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Interview with a Vampire. Part 1.


ArcticBlade

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"So, you're a vampire?" The man conducting the interview asked.

 

"I am." The vampire nodded, flashed his glimmering white fangs.

 

"Fascinating." The man said. He stroked his chin in contemplation. This lead to a momentary pause on his part. The vampire sat there, drawing patience from a massive reservoir, just smiling and looking handsome for the camera. The man lowered his hand, coming out of his contemplative trance. A smile cracked across his lips. "So, what is it that you are called."

 

"M'name is Ruud, son. In my part o' town, I'm called the Vampire Dude." Ruud kicked back in his chair, hoisted his feet to the table, brown cowboy boots thumping against the wood.

 

"So, fancy yourself a cowboy, do you?" The man asked.

 

"I am, son. I was born in 1878 to a southwestern minin' town called Dejorg. I grew up on the ranch, y'hear? I'd wrassle with the lil' calves or cause trouble with the local street kiddos. Got into a lot o' fights, don't recall ever regrettin' any of them. Anyway. Dejorg had a lil' demon problem. I went around, slayin' whatever got in my way with my trusty six shooters. Good ol' Colt Single Action Army Peacemakers. I was a devil to be reckoned with in my own right. Made a purdy coin back then. Them demons weren't as fearsome as everyone up'n assumed they were. Did it for several years, up 'til my eighteenth birthday. The day I died." Ruud smiled. Back during the first days of his vampyrism, he was freaked out of his mind. Didn't know what to do or where to go. He just wandered. He grew used to it eventually. Death no longer bothered him in a way.

 

"Died, did you?" The reporter asked. Ruud nodded.

 

"Done said that, kiddo." Ruud said. He called the man kiddo, he was really 38. Age meant little to one as old as Ruud, though even he was young amongst other vampires. Far more aggressive and skilled, though. He had a true talent for his thing.

 

"How?" Simple as that. Ruud pulled his feet to the ground, leaned forwards and flicked his cowboy hat from his red eyes. He put on his story telling face and got to business.

 

"Well, one day I went an' found me a real nice hunt. A powerful demon by the name of Cairn. Ironic name as the lil' turd buried his victims after killin' 'em. Anywho, I went to the ol' mining platform. It was dark, there was a mist across the ground. Some git went an' jumped me from behind. It was Cairn, no less. I killed him without much problem. Now it was that vampire gal that went and killed me. She was so beautiful, couldn't resist. My folly, as she helped herself to my blood and just left me to stink up the place. I awoke up a few days later an' I had me some fangs and a strange thirst I couldn't quite finger with any real accuracy. I learned later it was a thirst for blood. I did my best not to reveal my vampyrism to the simple folk. Still got a lot of work all across the south to take care of undead problems. Drifting. I retired one day and just found me a nice farm in the middle of nowhere. Fixed it up an' all. Been there ever since. Still rich. Ha."

 

"Very fascinating." The reporter replied. This was truly an interesting story to him. "So where did that sword come from?" He asked.

 

"Ah, made it myself. Fine piece o' steel, methinks." Ruud said. The reporter nodded. Black blade with an interesting double-edged design. Near the pommel, the blade expanded like the plume of a bird's tail, then tapired off near the tip. Had no blemishes, was shiny and free of blood.

 

"Exquisite." The man said, examining the brilliant piece of steel. A tool of his trade, probably.

 

"Indeed."

 

"Well, Ruud. This has been a wonderful interview so far. Unfortunately, we're out of time today. I hope you'll come back tomorrow so we can finish it up?" The reporter asked. Ruud smiled. Good to see a youngster so interested in his story. He nodded.

 

"Of course. See ya tomorrow." Ruud said. He left promptly. The reporter went off and did his own thing.

 

(I'll finish the second part tomorrow. Lol. Laziness.)

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