• Published 3rd Oct 2017
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Itchy & Scratchy - totallynotabrony



Octavia is a young vampire. Vinyl is an old werewolf. They kill people.

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Chapter 4

Octavia sat with her legs crossed on the couch in Fleur’s place. It was the late afternoon of Boxing Day. She still wore the same clothes from Christmas Eve. They had been laundered, but that didn’t get out all the bloodstains, it just made them not so obvious.

Fleur seemed happy to be rid of her. In terms of company to spend Christmas with, Octavia would have preferred to be alone.

There was a knock on the door and Octavia got up to answer it. The caller was a boy, appearing no older than fourteen, and thin.

He smiled good naturedly even as a horrid chemical smell hit Octavia’s nose. “Hello, you must be Octavia.”

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” she said, consciously avoiding raising her hand to pinch her nose shut. They shook hands and something about his grip didn’t seem quite healthy, even as his fingernails appeared newly manicured. Still, she thought his smile seemed genuine, even if it was framed by rheumy eyes.

“There you are, Pip,” said Fleur, coming into the room.

“Happy Christmas,” he greeted. “Mr. Fancypants asked me to assist Ms. Melody in getting back on her feet.”

“Who is he?” Octavia asked.

“He’s a local figure,” Pip explained. “He has his own spiel; I’ll let him tell it when you meet him. For now, you would probably like to go shopping.”

“I would,” Octavia allowed. “Though I’m afraid I don’t have any way of paying.”

“Don’t worry about it,” said Pip. “We’ve all been there. Not all of us are savages.”

Octavia glanced at Fleur, who stood with her arms crossed, clearly wanting Octavia out of her place. Two days was apparently too long, even on Christmas.

“Thank you, Pip, that’s very generous,” said Octavia. She went out the door with him. The sun was just setting as they left the building. Despite the lack of quality rest on Fleur’s couch, Octavia felt wide awake.

Pip pointed a finger up to the sky. “You’ll want to get some sunscreen. UV isn’t good for vampires as you may well imagine.”

“Well, I never liked the beach,” Octavia commented. “Or, really, going outside at all.”

At the curb was a green Jaguar XE. Pip said, “Why don’t you drive?”

“Oh, it’s a lovely car, but I don’t have a license,” Octavia admitted. Sure, it would help her be an introvert even more if she didn’t have to ride the tube, but it never seemed a priority.

“No time like the present to learn, then.”

At his suggestion, Octavia nervously sat behind the wheel. Of course, she’d seen other people drive, and with Pip’s patient instruction she was able to get the car moving. She’d always had excellent hand-eye coordination, which even still seemed to have gotten a boost lately.

“I hope you don’t mind that I heard,” said Pip as Octavia navigated the quiet street. “About your parents. My condolences.”

Octavia nodded, but remained silent. What could she say?

“But what was done to you is unfortunately done. Now, you should get a handle on some of the finer points of vampirism,” Pip went on. “This shopping expedition can also serve as a bit of a lesson. I’m no professor, but I have a reasonable understanding of the condition and can offer you some advice.”

“Are you a vampire?” Octavia asked. She didn’t like to assume. In addition, Pip seemed so much different than Fleur.

“No, I’m a zombie.”

Despite herself being a vampire, despite Pip’s pleasant demeanor, Octavia involuntarily jerked away. The car nearly hit a parked lorry before she straightened it out.

Pip smoothly transitioned to an explanation. “I think you’ll find most of the ‘movie monsters’ around here fit only part of the stereotypes. Myself, for example. I’m cold as a stone and don’t register any vitals, but other than that I’m an upstanding citizen. Bacteria don’t like zombies, so we don’t rot, but deterioration is still a problem. I, and any zombie with the smarts, has gotten preserved.”

That explained the smell.

Pip went on. “It’s not a perpetual existence like a vampire or a werewolf, one of the living, living dead. Zombies don’t heal. I have to do maintenance.”

“That sounds dreadful,” commented Octavia.

“Well, the eating brains part of it is the most unsavory,” Pip admitted. “However, zombies have a unique ability to gain experience and skills from the brains they eat. I’ve never been a vampire, but I picked up a few things along the way.”

Octavia looked at him sharply. “You’ve eaten a vampire’s brain?” She was surprised at her own clannishness.

“I didn’t kill him. Plus, you know what they say: a brain is a terrible thing to waste,” said Pip, unabashed. “Not to mention, he knew how to play the guitar.”

“Do you play?” Octavia asked, happy to change the subject.

“I’ve picked up a few things here and there,” Pip allowed. “Not my passion, though. What about you?”

“I’m - rather, I was - in music school. Cello.”

“I think there’s a music shop in the shopping center, though you may be seeking something a bit nicer than factory-made.”

“I don’t have the money.”

“There are a lot of limitations you’re about to bypass,” Pip advised. “Maybe even money.”

At the shopping center, Pip taught her how to park. Entering the fray with holiday shoppers was more nerve-wracking, though. There were so many sights, sounds, even smells, and all of them constantly bombarded Octavia’s senses. Not to mention feeling like a single slip of her lips would give her away. Octavia kept her jaw clenched, giving her teeth no chance to be exposed.

She distracted herself with her turned-up senses. Pip answered her questions about enhanced perception. Naturally, it came with being a vampire. Of course, she was stronger and faster now, too. The movie monster tropes were holding.

“What are ghouls?” she asked, remembering something Fleur had said.

“A human who’s consumed a vampire’s blood. They’re a bit subdued and subservient. If you’ve read Dracula, you can compare the character of Renfield.”

“Vampires can do that? Control people?”

