Drunken fool

The morning Sirius left the hospital, one leather bag hung, drooping like a soldier by a thread from her shoulder—its purpose as questionable as her recent life choices. Half-expecting a sunny greeting—a vampire’s ironic punishment—she instead swam in a world of liquid crimson. The universe had other plans. Overhead sat thick clouds that blanketed the sky like a wolf’s grey coat, freezing rain pelting down—not that she’d notice in her state.

Her bender had been a symphony of self-loathing. How quickly righteousness crumbles, how easily one becomes the monster they’ve hunted. She had become what she once swore to destroy—the thing that turned her and killed her mother. Each blood bag was a punishment, each gulp a reminder.

It started with the gifted bags, escalated to a cheeky raid into someone else’s private collection—because why not?—but the pièce de résistance? Turning herself into a walking, bleeding buffet. Bite, claw, suck—her own arm became the chaser in this macabre meal. Her blood bag consumption had evolved into a deranged ballet of destruction.

Now, intoxication bloomed like a dark flower. Vision blurry, thoughts twirling like drunk ballerinas. Good decisions? Bad decisions? Who could tell anymore? She was just a fool dancing closer to greater foolishness with each scarlet gulp.

As the world swayed, emotions twisted like wet rags. A drunk is a drunk, whether vampire or human—visible to all, strange becoming stranger. Dangerous to herself, dangerous to others, like a wounded animal licking its wounds, only to bite again. Forever hungry.

Swooning through the inner streets of Hallow Grove, Sirius stumbled into a bar with her nearly depleted “drinks” still in hand, the remaining drops catching light like rubies in crystal. She might not remember their fancy clinical labels anymore, but oh, their tastes—those she knew by heart. Like any seasoned alcoholic reading a wine list, she craved specific vintages. A ravishing O-positive with its cherry-bright finish, perhaps, or the sublime sweetness of B-positive that paired so perfectly with an AB-negative chaser. And for those nights when subtlety be damned? There was always A-positive—bold, demanding, and full of possibilities, just like the questionable decisions it inspired.

“Ooooooooooohh, look, a jukebox,” Sirius’s words slurred with a few hiccups sprinkled between her words. She was quickly distracted, as anyone lacking the facilities to focus in such a state. Her eyes were wide before closing for a quick nap. Hands outstretched, sticky as well as they smeared the glass with dirt, salt, and sweat to steady her giving knees. Head cloudy with the right mix of clearness like murky water, Sirius could see a list of music titles that interested her. She had to lean close. No close was close enough, her cheeks and nose fully hugging the translucent shield that separated her breath and the mechanical parts of the vinyl record player. “OOOOOOHHHHH my, they got it. They totally, totally got *hiccup* it.”

It was far too early for anyone to be this drunk. Far too early for anyone to even step foot within such a place. So it was a surprise to an unsuspecting bartender stumbling in, yawning, to find an even more surprising young woman half asleep on their floor.

“Umm, excuse me, miss. How did you—”

Hearing their words spurred a second wind in the already tattered sails. She was a ship lost at sea, and her bloodlust was the storm that would inevitably shipwreck her. Each consumed blood bag was another nail in her own coffin, a deliberate courting of her own destruction.

“Huh, oh, huh. You! YOUUUUUUUUU,” Halfway through her slurring words, her train of thought shifted. Sirius could not remember what she was doing, but her instincts did. “Come, dance with me. Please, please daaaaaance with…”

Sirius crashed against the wall. She dragged her bloodied hands across the surface, leaving crimson trails like a crime scene. Stumbling back up, trying her best to find her footing, she pulled herself to seek any loose change she had.

“Are you alright, miss?” The bartender’s voice wavered, caught between professional courtesy and visceral unease. Their hands hovered over the phone—cops or paramedics? Or should they just toss out this disturbing patron before things got worse? But trouble had its own timing, and before they could decide, motion overtook them as music suddenly forced their feet to dance.

Sirius was clear of cuts and bruises that once plagued her from a long night tangoing with a ferocious beast, though she wasn’t clean in the slightest. Her clothes, face, hands, and shoes were drenched in a stench of copper with red stains that clearly did not come from an intricate, hectic paint night.

Terrified, the bartender tried as they could, unable to pry themselves free from the strength of a woman who looked half asleep.

It wasn’t long before both stumbled and fell onto a table and a set of chairs. Free at last, the bartender positioned the chairs that had been placed for customers the night before, in front. Sirius took to grabbing another translucent blood bag. However, unlike before, the blood bag was already dry.

The last one had been savaged several moments prior.

Crimson eyes swayed in the dim light, ravenous and unfocused, while fangs—no longer hidden—hung in a snarling mouth like ivory daggers. The bartender had only heard stories, whispered rumors of such creatures. Yet here they were, kicking a wooden chair apart with trembling hands, trying to fashion a stake like some cut-rate vampire hunter. Strike at the heart, the tales said. Quick and true, like knights of old.

But knowing wasn’t doing. Their legs betrayed them, pushing against nothing but air as they scrambled backward across the floor. “No, no, no...”—a prayer disguised as a whimper. Death-lit eyes tracked their movement. When those fangs descended, the barkeep swung wildly like a rookie at their first bat, the makeshift stake cutting nothing but air. A second desperate swing ended with their weapon kicked away, skittering into darkness.

Unarmed, drenched in cold sweat, the bartender waited for their final breath. But their death never arrived—instead, a blur of motion swept between predator and prey. The barkeep slid across the hardwood floor until their back met the far wall, eyes wide as they registered the scene: fangs buried deep in flesh, yes, but not theirs. A woman with striking orange hair stood between them and death, her own crimson eyes sharp and clear, face composed despite the vampire’s teeth in her arm as if this were nothing more unusual than a handshake.

“Found you,” Evelyn remarked. She was swift, with elegant grace, as she moved her free hand to the back of Sirius’s skull. The noise of bones could be heard with a firm grasp and gentle hug. It was a simple snapping of the foolish drunk’s neck with a blinding twist. With the amount of blood the Sirius had consumed, it would amount to no more than a few minutes or so before she awoke and healed again. However, until then, Evelyn would have to turn her attention to the one who witnessed things they undoubtedly shouldn’t have.

“I-I—”

Evelyn raised her finger before the bartender could offer any valid words from their stumbling speech. A silent hush came about from their eyes meeting.

“Shhhhh, do you hear that?” Evelyn asked. The barkeep nodded their head several times quickly. “It’s a phone. Her phone.”

Searching for the vibrating device within Sirius’s coat, she took to studying the screen. The caller ID read ‘Woods.’ Pondering for a moment the knowledge Evelyn knew, she placed her fingers along her neck. Her nails punching her larynx. She opened her mouth, adjusted her jaw, and used her tongue to massage the inside of it to help it heal before accepting the call.

“Hey Siri…” greeted Wood’s over the phone.

“Huh?” Evelyn replied. Her own voice spoke in a near-perfect imitation both in pitch and snarky tune, to that of Sirius’. “You calling me? What is it? Are you dying?”

The conversation went better than she had expected, with the call ending with a smug grin on Evelyn’s face to applaud how her acting skills hadn’t diminished in the slightest over the years since her last profession. Turning to the bartender, who was now wide-eyed and still in fear, Evelyn took to the next order of business with a mischievous smile.