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Anything unscathed could be tucked into the bag that hadn’t broken. No sense in wasting anything that hadn’t touched the nasty NYC sidewalk without packaging.

“Owen,” the werewolf replied. “Thanks again for the help.”

Luckily 7/11 wasn’t too far and they’d be able to make quick work of replacing what had been lost to circumstance. Even better, the club wasn’t too far away at all. And with it being relatively early in the evening, it was quiet. Mixed Blood wouldn’t be open for another few hours. Owen managed to hook the useless hand of his prosthetic behind the flat handle on the door to muscle it open and motioned for Leofric to enter first.

Nana had always insisted on manners, after all.

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“Thanks,” Owen replied, even as he knelt to gently put down the not-destroyed bag. Luckily the one he’d dropped hadn’t ripped, so he was able to use it to scoop up the bits of broken kombucha glass that had flown out on impact, off of the sidewalk. He took the time to toss the mess in a trash can nearby before returning to the intact bag and picking it up in his good hand.

“Don’t worry about this,” he said about his prosthetic, heading towards the 7/11 at a slow enough pace that he wouldn’t leave Leofric in the dust. He was too used to walking with vampires and other fast-moving supernaturals. “If it can’t get fixed when we get to where I was going originally, I can scrap it.”

“Just doing it because I can.”

Leofric took the cue from there and moved to pick up things as well. There were  a few items that appeared relatively unscathed, but that would be up to the stranger whether he wanted to keep them. 

Anything else went in the bin as well and then he nodded when the other seemed to be ready to go. He followed, making sure to keep an even pace as well. 

“That is fair enough. It does appear well crafted but nothing truly lasts forever,” Leofric said, before a thought seemed to occur to him, “It’s just occurred to me that I didn’t introduce myself. I am Leofric.”

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I think I did read the first book, but for some reason have very poor memory of it? Anyways hi my internet cut out with one episode left and I'm dying

// Nooo, not the Internet! I'm hoping it comes back on soon. Outages suck.

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I finally have started watching interview with the vampire (series first) because of you and fuck!!! I'm not even done with it yet I think I still have 3 episodes and a whole movie to go

// The series is very different than the source material, but I still love it in an AU sort of way.

Let the Vampire Chronicles flow through you, mwahaha.

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INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE 1994 | dir. Neil Jordan

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“Thanks,” Owen replied, even as he knelt to gently put down the not-destroyed bag. Luckily the one he’d dropped hadn’t ripped, so he was able to use it to scoop up the bits of broken kombucha glass that had flown out on impact, off of the sidewalk. He took the time to toss the mess in a trash can nearby before returning to the intact bag and picking it up in his good hand.

“Don’t worry about this,” he said about his prosthetic, heading towards the 7/11 at a slow enough pace that he wouldn’t leave Leofric in the dust. He was too used to walking with vampires and other fast-moving supernaturals. “If it can’t get fixed when we get to where I was going originally, I can scrap it.”

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Non-hostile body language notwithstanding, Owen’s figurative hackles raised out of instinct. He was down to only one functioning hand - his non-dominant one at that - and being approached by a stranger. Luckily this guy didn’t smell human, so there was a low chance that he was affiliated with any hunter groups. Still, he wasn’t going to be too careful.

He shrugged his useless prosthetic.

“I think so,” he admitted. He hated having to admit he needed (or to ask for) help. “Would you mind if we run back to the 7/11 around the corner?”

He wasn’t going to just not bring the food he’d promised the crew, after all.

Leofric kept his approach slow. He suddenly remembered that humans preferred it when others kept their hands in view, and slid his own out of his pockets, showing that he didn’t have anything holding. 

He frowned in some thought at the prosthetic. That wasn’t in his particular skill set. His host body had never seen them before the merge, and the ones he saw after weren’t as advanced as this.

“I think I can help,” Leofric said, “I don’t mind that.”

That seemed to be the first priority for this stranger. Maybe getting supplies had been important. He knew the shop the man was talking about, but wasn’t planning to move until the other did.

“I can help you get what you need, but I’m not really trained in the maintenance or repair of limbs. I apologise for that.”

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“Don’t ever mistake my silence for ignorance, my calmness for acceptance, or my kindness for weakness.”

— Unknown

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Non-hostile body language notwithstanding, Owen’s figurative hackles raised out of instinct. He was down to only one functioning hand - his non-dominant one at that - and being approached by a stranger. Luckily this guy didn’t smell human, so there was a low chance that he was affiliated with any hunter groups. Still, he wasn’t going to be too careful.

