"I think if he isn't dead, he has a nasty headache that will keep him incapacitated long enough."

I hadn't started the night out intending to bring the building down. That was a shady Plan B after thought to quite literally see the walls crumble down on a failed job. Why hadn't they done the research? I hadn't misread the fine print, no. Whomever had given birth to the brain child of Frank's death had either missed the signs of vampirism, or... I felt the corners of my mouth turn upwards, and I shut my eyes to savor the feeling. Whoever had originally wanted Frank dead might have known he was a vampire, and neglected to share that information with the hopes that I wouldn't walk out of the endeavor alive. Oh, that was rich. To think that my employer had wanted me dead, too? Let me tell you, I am neither surprised, nor upset.

I would probably want me dead, too.

Behind me, there was a racket of horrified patrons that was probably mirrored only in decibles of the sirens and their piercing screeching that somehow scorched an already uncomfortable environment. I don't know how the air felt chaotic with the sound, but it did. The sirens sent a shiver up my spine that I wanted to take the time to relish... To turn around, to watch them try and figure out what had happened on such a sturdy foundation. Was there faulty building? Shouldn't it withstand an earthquake? I have to hand it to myself, there. The quake was a bonus, an afterthought that was little more than an ego boost for me.

Part of the woman's question resonated in the disruptive mess that I had left in my wake. Did I really think Frank was dead? Honestly, a question that presented itself as more important was... Was Frank his real name? It seemed like such a strange, plain name for a fantastical creature that sustained life on someone else's blood. That always stumped me. "Frank". I almost went down a train of thought to rename him, curious to whether or not I might be on point with that being a fake name. Instead I sighed, inwardly wishing I had no car and that a taxi would be most feasible. Feeling her hesitation to walk way, I gently took her by the elbow in order to steer her far away from the pile of bricks and rubble. Fuck it. I raised a hand, hailing a cab. It took mere seconds for one to literally zoom to our aid, and I found myself reaching out to open the closest door for Serafina. I wasn't dodging her question, but if he was indeed alive, it was prudent to get the fuck out of there.

Luckily, the cab driver screamed immigrant and therefore incredibly in the ordinary for this city. I felt my shoulders slump a little against the window, keeping my eyes trained on the building as we departed the scene.

"Truthfully, I wouldn't be surprised if there was a guest waiting for me at my apartment this evening, but at least there, I have a lot more options to provide said guest with unwavering hospitality," I said slowly, running a finger across my lips thoughtfully. The habit was out of desperation for a cigarette, reaching for something to satiate myself while stuck in the stuffy vehicle that I had been grateful for only seconds before.

I turned to her, then, feeling the same grin rising to my lips that had found it's way there before, thinking that it was I who was the actual target. It was always in the middle of a mess or in the middle of what might prove personally apocalyptic that I found quiet, and an undeniable security, and sense of self. "...I believe a refund is in order. That potion didn't work."

I've heard that a blatant display of identity, of gall and of extraordinary traits render some uncomfortable. You could even say speechless, disturbed, or generally unamused. Curious, though, that the woman's cheeks were flushed and instead of heart, soul, mind, and body gripping fear or petrification, she looked more alive.

"I will forget the refund, and forgive the transgression, " I said, the tone unmistakably humorous, " If you tell me that you have never felt more alive."