The Vampire's Donor

nico

nico

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Claire collected herself as she sat in the driver's seat of her car. She checked her bag to make sure she had her phone, a printed resume in case she was asked for it, and more every-day odds and ins like chapstick and her wallet. As she climbed out of the car, she took a deep breath. Job interviews had never been her favorite thing because she hated having to put a face on, but she needed this job which meant she was willing to do a lot if it meant she would end up with a stable source of income. Her eyes flicked between the house and the one she had written down. "This can't be it," she thought to herself.

She had expected a nice house, sure, but this was more than that. The architecture was eye-capturing, and all the texture drew you closer to the house. As she climbed the front steps she dragged her finger against the carving on one of the pillars that supported the overhang. The house's magnificence made her feel under-dressed, and, to be fair, she probably was. Her hair was straightened and laid over her shoulders, her torso was covered with a short-sleeve button-up shirt, and she wore deep blue skinny jeans. The reason for this more casual workwear was because she figured he would have her make a practice meal to see if she was really what he wanted, and she didn't want to be super dressed up or in non-kitchen clothing when she did so. Of course, this was her version of kitchen clothing, but it was all subject to change. If he required a uniform she'd wear it, however, she didn't have a uniform yet. She didn't even have the job for sure. If she had chosen instead to wear her old unwavering confidence to their interview maybe she wouldn't be stood in front of the door second-guessing herself, yet when she looked for it this morning it was nowhere to be found. The best she could do was feign some semblance of confidence to at least get her through this interview.

Claire moved her right hand to the door, but before her knuckles could meet the cold wood of the door, she drew in another deep breath. "You'll be fine," she told herself. The reality was, she needed this job. If he passed on her she wouldn't up living back in her parent's house and applying to any fast food place that needed new employees. Claire was responsible, but when her job was taken out from under her -- and her unemployment checks never came in -- she began to fall behind on rent. Plus, since she had been fired higher-level jobs had been wary of hiring her. In an attempt to make these thoughts stop swarming through her head she finally knocked; her knuckles meeting the cold surface three times before she let her hand return to her side.
 
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Why did he have to post that advertisement in the media again? He could have just went to the blood bank and asked for bags but his friends, both human and supernatural, thought it would be a great idea to have his meals... fresh. He smiled, thinking back of what has transpired a few days ago.

"I am perfectly fine with my set-up," Camphor stated, taking in his coffee. For a creature of the night, he would rather take in this black-liquid-of-the-gods than actually take his meals.

"Camphor, dear, you have been concentrated in your project you barely touched anything the poor chef made you. He was willing to even give you his blood just so you could eat," the lady, Elizabeth, muttered as she drank her drink.

"Eli's right. If you don't hire a walking, talking meal, we will do it for you."

Camphor smirked. "I would like to see you try."

And post they did. A sigh escaped his lips before turning to his window to gaze upon a dark-haired girl about his... 'age' bracket coming towards the entrance. Job interview. That was what this was supposed to be. But he was just too tired, and sleepy, to actually take in more than one. She will have to do.

Taking in a deep breath, Camphor stood from his seat and started for the entrance, the echoes of the knocking reverberating within the empty halls of his home.

Opening the door, he gave a tired albeit friendly smile. "Welcome," he greeted. "You must be one of the applicants for the position of a chef?" he inquired, opening the door more to reveal what was inside. "Come, come, we head over to the living room for the said interview."
 
"I am, thank you for seeing me today," her voice was gentle, sweet. Before she entered she allowed herself to break eye contact with him, just for a preliminary glance into his home. The inside -- she thought -- was even more beautiful than the outside had been. The whole place seemed cold, however. For whatever reason, she had expected a home such as this to be warmer, more inviting. The cold and desolate feeling of the place was most likely a symptom of him living alone, at least she assumed that was the reason the place had such a quiet ambiance.

After offering him a shy smile, she dipped her head as a sign of respect as she stepped past him and entered the home. "Your home is beautiful," she spoke frankly, "Everything seems very methodically elegant." Her footfalls echoed back to her as if telling her just how much there might be to explore, but that's not why she was here. Claire wasn't a child, and she knew that. However, there was something about her that filled her with a childlike curiosity for the first time in years.

