it again and again, trying to come up with a reason why he didn’t need it.
Decima continued.
Then she mentioned she’d be coming over. ‘Why?’ No point to asking that. “All right, just try not to be too late. I need to sleep.” No he didn’t, he was a night owl, why was he even saying that? He grabbed the book he’d been debating over and started to walk back towards the registers.
“Please don’t. Your friends aren’t any fun,” he got along with some hunters, but there were others who hated him on principal, because he dealt with the occult. It wasn’t like he’d made any deals with demons—the work he did was purely natural. She started to dismiss herself, then asked a query, “I could use some myrrh, lavender, and basil. And Tulsi basil, nothing else will work, I’ve tried.”
Spell components were annoying.
She agreed, and he smiled. “All right, see ya,” and he hung up. The blond wizard brought the book to the counter, “Just this, please.”
And the cashier scanned it, and he paid with card.