Vevila
***
A man.
She saw a man. She saw a fool of a man, a young man dressed in a business suit walk past her that day. What is more, he saw her. ...Which was exactly what made him such a fool of a man. When he had walked past her, he turned around and fell into her trap just as she wanted.
She smiled.
She saw that he fell for her smile. So she coyly played with him, entertained him for the moment, answered his questions, fluttered her lashes, talked as if she was a stupid woman who found interest in men like him. And when she could see that he wanted her the most, a quiet whisper escaped her mouth as easily as breath for she had said it so many times before.
“Want to come with me?”
And he agreed, as they all had before. It flattered her, really, that she had never been turned down. She led the man to her room, and she would do what he wanted for the time being: press against each other, move lips, advance hands. Just like he desired.
But she was going to eat him.
She was waiting for him to fall asleep, like the many other men before him. She was waiting so she could place her hands on his heart when he slept, and breathe it right out of him--suck the life from his mouth, from his chest. More often, however, she got impatient with men like him. Maybe she would suck the man dry of before he fell asleep. He would cry like the others, eventually passing out from the pain and exhaustion. She would leave him on the bed and depart in the middle of the night, satisfied that she had stolen his youth.
That was not how it happened that one night, with the man in the business suit. When he failed to fall asleep quickly, she began to get impatient. Yet, before she had the chance to steal his precious life, he did something to her. His fingers stabbed into her skin. He implanted something in her, inside of her shoulder.
She screeched.
But that man did something to her that night, forced something over her, and she passed out without gaining an ounce of youthfulness from him.
And when the morning came, she saw that the role had been reversed, for he had left her alone and took from the room an item of hers.
***
That had happened some time before now. That man still remained the only man in Vevila’s experience to have outsmarted her.
The memory made her nearly as angry as her ugly, bony fingers. As long as she could remember, her hands never regained their beauty as the rest of her body did when she devoured the life from her victims; they remained gnarled and thin and creased. In an attempt to atone for her hands’ hideousness, she had been trying nail varnish and charms as of late. Unfortunately, she found this task to be both time consuming and largely unsuccessful.
It was midday in the Belgian city. The woman sat on the sheer-sheeted bed of the hotel room wearing a flowing tank top and her undergarments, staring at the image reflecting back at her through the vanity. The sleek silver hair pouring from her head like a shimmering waterfall, faded golden eyes, plump mahogany-painted lips… She considered herself to be quite a beautiful specimen, far more beautiful than any other woman she had met before. She could stare at herself for hours, peering into her enchanting eyes, sighing at her fairness. Why, she thought she just may be the most alluring being in the world.
A knock at the door interrupted her from this session. Disgruntled, she looked away from herself to answer.
A man with untidy brown hair was at the door. He was rather handsome, but the simplicity of his clothing made it seem to Vevila that he was lazy and unrefined. Though displeased with his appearance, she smiled at the opportunity of a meal.
“Uh… hey there,” the man started hesitantly. He appeared somewhat concerned by the woman’s choice of clothing. “I’m looking for someone named Vevila…?”
“That’s my name.” She tossed her long hair over her shoulder and leaned on the door frame.
He blinked. “Oh, you’re speaking English. …Well, I guess I am too, but…”
“I can speak French as well, if you want me too,” she cooed.
“Oh, nah it doesn’t really matter--”
“Do you want to come in?” Vevila interrupted, placing a hand on his arm.
The boy smiled nervously and took a step back. “Aha, aaaactually, I think I’d be much more comfortable out here--”
“Excuse me?” Vevila frowned, unaccustomed to men pulling away from her. “I told you to come in!”
“Alright, alright! Jeez, lady…”
Vevila regained her cool smile, and led the man into her room. The lights were off, with the sunlight shining dully through the white curtains as the only source of brightness. The woman flopped herself on the bed and gazed back into the vanity.
“Isn’t it lovely?”
“Uh… sure. Great room you have here.” The boy scratched his head, looking around.
“Not the room, you fool,” Vevila huffed. “I’m talking about my reflection. Look--”
He walked over next to her. “…Yeah. Um… great. I guess…”
Vevila sat up and brought the boy’s face close to hers. “You’ve been awful strange for a man. Don’t you find me enthralling?” She moved her painted nails along his chest.
The boy frowned anxiously. “N-no, you’re fine and all, it’s just that--”
Vevila’s hand stopped the boy from speaking any further. “Your teeth.” She lifted his lip, allowing visibility of his long pointed teeth. “What’s wrong with your teeth?”
The boy pulled away. “Nothing. That’s partially what I want to talk to you about.”
“You want to talk to me about your teeth?”
“No, not…” He sighed. “Let me start over. My name’s Sebastian. I’m a vampire, which should explain the teeth.”
Vevila looked suspiciously at him.
“Anyways, my friend Akira sent me here. We’re part of a club for mythological creatures. I’m here in Europe looking for mythological creatures to recruit… like yourself.”
“You’re batty,” Vevila spat. Her mood worsened when Sebastian revealed he was a vampire. It made sense to her that he was so disinterested in her; only humans could be enchanted by her beauty. “You should see a doctor. You think you’re a vampire? Do you know that vampires don’t exist? Furthermore, I’m not a mythical anything.”