She took the whole home -- at least what she could see -- in a panoramic glance before turning back to him with a gentle smile on her face. "It's nice to meet you, I'm Claire," she extended her hand out towards him to shake his hand. First impressions were important as far as being remembered by a potential boss, and she figured that she'd already spent enough time in her own head, exploring what she imagined the rest of the house to look like until her heart was content.
 
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Camphor reflected the smile before walking ahead of the girl. The comment of his home being beautiful had a young vampire chuckling breathily. “I try to be in line with… the recent trends of our architectural world,” he commented. “A little messy but just the way I like them.”

Upon entering the living room, the man took her to the sofa for her to rest. His eyes then landed on the offered hand. His eyes twinkled mischievously. “If I am to shake your hand, Miss Claire, this would mean that you are about to agree to everything we are going to talk about,” he announced. “Ah, my name is Camphor, by the way.”

He took a step back before leaning on the back of the furniture just across the female. This was to give her some space to think and maybe a sense of security. “I…” he started, also not comfortable with the awkward atmosphere he just created. “This was…” Taking a deep breath, he focused on the girl before him. “Well, there are a few things I left from the job description,” he announced sheepishly, giving another apologetic smile. “Do take a seat, I hope you don’t mind, but once I do tell you this, you can’t just leave.”
 
"I figured that you would have me stay for a trial," she sat down cautiously on the couch, letting her eyes explore his facial features as she tried to figure out the weight behind the words he had just spoken. "But if you plan on killing me blink twice and I'm gone," she laughed softly, trying to lighten the air that surrounded him,

She wondered what he meant, wondered if she really should ask any questions. Never had she sat down in an interview and been told she would be stuck there should they continue to talk about the job she was applying for. One of her hands sat between her thighs as she crossed her legs, the pressure working as a way to calm her nerves and keeper thinking rationally. If he was going to kidnap her or kill her, he wouldn't have been kind enough to let her sit on the couch. Hell, she had her back turned which had given him the upper hand.

Her mind swarmed with all sorts of questions. She wanted to ask about the job, its benefits, and oddities. Could she call him Cam or did he prefer Sir or boss? Was this job more than just cooking? Was he a member of some crime ring which she would then have to become acquainted with because she worked with him? Did he design the place? What did it look like before? How did he afford it all? None of these questions seemed rational enough to ask, so she returned to her pleasantries.

"With all due respect, sir," she broke eye-contact and trained her eyes on the ground, "I'm sure there's nothing you can tell me about this job that will turn me away from it. I have availability at every time of day, I don't mind cooking for more than one person, and if you require a uniform I'd be more than willing to wear one whenever I'm in the house."
 
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Intertwining his hands and resting his chin on them, Camphor focused on the female. Her morbid way of accepting her fate was somehow fascinating. He cracked a smile on her way of dispersing the tension. She was, to his respect, much more talkative than he was. He observed her, black eyes memorizing each gesture, each expression, each freckle on the female.

Her movements already told him she was growing uncomfortable, and truthfully, he was, too. All his life as one of the undead, he was used to isolation. For food, he hunted what he deemed was needed but never did that in excess. His victims never knew what hit them and this will be the first he will talk to a ‘donor’, as his friends called it.

“Truth be told, the cook thing was made by a friend,” he answered honestly. “And there are no uniforms to be given. You already noticed but I am living here alone. Sure, a cleaner comes every day to do some of my cleaning…” he mused, eyes still focus on him. “Enough of my excuses and let’s just get this over and done with,” he announced.

“Cherry,” he called out before a giant bird-like creature came swooping into the room. It closed every curtain and hit the ceiling lights on before perching its large body at the far side of the room.

“What I need of you, is your blood,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Two bags for three months. In return, you could stay in this place and use whatever room you would like. “Groceries could be taken care off by either me or you. And the pay is what is written on the advertisement.” He closed his eyes. “I am not joking about this and the proof of that is sitting near the door.”
 
Claire was awestruck by the bird, so much so that she had to take a moment to process the man's words. A joke, she thought, but his demeanor told her otherwise. He was serious. He hadn't told her why he needed it, but judging by his overall attitude, as well as his bird and the home, she had a pretty good idea of what he needed it for. The only issue she foresaw was the process of drawing blood.

