3.35 - Respect
Another night, another spectacular ball room. I’m not sure
if Destiny enjoys these, or she’s still on the revenge mission. I haven’t
spotted the murderous look in her eyes lately, but I wouldn’t put it past her.
We’ve gotten closer than I could have ever imagined. Still, she doesn’t tell me
about a lot of things. She didn’t even think to mention she had dated Chloe
until she was able to call me bisexual and make jokes. She was excited when she
found the information about the Chalice, but then didn’t bring it up anymore.
I’ve learned that each of these events is hosted by one of
the families in the city. The colors are always different, representative of
each house. Tonight, the Marson House hosts the event. The colors are a faded
red and bright yellow. It looks like a fancy McDonalds to me, but supposedly
the red is for courage and the yellow is for enlightenment. After meeting a few
thralls at these events, they all seem the same; barely any sense of
personality remains in them. They’re mostly around just waiting on their
masters to pass out orders. They’re all so obsessed with pleasing their masters
and seem to have abandoned any interests or dreams of their own. Did I really
want to be one? I was out of my mind.
I’m just glad she lets me wear sneakers now. I’m going to have
to buy a tuxedo if I have to go to another one of these; rental fees are
starting to stack up. I do wonder how much you need to drink before you turn
into an alcoholic, because I’m starting to drink a lot at these events. She
wanders off with the other vampires and does whatever she has to, and I sit
here, drinking as the thralls tell me how important they are to their masters.
“Walk with me, we need to make an impression,” Destiny
places a hand on my shoulder and whispers in my ear.
“Okay, what’s the deal,” I follow her.
“Well, you’re going to need to run out of here. Don’t be
afraid to stab someone.”
“What’s going on?”
“You wouldn’t understand.
“When should I run?”
“You’ll know when to run. Just know I’ll pick you up
tomorrow around noon,” she kisses me on the cheek.
She leads me through the party, not really in any real
direction or towards any location, just leading. In the time that I’ve known
Destiny she’s never lacked any confidence. Still, she’s moving through the
crowd right now with more than I’ve ever seen her with. I’d honestly call it
arrogance. She takes a drink from a waiter, sips it, then spits it out. She
shakes her head and returns it to his tray before continuing. The thralls
remain silent, they know their roles. Subservience to not just their master but
all vampires are important. Destiny confuses them, because she’s Adze, she’s
not one of their own. She demands respect, but they don’t want to respect her.
“Can’t believe they let her walk through here with her head
held high,” I hear someone in the crowd whisper.
“In the past, her kind wouldn’t even be allowed in here,”
another comment.
“Slaves who played with magic beyond their control, gained
all that power, but still more worthless than the dirt they walk on,” a woman
whispers to her master who laughs.
At first, I thought it was just because she was Adze, but
this is good old-fashioned racism. I forget some of these vampires were around
when slavery was still a thing. They probably recruit thralls like them, those
with a burning passion for the old days. The special Midwest brand of racism.
Smile in your face, never call you Nigger but never really see you as human
either. The same Midwest racism that had Martin Luther King leave Chicago
feeling defeated. Racism is still alive, especially with these decrepit old
vampires. They don’t even conceal their hunger for the past. Some of them
probably had to let slaves go after the civil war.
I realize she had been leading us back towards the door. She
really does expect me to make a run for it. I bend down to make sure my shoes
are tied tight as she discusses something with a vampire. For a moment I could
have sworn she demanded a drink from the thrall. I couldn’t have heard that
right, because Destiny doesn’t drink directly from people.
“I would never let your dirty lips drink from my thrall,”
the uptight old man says.
“Very well,” Destiny turns towards me and winks.
A lot flows through my mind in that second. Dirty lips was
not so coded racism. I’ve seen vampires share thralls all through these events.
The wink lets me know I should run. I also wonder what Destiny is about to do.
I get my answer as I watch her turn quickly and slit the vampires throat.
“I will not be disrespected by some old fledgling vampire,”
she shouts.
In the moment of chaos, I run as screams fill the room.
Destiny doesn’t budge as I look back, but I get out of there. I’d just slow her
down if a fight happened. I need to run, because I trust her, even if I don’t
believe she could win the fight. But I don’t hear any fighting as the door
closes behind me. I don’t even buckle my seatbelt or check my mirrors, just
pull out and hope she’s okay. She’ll be okay, she always has been.
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