“A meeting, with the Ethereal Wives? Is this thing suicidal?” Kont, the vampire lord of Britain, asks in his ironically America accent.
“Yep, pretty much,” Impalar replies, “So you gonna give it to him,”
Kont takes a moment to digest this poor grammar.
“It is not my matter to decide,” Kont mulls the words over, before standing up in his gown, Impalar’s eyes observing every inch of his perfection.
Kont is a relatively young vampire, at around 4767 years old. Or 4768, or 65. Age is after all just a number, and when the two thousands starting rolling by, they stop mattering. He is one of the most beautiful in a whole trove of beautiful and elite. He’d be the kind of person who’d have his ethereal pale skin, pure black hair, hard well-toned muscle on posters all over teenage girl’s rooms. He makes underwear models look like awkward, geeky twenty somethings. He lets his paper white skin show in glimpses through his gown, gazing down on his cleric. His rather debauch attitude was off-putting at times, but nobody healed holy water burns quite like good old Impalar, single and available, man, woman, no matter.
“Still, I think this would be a good thing. I did my research,”
“I’m amazed what people can glean from porn these days,” Kont replies, expression completely blank.
Impalar continues as if nothing was said.
“Quite respected, known by many of the supernatural (read non-human) higher-ups. Solved a few famous cases, the Lochness Monster, the Back Valley Hauntings among others. Keeps a low profile overall. Name’s Grob,”
Kont lets out a slow sigh.
“Impalar. Every single vampire on the planet knows who solved the Black Valley Haunting; now summon him to me at once,”
The world seems to pause
“Respond in a cockney accent and I will tear your gallbladder out,”
“oui mon chef!”
edited 17th Apr '13 1:56:24 PM by Squeakythemaster