"Why take it in bags if you have someone living to take it from?" She asked bluntly, "It will only result in the person you take the blood from getting weak and having more chance of getting sick." She adjusted the way she was sitting to prop her head up using her arm on the armrest. It was the truth, she'd had enough blood tests to know that taking that amount of blood would most likely leave her too weak to even take care of herself, let alone do anything else he may need of her.

She was thrilled about the offer to live in the house, but she would have to think of the way to phrase that to her parents. Maybe she would have to come to work for a while and then move in, just tell her parents her boss pays well, but she would cross that bridge when the time came. A part of her thought that maybe she should've walked out the door when he had given her the chance, but it was too late for that now. While the proposition was shocking, she was so desperate for any kind of work that she was willing to do this. Had the situation been less dire for her would she still have been so willing to work this job? Probably. In an odd way, she was excited which was most likely due to her curiosity surrounding it all. Not to mention, she had always been someone to go for a challenge, but this was unlike anything else she had ever done.

"Also," she rolled her shoulders and sat up straight, "I'm not sure I'd be able to take a room here right away because of my current living situation. However, I will take you up on that offer in the near future should it still be on the table." Her parents would hate this. They'd call her crazy, ask why she didn't leave when he offered. A red flag, her mom would say, but Claire didn't care. If she felt unsafe or scared she would have left, but all she felt was confusion and curiosity, neither of which are dangerous emotions to feel.
 
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Camphor listened, frowning at the way the girl worded her statement. “One, do you want a man,” he gestured to himself, “A very old man, at that, to be taking his sweet time licking your skin? Will you be comfortable with that?” he smiled. The idea was appealing but it was too sudden. His last action in bed was about 50 years ago and it did not sit well with him. “Two.” He raised his pinky and forefinger. “A walking blood bag might be a convenience but I drink sparsely. I do not think you would like someone in your room in the middle of the goddamn night gnawing at your neck…” another smile. “Or maybe you have a secret desire to be marked?” he joked.

Cherry cawed at that, flapping its wings to create a gust of wind. It then walked towards it owner and pecked the poor male’s leg.

“Oi,” Camphor started. “I was joking, alright. I am not going to force her into anything that she is uncomfortable with,” he hissed. “Who do you think I am? A ruffian?”

Another caw, another peck.

“Someday, I am going to grill you and feed you to the harpies,” he mumbled before turning back to the female.

He paced – rather, he limped - towards the television mounted above the fireplace. “I do commend your kind in romanticizing ours over the years,” he started. “It has influenced you to not fear us and actually try to understand us.” He tilted his head, curiosity on those coal-hued eyes. “You know of the process and the risks of taking it to blood,” he hummed softly, almost sleepily. “Have you even been bitten by another? Or have you actually donated?” He did not wait for the female to reply as he slowly brought up his hand for a shake. “And basing from your previous statement, you already accepted the offer without even knowing what troubles you might get into.”
 
She took note of his walk, stopping herself from asking if there were more issues than the bird pecking him. As someone who had an accident-prone nature for the majority of her life, her urge to try and make it feel even a little better was suppressible, but it didn't go away fully.

She took his hand in her own and shook it firmly. "As much as the media had romanticized your kind," she sort of cringed at the words because it made her feel like she was talking down to him, "some people held out belief as a child that there was more out there. As teenagers, many craved romance with some vampire from a movie or show, others took to the more violent depictions in horror movies, and a select few watched both." She gently pulled her hand back and set it flat on her thigh. "I have had blood tests done before, so I know a bit about the process of drawing blood in the medical sense. I cannot say that I have ever had someone feed from me before, but there's a first for everything I suppose." Her left hand met the back of her neck and scratched in gently.

"As I said, I would almost prefer what you referred to as being marked over than having large amounts of blood taken just to be bagged. It's a waste to put it on ice and put me in a low energy state when you could just call, knock, or grab me and drink. Plus, isn't it better fresh? It'll be something to get used to, but I tend to adapt quickly. As for you calling yourself old, you may be old in number, but the years don't reflect on your outward appearance," the last few words dusted her cheeks a light pink. "However, as I said it may be a short amount of time before I can move in, but I'll see what I can do about speeding up that process for your benefit."
 