“Vevila Vanora. Age: 266. Birthplace: Ireland. Current Residence: Belgium. Species: Fairy...” he began reciting, reading off of a device from his pocket.
Vevila froze. “Where did you hear that from?”
Sebastian innocently held up the gadget. She picked it from his fingers. “What’s this?”
“Uh… it’s a tracking device,” he said, and smiled awkwardly in an attempt to make light of the statement.
Vevila squinted. “You’re tracking me?”
“Well no, not you specifically.” He retrieved the tracker from her hands and slipped it back into his pocket. “Mythological creatures. For the club I was talking about. Akira found this thing. It tracks all the mythological creatures in the world.”
Vevila crossed her arms. “You think I’m a mythical creature?” She stared at him through unimpressed eyes.
“I don’t just think so; I know so. This hasn’t been wrong so far,” he said, referring to the tracking device. Vevila turned away from him, and placed her hands on her hips. With her back in visibility, Sebastian inquired, “So you’re a fairy, huh? Where’s your wings?”
She sighed. “You really are a fool. Only the stupid little fairies with their fairy dust and innocent giggles have wings. I’m an Alp Luachra,” she stated, as if it was obvious.
“Ah.” He nodded. “Uh… What’s that?”
Her lips twisted into a grin. “Alp Luachra eat life force. How else do you think I stay so beautiful?” She drew in closer to the boy, and again he backed away—but reached the wall instead.
“Normally I only eat the life from human boys, because they find me so beautiful,” she whispered, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I can’t bewitch creatures like you in the same way. But you’re a vampire—you’re immortal, yes? I could feed off of you all day, and you wouldn’t lose an ounce of age. I think we would make a good pair.” Her golden eyes stared into his bright green ones as she pressed herself against him.
“Sorry, lady, but... I’m... not up for auction.” Sebastian smirked, and shrugged her off of him.
Vevila scowled. “Oh?”
“Yeah. There’s a girl back at the club…” A look went across his face as he remembered what he was meant to talk about. “The club! That’s right. Vevila, listen. Like I was saying earlier, my friend Akira made this club for mythological creatures in America. The reason is because creatures like us are being targeted by some group called Xenogenesis Laboratories. They attacked a whole bunch of us not too long ago.”
Vevila moved back on the bed, lying in a sea of bed sheets and her long silvery hair. “What does this have to do with me?” She murmured.
“What that means is that they’re probably tracking you, too.”
“How would they have found me?” She rolled over and faced the boy, leaning on her elbows. “I have you know that I don’t leave any traces of being an Alp Luachra behind. All the men I have fed off of were unconscious or dead before I depar--” Her voice stopped.
She remembered the man in the suit: the only man who left before she could. What was it that he had done to her? He stabbed something in her; her shoulder was bleeding that morning. Did he put something in her? What was it? Was it the tracker—did he put a tracker in her? Were they tracking her? Why were they tracking her? And that man had taken one of her precious belongings. Where was he? She wanted it back. Where was he? America?
America?
“…Curse it.” She shot up from the bed, and turned to Sebastian. “You, boy.”
“Hm?”
“This club of yours. It’s in America?”
“Yeah. You joining?”
She sighed out of annoyance. “I suppose.”
“Awesome.” He grinned, and handed her some slips of paper. “There’s a taxi outside waiting to take you to the airport. Get on the plane to Virginia. This is your ticket, here--” he pointed to one of the papers, “and go to this address here. Someone from the club should be there to pick you up.”
She snatched the papers from his hands, and examined them in her highly-decorated, bony fingers. “You’re not going?”
“Nah, I’ve got a couple more errands to run…” He crossed his arms. “Anyways, I’ve gotta go. Later.” With a wave of his hand, he left her room.
She had a plan. She would go to the club, and get the blasted tracker removed from her shoulder. She did not like being watched like that. Frankly, it disgusted her. Perhaps the other mythological creatures in the club had trackers planted in them as well; but they failed to concern her. Rather, she felt it would benefit her plan.
She would find that man. She felt he was in America, she could feel it. And even if he was located elsewhere, the mythological creatures were being targeted, perhaps even tracked with trackers and whatnot, by the Xenogenesis Laboratories. She and the man were bound to run into each other again if she stayed with the silly little group.
But what had he stolen?
Her comb. A comb made of silver, for fairies like her to brush their elegant hair with. She needed it back. The brushes humans used did not give the same richness to her hair that she desired. She needed it back. It was hers, and the man stole it from her. Her brush was enchanted, special, beautiful, like herself. She needed it.
But why did she need it so desperately?
Well… what other way would her hair manage to regain its beautiful shimmery glow without such an astounding comb?
***
Hi there! This was Vevila's chapter of how she gets inducted (?) into the club. I was told I could write in 3rd person, so I'm trying to write in 3rd person limited to Vevila. I'm going to try and read the other chapters so I can get caught up before I write another chapter with her. :) If there are any inaccuracies with the timeline/etc in this, tell me and I'll fix it. Hopefully I didn't totally butcher Sebastian...
By the way, the stuff with the comb is mostly just to show Vevila's selfishness. WILL SHE EVER FIND HER COMB? STAY TUNED! idk.
Also, even I don't know who the guy with the suit is... .3. Maybe he's just no one. WHO REALLY KNOWS...?
Thanks for reading! *3*