“Most can only handle one, if that,” said Pip. “Of course, there are exceptions to every rule. You’ll find that vampires are all different. The condition seems to affect people certain ways, as if it’s a virus with different strains. That’s a theory, anyway. It’s not exactly a science. Sometimes it even leads to small mutations. For example, I know a fellow with dewclaws. I’ve heard of a few others, though.”

They spent some time in a clothing shop. Octavia got a new outfit and a few other changes of clothes. Pip paid with a credit card, telling her not to worry about it.

They passed a store selling incredibly belated and appropriately discounted Halloween stock. “I can’t turn into a bat, can I?” Octavia blurted.

Pip smiled, part of the reason she was already so willing to engage him. He knew her secret, she knew his, and somehow that managed to push away barriers to conversation as well as Octavia’s personal hangups.

“No, you can’t turn into a bat,” he replied.

“Pity,” Octavia remarked. “Being able to fly would at least make up for a small fraction of the unpleasantness. Honestly, though, just some tea would be better.”

“Would you like to talk about it?” Pip asked quietly.

Octavia paused, but then shook her head. “No.”

Changing the subject, she said, “Perhaps I should get Fleur a Christmas present. She did let me sleep on her couch.”

“Did she get you anything?” Pip asked.

“AB negative.”

Octavia asked Pip nicely to buy a shiny object from a shop window. It would go nicely with the rest of Fleur’s baubles.

After getting Octavia some toiletries, including sunscreen, Pip suggested that they meet Fancypants. Following directions, she carefully drove to his house.

The place was clearly old but appeared to be in the middle of a renovation. A shame to kill the history, Octavia thought. Still, the new construction did appear to be in excellent taste.

Despite the dust, Fancypants was dressed neat as a pin and wore an immaculately groomed moustache. He smiled pleasantly as he greeted Octavia. His hand was warm.

Pip left them alone and Fancypants invited her to sit in one of the plush leather armchairs in his office. Octavia began by thanking him.

“We all need a bit of help from time to time,” he said. “I find it much better for the community if new vampires aren’t forced to figure things out for themselves.”

“Thank you,” said Octavia. “I wish there was some way to repay you. I suppose I must present myself to the police and insurance company and attempt to make claims to what is left of my parents’ estate.”

“I have an excellent lawyer,” Fancypants volunteered. “Even still, that could take a long time. If you are interested, I would like to offer you employment. It comes with living arrangements and sustenance.”

A place to stay? More importantly, blood? That could definitely be difficult to get on her own. “What sort of work is it?” Octavia asked.

“First, let me tell you a little about myself so you can understand my philosophy,” said Fancypants. “I enjoy a good challenge.”

He picked up a rubber band from his desk and idly toyed with it in his hands as he spoke. “Life needs a purpose. Not necessarily something that changes the world, but something to keep us fulfilled. Otherwise, what’s the point?”

Octavia nodded. She tried not to think about how, until recently, she’d played the cello.

“Setting a goal and achieving it bring me satisfaction, and the more difficult the better. I enjoy the hunt. And who presents the greatest challenge but our fellow man? I do appreciate the convenience video games have brought us, but not all pursuits can be measured with that.”

Octavia noticed his tone shift and some instinct twinged in the back of her mind.

“I have many goals. On the short term, I think I will kill this fly.” Fancypants snapped the rubber band he was holding and, sure enough, knocked a lazy housefly right out of the air. “On the long term, I need something much more substantial. A challenge.

“I have decided to kill evil.”

“What, all of it?” Octavia blurted.

Fancypants nodded. “It’s a very long term goal with many phases, as you may imagine. I must admit, progress so far is modest. At the moment, I’m currently eliminating criminals one by one in the London area, though I have extensive designs for expansion.”

Octavia’s fingers gripped her knees until they hurt. What had she gotten herself into?

“However, I am only one man,” Fancypants said. “It’s a bit less fulfilling but much more efficient to captain an enterprise, if you will, rather than taking the business personally.”

“And you want me to-”

“In return for my assistance, I would ask you to perform certain tasks,” Fancypants said.

“Killing people?”

“Perhaps.”

“Vampires?”

“Perhaps.”

“Where do I sign?”

Fancypants blinked. Octavia’s response was clearly more direct than he expected. However, he was nothing if not smooth. Without more than a token pause, he replied, “There is no contract. I’m not the Devil, after all. I merely expect courtesy and discretion.”

“As long as you help me find the vampires who killed my parents.”

Fancypants nodded. “That may be a tall order. It may take quite a long time. But I will. You have my word.”

“And I want to know what they did,” said Octavia. “I’m not just going to go kill someone merely because you said so.”

“That is fair,” he conceded.

There was a chime and Fancypants got up, going to the computer sitting on his desk. “Excellent, the aid package for Africa is on its way.”

Seeing Octavia’s questioning look, he added, “I have a small side project in ending hunger.”

“I would think that if you’re so focused on killing things, wouldn’t it be more efficient not to send aid?” said Octavia.

Fancypants waved his hand. “That’s not sporting. It’s also not about the kill, nor the trophy, rather the hunt.”

“Is that why you’ve killed the history of this beautiful house?”

Fancypants smiled, but kept the course of the conversation. “People are easy to kill. Hunger, evil? Those are challenges.”

“I think I’d rather keep it simple for now,” Octavia replied.

Fancypants walked over and she stood up. “Well, Ms. Melody, I believe I can accommodate that.”

They shook hands again. Fancypants said, “Before you go, I would like to recommend someone to show you around, at least at first.”

“I would be grateful.”

“Maybe you’ll even make a friend.”

What was this tripe about making friends? She was here to kill people.