Vampire MonologuesBranksylvia twitched. Holding still, like this, this long, was straining his muscles in ways he wasn't used to. He wanted to frown, but he would only get rebuked again.
"Alright, you're done." The painter too nimbly hopped off his stool. "I imagine you can't wait for that new film to come out, eh?"
Branksylvia nodded glumly, hearing his joints pop and crack as he stretched and relaxed them.
"Will you be paying me directly or--"
"My company will be in touch with yours." Branksylvia snatched his cloak from the painter's bespotted hands.
"Alright, alright," he offered, backing away slowly. "Don't rip out my throat or anything."
He shook his head. They were still xenophobic after all these years--perhaps not so many to his kind, but nearly a lifetime to theirs.
Branksylvia pulled the low hood over his face, his arms and legs hidden in the voluptuous folds of his cloak, and left.
To Branksylvia--or Branks to his colleagues and close acquaintances--it almost wasn't worth all the t
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