He shrugged his useless prosthetic.

“I think so,” he admitted. He hated having to admit he needed (or to ask for) help. “Would you mind if we run back to the 7/11 around the corner?”

He wasn’t going to just not bring the food he’d promised the crew, after all.

The worst things always happened at the most inopportune times.

Like the bottom of a shopping bag falling out halfway home. Or a flat tire with nowhere to inflate it, and outside of AAA’s service area.

Or, most annoyingly to Owen, a prosthetic arm completely failing in public.

He had been on his way back to the club with plastic bags in both hands - snacks and drinks for the early evening crew - when he felt a stomach-dropping lurch in his left arm. Before he had a chance to move the bags into his right hand, the fingers of his prosthetic gave out, sending his parcels crashing to the sidewalk. Glass bottles of kombucha shattered and plastic-wrapped sandwiches were smashed. Despite his best efforts, the elbow and wrist refused to bend. The shoulder joint ground to a painful lock. Even with trying to pry movement in the hand with his flesh fingers, he couldn’t get any movement in the limb.

“Well, fuck,” he swore in Creole. Just what he needed.

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// Full disclosure: I was in a car accident on Sunday (25 June) with airbag deployment. So far as I’m aware, I was the only one injured, and I was in hospital for a few hours. Currently rocking a cautionary neck brace and sporting several cuts and contusions, but I’m still alive.

Have to go to court tomorrow, and still sort out all this insurance stuff and see whether or not my car is going to be written off as totaled.

So if I’m not around more than I am already, that’s why.

Always wear your seat belt.

Also if you have a car, give it a once-over and make sure everything works for me, just to be safe. <3

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The worst things always happened at the most inopportune times.

Like the bottom of a shopping bag falling out halfway home. Or a flat tire with nowhere to inflate it, and outside of AAA’s service area.

Or, most annoyingly to Owen, a prosthetic arm completely failing in public.

He had been on his way back to the club with plastic bags in both hands - snacks and drinks for the early evening crew - when he felt a stomach-dropping lurch in his left arm. Before he had a chance to move the bags into his right hand, the fingers of his prosthetic gave out, sending his parcels crashing to the sidewalk. Glass bottles of kombucha shattered and plastic-wrapped sandwiches were smashed. Despite his best efforts, the elbow and wrist refused to bend. The shoulder joint ground to a painful lock. Even with trying to pry movement in the hand with his flesh fingers, he couldn’t get any movement in the limb.

“Well, fuck,” he swore in Creole. Just what he needed.

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Owen gratefully scooped up the basket and managed to lock his prosthetic’s elbow so he could use it to hold it by the handles.

“I don’t want to keep you, if you need to do anything else,” he answered honestly. He always hated being kept from side tasks at work. Namely because it made him stay late, and he hated early morning traffic. “If I need more help, I can always come find you?”

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Russell, admittedly, got points for being at least somewhat clever and not resorting to the usual jabs about Owen being a giant, playing basketball, or giving Michael Phelps a run for his money on wingspan.

The mention of a basket was well received. His prosthetic wasn’t as strong as his non-dominant arm, and definitely didn’t have the fine motor control to carry anything smaller than a box, anyway. Especially since he hadn’t seen Pepper in gods-knows-how-long, and the arm was starting to go. Who knew how long it was going to take to outright fail completely.

“A basket would be great, thank you,” Owen nodded. “I wouldn’t want to risk dropping anything before I have a chance to pay for it.”

Russell nodded when he heard the request. Sometimes that was helpful.

“Of. of course,” Russell said, “And sometimes I think we’ve uh, we’ve all fallen into that, that trap of thinking we’re, we’re not going to get very much, and then, then we do.”

At least, that happened to him a lot. 

“I’ll just, just get that for, for you and, and be back real quick…” 

As promised, he was indeed quick about getting the basket; it took less than a minute for him to go and then bring it back. They were larger than the average baskets you’d find at a supermarket; perhaps the owner thought about those who were really wanting to go all out.

“There, there you go,” Russell said, with another small smile, as he carefully set it down close by, “Um, should I, should I, uh, leave you to it so, so you can get on, or uh, or would you, would like me to, to stick around?”

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Interview with the Vampire (1994) | dir. Neil Jordan

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Margaret Atwood, Dearly; from ‘Songs for Murdered Sisters: Anger’

TEXT ID: You opened the door And death was standing there

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It’s all too much and not enough at the same time.

Jack Kerouac