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Camphor covered his mouth as he listened. What took his mind from trying to dissuade the girl was the way her hand moved. Was she unconsciously covering the spot where those vampires in movies would sink their fangs into? Maybe so... or she was just nervous and that was the way she usually does to elevate the said energy. Either way, it made the man smile.

"I really want you to think about it in a much longer time," he stated as he turned to the bird. "One of your hole men did call us 'fallicious fuction of human fantasy'."

A sigh eascaped his lips before his eyes closed. "You do know of the sanguinarians and the psychic vampires, right?" He asked. "For I am a hybrid of both." He moved again, walking to stand behind the female and brush his figers on her back. "I could sustain myself by either drinking blood or just taking your energy. We can compromise with both later on."

He turned, ghosting his finger onbher head then to her face before tiltin her chin. "Do you want to give me a sample?" He asked. The way he asked was not seductive but has the tone that felt like a curious child just asked a question.
 
The way the man moved captured her. He was elegant but calculated. He knew where he would end up, and he walked so consistently that he had seemingly floated to his spot behind her. The close nature of the way they stood made the soft blush she had before deeper, turning from a soft pink to a bright red as she felt him behind her.

She felt a chill run down her spine as his fingers brushed her skin. When he moved his hand to her face she looked down at the markings on them, wondering how she hadn't noticed them until then. She took note to ask about them later because she was curious about their purpose and meaning if they had either. As he lifted her chin she felt her heart skip a beat. It wasn't that she was scared, it was more so because she hadn't been expecting it. Not to mention this man was pretty much a stranger outside of the fact that he was now her boss and her his meals.

"Go ahead," she licked her bottom lip as a way of calming herself, "I suppose you can take a sample of whichever you want, but remember I have to drive after this, and I'm not sure you just want me hanging out until I'm good again." Her face brightened with a smile as she laughed softly.
 
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Smiling at her statement, Camphor gently reached for her arm and kissed her knuckles. “Why not just take a rest here, maybe tell them that the journey was long and grueling?” he suggested. Another kiss on the back of her palm before his lips rested on the back of her wrist. “You might want to look away, dear,” he smiled. It was a warning.

After that statement, he had to wait three second before sinking his teeth and breaking skin. The first drop of blood into his mouth was like the first taste of sugar on his tongue. And that sugar slowly turned sour and… lacking with each suck he did.

It finally occurred to him. Flinching back, the male spat whatever was in his mouth. “What the fuck was that?” he blurted out, rubbing his lips off the blood. “It does not even taste like blood. It tastes like grainy water.”

Still covering his mouth as he cursed the high heavens, he rummaged through the drawers and offered a napkin to the lady. “What do you even eat?” he demanded as the bird in the room cawed and looked as if it was enjoying both the beings’ misery. “Do you have any condition? Baby's arsehole, if you are smoking, I will have you quit. Fuck. I think I need to use bleach to fucking remove the taste.”
 
She stifled a laugh at his dramatics, and took the napkin from him, pressing it to her wrist. "I'm anemic. I suppose I didn't know how different that made blood taste," she bit her lip to keep herself from smiling. As much as the situation was funny to her it also embarrassed her a bit. Blood, something so basic he could have had it from anyone, and she still managed to mess it up somehow. Her anemia had affected her ability to do aggressive workouts and anything that made her stand up too quickly, but never did she think it would potentially get her fired from a job.

She remembered when she found out she was anemic, and then two years late found out she was still anemic. That two-year cycle continued, and she could never seem to get her blood iron content where it needed to be. One day, for whatever reason, her symptoms were a bit more severe than usual, and they actually caused her to faint. Her body thudding hard against the living room floor as her mother barely managed to catch her head. That particular event hadn't been replicated since, but for some reason, she always worried it would. She'd seen doctors and they just told her to take iron, however, a year or so ago when she had the fainting spell, a doctor told her to take vitamin D as well which seemed to be helping. Clearly she was not improving quickly, proven by the man's adverse reaction to the taste, and he seemed pretty knowledgeable about the matter.

