Lilith was bathed at once and put to bed, her babbling calmed and her scratches treated. A very terrified Sam was sitting in a backroom, waiting to be interogated.
He occupied himself making up those little games one plays when bored - seeing if you can use the cracks in the walls to go from one corner of the wall to the opposite one, trying to blow down cobwebs across the room by simply blowing at it, and so forth. It was a very dark and dusty room, so these little amusements were easy to come by. The grimy window casted a dull light from the grey afternoon sky outside, although the bars on the windows made it a rather depressing sight.
He was half-dozing when he was woken by the door slamming shut. It was Rai, smoking a cigarette and looking livid.
"Sixteen hours." He hissed. "Sixteen hours it took us to calm her down. What happened?" He slammed his revolver down onto the table.
Sam was a shy lad by nature. He didn't like confrontation, and felt it made him a rather weak vampire. "I...she..."
"I won't ask again." Rai growled.
Drawing a deep breath, he started to explain.
They had been simply walking. Sam barely remembered where. He just remembered stepping from one place, into the dark, and falling through the shadows and starlight, and then...there they were, on the streets of Los Angeles. Lilith had said that teleporting could only go so far, and she would have to stop at intervals.
As soon as they stepped out of an alleyway, Lilith was taken from behind. Her hands were grabbed and she was pulled back into the dark, screeching all the while.
A pair of male vampires were standing there, holding her thrashing form. One of them growled, his fangs bared, and she fell limp and silent.
They wanted her blood, he didn't doubt. Her blood, and, undoubtedly, her sex. Sam tried to stop it. He wasn't much of a fighter, though, and was thrown against the wall.
Before they could sink their fangs into her lovely neck, however, she went stiff. Sam could barely remember what he saw next, but the small, fragile, demure girl ripped her attackers limb from limb. She had blood on her face, and she stood there, amongst the blood, guts and gore, staring at her hands. Sam was on the ground himself, his head throbbing from hitting his head. He shuffled to sit up, and stared back at her.
"D...did I do this?" she had asked him, her voice weak.
Rai sighed, sitting down. "Alright." he said. "It sounds about right."
"Is she alright?" Sam asked, slightly frantic about her wellbeing.
Shrugging, he puffed absent-mindedly on his cigarette. "Lilith is always alright. I've seen her survive things that not even a vampire could live through. Horrible habit of surviving, you could say, although she's rather fragile."
Sam tried not to look at Rai. The man's presence was unnerving. He looked like he was something so much larger, wrapped in this pale, vampiric skin. He was beautiful, but in the same way that ice on branches was beautiful. He didn't seem to have the ability to completely conceal his fangs - they were always there, fangs just lightly protruding over his bottom lip. He had such an air about him, like he would kill you, if he could be bothered. It was no wonder women were drawn to him - like the half-dozen that hung off him every time he entered the main bar. Sam often wished he was more like Rai. More confidant and raw. Stronger and...really, a better vampire.
Sam never really had been a very manly individual. He didn't play sports at school, he was an artist. He had only become a vampire by chance, having walked in the wrong part of town after his car broke down. He felt rather hard-done-by. He woke up one morning and, what do you know, he was a monster. He didn't see the point in agonising, in self-hatred and angst. He wasn't Lestat, nor Louis. He hadn't any reason. Philosophising and the pointless, extential-crisis of life had never been his forte. He just "got on with it", quietly, and unhindered.
Extinguishing his cigarette, Rai exhaled a cloud of smoke. "Where are you from?"
He jolted out of his thoughts. "Oh- I...Chicago." He said.
"What kind of vampire are you, anyway?"
"Oh, dear. You're quite the babybat, aren't you?" He sighed. "There are dozens of different breeds. My father says we're more diverse than dogs. You're probably just a run-of-the-mill Roman vampire. Any light sensitivity?"
"A-a bit. Around my eyes, I suppose."
"Yeah, I'd say so." Rai seemed so distant. He was asking these questions, but seemed to take no real interest in the answers. Sam didn't mind too much.
Swallowing, he decided to ask his own questions. While slightly cowardly, he knew the value of good friends in high places - or at least, that the less people in the world who wanted to murder him, the better. "What kind of vampire are you?"
"Me?" He responded. "I'm a dhampire. My father is an Illusion vampire - that is, a vampire with the ability to create coercions and illusions," he said, noticing Sam's confused expression. "And my mother is a wolf."
"A werewolf? I've never seen a werewolf."
"She's not a werewolf." Rai hissed. "Quite the opposite. She is a wolf who can assume humanoid form."
Sam stuttered. "I...sorry." He murmured. "You can tell I'm not very good at this."
"Oh, no. Your ignorance is masterfully veiled. Well done." He said dryly, getting up.
Jumping to his feet, Sam went to follow him. "Where are you going?"
"It's been a long night." Rai said. "I need a drink. Come on, you drink free."
[NOTES: A loooot of dialogue in this one. Probably some spelling errors and such, but the spellcheck is all fail. I don't know how well this worked out, but I felt the urge to write, and write I did. I really wanted to work on Sam's character, and, what do you know - he's a total wuss. Funny how that happens - that horrible habit characters have of evolving! Oh well, that's him, nothing can be done now. Probably not my best work, but it got some more insight into Sam, which I am happy about.]
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