Have you ever wondered the lives that the deceased left behind? Imagine you lure a victim into a dark alley and proceed to end their lives. Who do they leave behind? What kind of legacy did they create? When I was first dabbling in playing God and taking peoples lives, I would worry about the wives that were left husbandless and sitting at their kitchen tables, wondering when their spouse might return. I wondered whether the woman's child was going to go hungry because she didn't bring food home from the market. I tended to choose targets that might not have a future, that might not have a family and were on the lower end of the societal spectrum. The homeless, the weary, the broken, the rogue. Eventually, with the help of a little amber courage, I didn't care. It didn't matter, and I refused to let my mind be tortured with images of blood seeping out of wounds that I would potentially have preferred not to have created. Then again, I had been taught that my life was worth as much as theirs, and when I became exponentially disposable to even myself? It became a lot easier to quit worrying about the lives of those who were left walking the earth with a guilty conciense of what they could have said to their loved one in their dying, last moments.

Bring me your weary, and I will remove their troubles. Get it?

The vampire looked smug when he realized I might have liked to partake in the exciting task of dismemberment. What a dick. Then again, I slowly realized I would have done the same thing, and I was beginning to feel a sense of pride in the accomplishment of finding an individual who might just fit my lifestyle and my sensibility! What a fucking coincidence and ironic feeling of fate, yeah? He seemed as unphased as I was; overly nonchalant as if it was all in a days work. I guess you could expect that of a vampire, considering their meal choice often led to a variety of deaths or tragic circumstances for the human or feast of choice. It never bothered me, hearing of death by vampire. I simply grew my distaste from personal experience, finding the fuckers were smug, inconvenient, and often wouldn't die on the first shot. Talk about inconvenient.

My method of disposal was clearly approved as his expression changed from smugness to amusement, obvious and silent appraisal offered by sheer fact that he had nothing to say except for a vaguely humorous response to my suggestion that the man rest in piece. Pieces was far more accurate, definiltey. I nodded, finding myself generally amused as well in that his humor penetrated the previously borderline hostile environement we had indulged in.

"That's precisely the business investment I was proposing. We offer a variety of opportunities, such as magazine photoshoots and forensic evidence posing. We can't offer insurance, however most individuals in our modeling agency are capable of providing their own."

I had nothing else to say besides a short shrug when he replied to my suggestion of a business offer in lieu of payment of any kind. What could you offer a potentially immortal being that they didn't already have the ability to procure on their own? I shook my head to myself when he turned off, but found myself more than willing to join him.

"I did leave my agency contracts on my desk, save the bullshit for another time, yeah?" The accent was strong again, and the lilt clearly amused. With a hand in my pocket and the other fitting to lift the cigarette to my lips again, I amiably kept pace with him. "Funny, a good drink usually helps me avoid those types of decisions and suggesting innovative ways to be an inconvenience to the majority of the public."