"I don't smoke or do drugs or any of that," she shrugged, "hell I don't even drink. I just have low blood iron, I take stuff for it." She unzipped the bag she'd brought inside with her and pulled out a circular pill container, rattling it before holding it out in his direction.
 
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"Anem...shit! Anemic?" the male repeated. Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he smashed the screen in frustration before the ringing echoed throughout the lonely room.

"Yo, what might I be of service, your lordship?" the male who answered the phone greeted.

"I am going to send you one of my employees because~!"

"Woah, woah, woah! Slow down, horsey. Employee? Someone actually took the job? Damn! Now I will become your nutritionist now? Just because I am a fucking hematologist doesn't mean I have to check every meal given to you. And why blood now? You always go for energy! Gawds, I swear if who you~!"

Camphor ended the call, regretting the call with the female still here. He clicked his tongue in both embarrassment and distaste. "Well, Madame, the arrangement is still set but we are going to have you be looked upon a friend of mine," he announced. "If I can't drink that, what might happen to you having it flowing in your body."

Cherry made a sound before finally leaving the room through the open windows.

A smile graced the male then. "With that arranged... would you like to get lost in my home or are you going to get home? The interview is technically finished and you are hired."
 
She cracked a smile at the opportunity to explore. "I'd love to look around!!" The pill container was slipped back in her bag before she zipped it up. The excitement of exploring caused her to shoot up out of her seat, and she considered, only for a moment, offering the man a hug. Ultimately, she decided that was beyond unprofessional, and not to mention awkward. She walked towards Camphor, stopping a few feet from him and holding up the bloodied napkin she had held to her wrist. "Maybe you can give me a tour? Starting with the garbage of course sire," her head dipped as a sign of respect and submission.

Her wrist ached, but she never seemed to bleed long due to her anemia which in her eyes had always been a bonus. No need to rush for a bandaid if she would barely bleed in the first place and that saved her a lot of time and money, with her being accident-prone and working in various types of kitchens. She wondered how long the burning would last, and if she would ever get used to the sensation.

"If you'd like to make your phone call of course I can leave without the tour or I can wander without the tour guide," she smiled softly at him, "What do you want to be called? I know I have been saying sir, but if you prefer something else I would be more than willing to oblige."
 
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Camphor thought it over. He laughed at her comments. "You have been on the road for longer than you were here, dearie," he chuckled. "I am not the type to just hire and shove your back in that metallic deathtrap you call a car." And truth be told, he was a bit lonely lately. His friends had different lives to live and they were not to be summoned until on Friday where they go cause chaos in the city.

"As for the tour, I would gladly give you one. Helps with my next project anyways," he stated before bowing as a sign of acknowledgement. "Let this old man show you the lair of a vampire who never gave a fuck of the norms of actually being a vampire." He offered his arm for the lady to rest hers on it. The others thought that Camphor was just getting into the whole vampire thing a bit too much and that he was actually a human. His personality and lifestyle did not even touch the norms of the aristocratic ways of the seductive creatures. He lived a simple life and rarely used his allure to get sex. Hell, his friends did not even know if he had any exes in the first place.

How long has it been since he met such a... unique being? Aside from his weird-ass friends, the answer was before he was transformed to a vampire. "Questions of the mind, lady of the house," he mused. "What might your belief be in us as a supernatural?" he asked. "First off, we need to fatten you up in the kitchen. You need some fuel in that body of yours because you will be entered the love-child of HH Holme's Killer Hotel and the Vatican underground vaults."
 
She laughed softly as she wrapped both her hands around his arm. It had been ages since any guy had paid her attention, and it wasn't until Camphor's gestures of affection that she realized just how alone she truly felt. Everyone thought she had a promising future, and she always agreed. However, here she was, in her twenties, back in her childhood bedroom because she'd been fired from a job whose pay was too low to even provide a backup month of rent even when she put the majority of her check in her savings account.

"I have always been interested in the supernatural I suppose. I used to think my house was haunted because there were sounds that couldn't be made without someone actually making an effort. However, I do believe some entities to be more believable than others," she mused, "I suppose there is a difference between supernatural ability and supernatural entity though; it's more so that I don't believe so many to be supernaturally capable. Too many people claim to be all-knowing or psychic, and it's total crap." She rolled her eyes.

