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From: The Wildchilde
Glowing blacklights and blaring music mixed with thick, amorphous clouds of shifting nicotine and the pungent odor of cheap beer. Somewhere within the writhing masses of flesh mingled The Vampire Sally, surrounded by the inebriated masses of friends she gained during her mortal days. Such celebrations for no particular reason made her feel human again, with one sole exception: her mingling culminated, each time, in the gentle sampling of each vessel, administering ecstasy where once she had administered mere words.
The parties were the perfect place to feed. Already lacking in sleep, the unnatural fatigue of blood loss would not be questioned. Already inebriated by alcohol or narcotics or both, the ecstasy of the Kiss was assumed to be the result of a more mundane addiction. And, of course, already in the dark, tightly cramped spaces of this apartment, no one would notice her draw closer to each of her living friends for sustenance. They would remember very little, as they always did, and she could only ponder as to why these practices were not more common...after all, they seemed to be the very adaptation of the vampiric potential, if the form's purpose was to be surmised. All she need do was keep track of whom she drank from, alternating to ensure she did not hurt them or herself. If only it were that easy...
They were all there...Scotty, Tabitha, Gabrielle, Hank, and the others...and as she paused, watching them enjoy her company, a part of her felt empty inside as she realized, for the first time since her Becoming, that her friends would move on without her one day. They would grow up and grow old, and the out-of-staters would return to their homes, raise families, die of old age... her choice had been clear, and she accepted it, never having thought of the consequences, even though the clan was her family now. She wouldn't have traded it for the world, but her analytical mind still mused what could have been.
Gab nudged the Gangrel playfully, shaking her out of her reverie and back into the revelrie, and the contemplation of her Peter Pan syndrome was long forgotten within the next couple of moments.