Whilst drinking the virgin blood of the little hand maiden, he saw, no, he sensed her years of loving, anal servitude to all of the male members of her clan. He smiled at the thought of Marie attempting to harness his created child's instinctive, driving need for human blood. The child must be supplied with veins to suck or she would wither away into the simple dust that she now was and ever would be. Doomed to exist for all eternity in search of sustenance from the life force of human kind.The pirate vampire's lair was in the basement of a deserted church. It was a church of the Roman Pope and had fallen on hard times in the wake of the great storm. The church, itself, was, of course, hallowed ground.The basement was not.The basement was a different story. Many a victim had spent their last tortured days on Earth chained to the damp cemented walls. These atrocities were long before Lafitte and his band of bloodsuckers had taken up residence in the cavernous underground chamber of. Why did she just blurt this out? Where would this lead?“Well, Kirsten, you fit a fantasy of mine. When you ever feel ready, I will be waiting for you.”Kirsten's brain was racing. “I think I might need something stronger than coffee for this conversation.”“Well it is almost five. How about cocktails?” Vera smiled sweetly.She took Kirsten to one of the better bars in town. It was one of the older places, an establishment of sorts. For Kirsten the place always conjured up imagines of chain smoking Russian anarchist refugees in the 1930s. She imagined bearded men in suits arguing how the counter revolution against the Bolsheviks should be led.Thankfully, Vera took the conversation to neutral ground for a while. Kirsten enjoyed her company. It turned out her co-worker was a fiercely independent and very intelligent woman. There was click. They talked as if they had been friends for a long time. Vera had a refreshing way of challenging things. Halfway through the second whiskey-sour, plain.
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