He got out his high-dollar fangs. Expensive, sure, but these beauties were worth it. Applied with a temporary adhesive found at most corner drug stores, he could remove them for the day to day grind that passed for normal life. He worked part-time as a hospital janitor. Some thought he worked there out of a sincere need to help others. Those who knew better realized his hospital occupation provided a chance to come across drugs ripe for the taking. Two for the price of one: a thrill and a way to feed his need.
He placed a drop of the glue in the crown’s hollow, adhered it to his canine, and then adhered the other one. His mirror reflection was a picture of shining malevolence. Damn, if he wouldn't fit right in with the cast of 'Queen of the Damned.' At thirty, some thought him a bit long in the tooth to dress as he did -- no pun intended. His smile widened. Too old, maybe, but righteous looking nonetheless.
Frickin’ fierce fangs. Nothing but the best for Nosferatu.
A voice shattered his narcissism. “Hey, Nos, you decent?”
“Never,” he called back.
Slash stopped just short of the bathroom, leaning against the door frame with easy nonchalance. “Tell me something I don’t know. You gonna primp all night?”
Nosferatu ran one black-nailed hand through his stygian hair--bottle stygian to be sure, but effect is effect. He arched a pierced brow. “What do you think?”
Slash shook his head. Crimson tendrils slapped white cheeks. “Manson’s got
nothing on you.”
“I’m honored. You bring any money?”
“Let’s find some ganja before the evening festivities, what do you say?” Slash’s grin was all the answer he needed as they headed out the door.
Okay, it was a big time cliché to buy drugs in a dark alley, but Slash was sixteen, so he had a bent for romanticizing the deal. Nos pushed away the feeling that he was stuck in a Seventies movie. Should’ve met at Denny’s or maybe out back of a 7-11--Nos could’ve used an Icee and some munchies. Chocolate sounded good.
His longing for a Hershey bar was interrupted when an ordinary man stepped from the shadows; one of Slash’s regular suppliers. Honor Society haircut, pastel tee shirt and blue jeans: he looked prep–no danger there. They approached him and did their commerce, adding a few pharmaceuticals to the weed for good measure.
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