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Mar 24, 2019 2:48 AM
Ira and Eric become vampires
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It's late. Late enough that she really shouldn't be out. But her parents wouldn't really care, and she'd needed to get out, needed to not be in the house. She would've brough Ant, but getting them both out wasn't easy.

She would've gone to Eric's, but she didn't want to wake him up - he needed all the sleep he could get.

So, she's ended up in the park. Where a group of teenagers had decided that they were going to hassle the child.

She looks up at them with wide, intent eyes. "Did you know that you can kill someone with a spoon?" she asks innocently. "If you use enough force. Or at the very least you can take their eyes out. They scream a lot."

The teenagers are starting to get the impression that they've chosen the wrong child to hassle.

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The apparent, unspoken leader of the teenagers tries to laugh it off, unconvincingly. "Aww, come on now, you'd have to at least come up to my waist to manage that." 

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"No, I just need to knock you over. And there's any number of ways to do that. Hitting someone hard enough in the legs knocks them over. Do you not watch rugby? The lower you hit someone, the better for knocking them over."

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"Hey," one of the other boys says. "Aren't you the Gothenburg's kid? The queer one?"

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"What does that have to do with anything?"

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"Think you're a girl?"

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"I am a girl. I am, I am, I am." (It didn't matter what her parents said, Eric said she was, and that was all that mattered.)

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A sneer. "You don't look it."

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She doesn't respond to that. Verbally at least. Instead, she proves her point about being able to knock people over by aiming directly at the teen's knees - she's got a surprising amount of force behind her.

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The teen is knocked to the ground, but before Ira can do much, his mates have her by the arms and legs, and pin her to the grass.

"So," the leader says, looking down at her. "Shall we check under the hood?"

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She tries to thrash, but she's pretty thoroughly pinned, and she can't quite crane her neck right to bite any of them.

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There's a blur of white and brown, and suddenly the teenagers are all on the ground. Some of them are missing limbs. Or heads. All at the very least are bleeding from the throat, sputtering and choking.

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Ira scrambles back, and looks around, a little wildly. She doesn't seem all that bothered by the mutilation, but she's a little unsettled by how quickly it happened.

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There's a man standing over her. Handsome, blonde, with skin that makes him look cut from polished moon rock. Comfortable, simple brown clothing is stained by blood the blood dripping from around his mouth.

"Hello Reginald."

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"It's Ira," she corrects, tone surprisingly sharp. (You'd probably expect some fear, she isn't showing any.)

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"Oh, really? Fine, hello Ira."

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"Who're you?"

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"Iain." A laugh. "My surname hasn't been relevant for a very long time. Sure my father is rolling in his grave on that count. I've been watching you, Ira."

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"-Why?"

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"Because I think you're a predator born in the wrong skin. A lion trapped in sheep's fleece. I think you're the wrong species."

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"...Wrong species?"

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"Human."

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"...Is there another option?"

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"You ever read about vampires?"

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"Some."

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"I'm one, and I can make you one. I've wanted a child for some time, and you seem like you'd take to it." He bends down closer to her. "You'd be strong. And your body would never fail you. You'd live as long as your wits and strength and teeth can keep you alive."

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