She wondered for a moment if she had spoken too much or gone too far off-track, not that he seemed to mind. He visibly enjoyed the company of someone else, as did she which meant she wasn't going to do anything to sabotage a chance for some non-familial interactions. Plus, she thought it was cool to have another person with such a larger perspective. "How do you feel about the media portrayal of supernaturals such as yourself? And, if you don't mind me asking, how long have you been alive, and how did you become a vampire?" The questions were genuine. As opposed to the mostly fictitious nature of TV and books, this was a real vampire, and he was her boss. That didn't mean she was entitled to answers, but it did mean that the answers she got would be real.
 
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"I suppose there is a difference between supernatural ability and supernatural entity though; it's more so that I don't believe so many to be supernaturally capable. Too many people claim to be all-knowing or psychic, and it's total crap."

Camphor could not hold his laughter at this comment. "I have met with actual psychics but your... church has them tried and burned," he related. "There are so many people who could have helped your kind throughout history but all were considered as the threat themselves," he chuckled, remembering the times where he had to stand in the town square and watch his friend's lovers get killed. He could have done something about those but it was also fun watching the regret of the people when they poked the beast themselves.

"As per the portrayal, I find it interestingly funny. I have no idea where the garlic came into play and the mirror thing. It is only silver that could do that. Another is that your church is not that powerful with the other types of supernatural. Holy water does not really do shit to others but it is fund watching the hope in those poor sods' eyes flash then slowly burn out once they knew they are screwed," he muttered, a smile on his lips. Recognizing his statement as borderline sadistic, he cleared his throat. Thank the heavens she gave a way out of it.

"In years, truthfully, I lost count. A hundred maybe. I was born and raised as a nobody and was enlisted in the war. Foot soldier at that time and was fatally wounded. The medic with me was a senior and was my friend back then. He could not see me die so he did what was against their rules back then. He transformed me into his own kind," he stated, their walk stopping in front of a portrait of a handsome man in his late thirties. "I was already considered KIA during that war and was transported to a neutral country to be trained as a vampire." He then led the female to the kitchen. "Even with the said training, I still got into my human ways."
 
She nodded as she listened, appreciating that he was so willing to be open and honest with her about his life. "I mean you started human, so as much as you have become a different species there must still be human nature buried deep inside somewhere. Besides, there's no real way to be anything. If humans tried to be the perfect human sure the world would be a lot kinder, but the physical appearance of people would have to change which is something I don't think should have to be done. If I spent my time trying to look like what the media advertises, I would be a lot less happy, and a lot more in debt," her eyes widened as she finished her statement. She hoped that he wouldn't think anything of it, just a joke or something.

His kitchen was large, the countertops so shiny she could see her reflection looking back at her. "I don't think I've ever been in a kitchen this size, let alone one this pretty. Whoever designed this must have the most talented eye for interior design, and this is just the kitchen," her tone revealing just how excited she was to make her way around the whole house.

She didn't come from money nor did anyone she had ever known, so even stepping onto his front step made her feel like she was in an entirely different universe. Of course, she knew nothing about architecture or design, but all beings had an appreciation for the aesthetics of things. That's what she had for this house. The entire thing feeling as if someone poured their life into it. There were so many small, cohesive details that she couldn't help but be wowed by the entire home despite not seeing everything yet.
 
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Thinking back, Camphor gave a nostalgic smile. "A tutor once told me this; if someone was to actually rate a specie by their humanity, humans would have been at the bottom," he stated matter-of-factly.

He gestured to the vast kitchen. Laughing a bit sheepish from the appreciation from the lady. "A design I had to master because my ass of an engineer can't get it right." He opened the cupboards and showed whatever stash was there. Even if he took in blood, he still appreciated the foods of other species. "Tell me if you need anything for your domain. I could order them online and maybe force someone to get 'em"

He furrowed his brows now. "Did you actually eat before you came here?" he asked curiously. "We could whip up something for both of us before we go and mess around my house," he grinned, winking at the human before shaking his head. 'Do not get all weird yet, Camphor. You might actually scare the poor girl. Someone is going to hunt her down later if that is the case,' he scolded himself.
 
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