fresh blood

chapter one: //the danse macabre// Not all at once, you come to your senses. your body is heavy and you feel like drowning, trying to take it all in. its muddled together, each of your nerves ablaze with sensory input. but then you find you can [[HEAR]] again.

//New Blood may contain blood, implied or implicit violence, amnesia, alcohol and drug use and more. continue with caution.// !! this story is under construction!! <img src=frame.png> your time is up, but the night has just begun. [Your Text Here] it's time to [[WAKE UP]]

music thumping, bass thrumming at your ear drums, coursing directly through your veins. somehow the beat outpaces your own racing heart. footsteps are almost in time with the music, the voices of everyone in this... room? a cacophany. through it all you can hear or maybe [[FEEL]] something calling to you through it all. It is wholly overwhelming, and beautiful, but it leaves a bad [[TASTE]] in your mouth.

The sweat on your back and legs sticks to the leather sofa you are sprawled out on. it's hot in here, but your fingers feel //so// cold. the air is thick and moist and has a lingering [[SMELL]] to it. you force it down anyways.you can feel their eyes on you, watching you struggle. you're sore, maybe from dancing, maybe not, but you feel hollowed out and thoroughly spent. How long has it been? Considering this, some sweat trickles down your brow, and you can [[TASTE]] the salt in your dry mouth.

Your mouth is dry despite the oppressive humidity of the room. the moisture slightly clouding your sense of [[SMELL]]. you can still taste the alcohol, taste something burning in the back of your throat, taste blood. your lips taste like cherry, grenadine-y, cough-syrupy, artificial. i guess youre ready now. [[SEE]] what happens.

[[SEE]] [[TASTE]]

The lights pulse incessantly, bathing the room in a red haze. you can make out the forms of dancers on the floor, and the bar, somewhere. you pull out your pocket mirror to freshen up, but it catches one of the spotlights and beams into your eyes. your head spinning, you [[proceed]]

dragging yourself to your feet, you stumble into the sea of swaying figures. their voices and heartbeats and music and footsteps crashing into your head like waves in a storm. their eyes cutting into you like rocks, teeth. you're drowning again. you need to leave. you need a drink. you need- a hand touches your shoulder, cold. you can hear her somehow. //"need some air?"// [[Please.]]

she can't hear you, but she understands. you are taken by the arm and guided out of this //place//. by the end of it, youre on a balcony, or a curb. or somewhere. you arent looking at the street, you're looking at her. she's so much easier to see in this darkness than the red-hot bulbs of that //room//. she checks you over, brushes your shoulder. now that it's quiet, you feel hollow again. a night-bird chitters somewhere far away. she says, so close: "your lipsticks a mess." she gently brushes a thumb under your lip, wiping away the cherry-red stain. "it seems like you had a long night down there." she gestures at that room again. the night had only just begun. she looks over to you, and pulls out a box from her pocket. "you smoke?" she clicks, a spark, and shes' cradling a flame in her hand. it's bright, red, orange? it's heat makes you shiver. [[Decline]] [[Accept]]

She takes a drag off her cigarette, looking at you through her eyelashes. you can make out each strand if you try. she exhales, plumes of clove-scented smoke rolling from her nostrils. "it might help, you know. trade one vice for another." you look at her, trying to glean some deeper meaning, and she just cracks a smile. "t'sokay. you look too young for cigarettes, anyway." she couldn't be that much older than you, and she laughs at herself softly. She looks towards the door. "Got anyone waiting for you in there?" you remember all those eyes, looking at you, tearing you apart. this part feels familiar. [[yes.]] [[...]]

she passes you a cigarette wordlessly, and presses the tip of hers against yours. //good, you look like you need one.// it does quell the hunger inside of you, for a while. She looks towards the door. "Got anyone waiting for you in there?" you remember all those eyes, looking at you, tearing you apart. this part feels familiar. [[yes.]] [[...]]

//so you are one of hers. curious //

//She’ll be looking for you. // [[what?]]

The one that owns this club. You’re new here, aren’t you? Everyone here belongs to her. You got the idea to come to this club, to get out for tonight, didn’t you? Maybe from a beautiful stranger, maybe from some ad on the late night tv, maybe just a whisper in the back of your mind. It’s always been here, waiting for you. Longer than you can imagine. This town needs some new blood. So She’ll be looking for you. But you’re missing, for now. [[she can see me?]]

//her, one of her marionettes, it does not matter. she has her finger on the pulse of this town. this club is its still-beating heart, and shes clutching it with a white-knuckled grip.// [[and you?]]

She laughs. Me? I’m not from around here. I’m an old soul. Been around the block. She takes a drag off her cigarette, never taking her eyes off you. Her expression hardened. I was never a part of her perfect machine. [[can you help me?]]

“One thing I can never, ever do, is fix you.” There’s no going back as far as I can tell. I mean, some will try to turn you back to the way you were “before”, and you wouldn’t remember this, but the way you were “before” was, well, dead. That’s why you feel like that. It wasn’t the alcohol. God, if it was only ever the alcohol. Maybe I can “help” you, in the only way any of “us” can ever be helped, in this stupid club. But you’ll Need to ask again when you’re sober. As a rule, I don’t go feeding drinks to anyone too far in to understand what they’re getting into. morals, you know. Ahh you indulge me too much. I ramble. “Mmmm,” she sighed. I oughta let you run from here. Let me show you something.