"The Benevolent Vampire" (closed)

[CutiePie1997]

Emelia Winston
5’9”, 34B-24-34
Firm, gravity-defying breasts with large, dark-pink perma-pert nipples; long, sleek legs.
Thick, black hair, long to her waist.
Dark, flawless skin (she is somewhat of a Heinz 57 ethically)
Dark brown eyes
Perfect, white smile; her fangs (canines) extend on demand.

It was past 9pm on a dark, cloudy late April evening when Emelia pulled her 2019 Jaguar XE sedan up to the roll up doors of tiny Brownsville’s only still operating garage. She was happily surprised to both see and hear a mechanic still on duty, working under an old Ford truck lifted up on jack stands.

She couldn't know the reasons behind the garage’s long hours but didn't question them. As unfortunate as auto trouble was, the timing of the engine pinging couldn't have been better, just 1 mile before the Brownsville off ramp.

Of course, Emelia hadn't realized that the town of just 600 souls was almost 30 miles from the freeway. Add to that the fact that the next big city down the freeway was another 30 miles and Brownsville was isolated.

The mechanic rolled out from under the pickup on an old, wobbly, squealing creeper. He sat up and silently studied Emelia as she exited the Jag and strode his way.

“Excuse me,” she said politely. “I know that this is all very spur of the moment, but I was wondering if you could take a look at my car. It is making quite a ruckus.”

Emelia had left the engine running. It was pinging loudly by now, and smoke was just beginning to blow out from under the hood

“Should I perhaps turn it off…?” she asked, “...or…?”

 

[Lucian_Devine]

"God dammit!" Clark cussed as the large wrench he was holding slipped and he banged his knuckle against the undercarriage of the old truck. It wasn't the first time he'd hurt himself on this old and rusted truck, and knows it wouldn't be the last time. He pulled a cloth from his pocket and soaked up the blood as it pooled on the surface before lifting the bleeding digit to his lips.

As he was sucking on his knuckle and surveying the undercarriage of the truck, Clark heard the car coming up the road long before he saw it. The pinging sound was a dead giveaway, and it made him cringe, especially since he knew how far away from the highway they were. He couldn't help but feel bad for whoever was driving the car though, and hoped that they were driving slow on the road here, taking it easy on the poor car to minimize the damage to the poor engine.

When the car stopped in front of his garage, because of course it stopped in front of his garage, he wasn't surprised. His was the only one that hadn't closed down after all. He slowly rolled out from under the truck to see what poor sap had happened upon Brownsville. What he saw when he sat up though, was anything but a poor sap. The beautiful black jag in front of him was truly a sight to behold, damn near spotless. One could swear that it had somehow been able to repel the dirt and grass of the road that he knew the car had had to drive on to get here. The only sign that something was wrong with the poor thing, was the pinging noise coming from the engine and the white smoke starting to blow from beneath the hood.

As if the car itself wasn't surprise enough, the sight of the woman, as exotic and beautiful as her car, exiting it and walking towards him, then speaking with an accent that he didn't recognize, which was a surprise for him, because Clark had a knack for accents, something he'd picked up over his fifty years of life. He made it a point to ask her about it some time.

"I...um..." Clark said as he stumbled to his feet and took the baseball hat off, revealing the ever-widening bald spot on the top of his head, surrounded by the rest of his salt and pepper hair. "Of course, ma'am, I can take a look at it." He gave her a smile as he wiped his hands on the cloth he was holding and walked past her, moving towards the open door of her car and peeking inside far enough to see the hood latch and triggering it. He then moved back around to the front of the car and triggered the secondary exterior hood latch to open it fully, using the cloth he held to do so, knowing that the hood would be hot to the touch. He leaned back as he opened the hood, because of the billow of white smoke that they both likely expected before latching the hood open and giving it a look. The white smoke in and of itself was a bad sign, and the rest of his brief inspection didn't yield much better results. He tinkered with this and that, checked the fluid here and there, but in the end, he knew what he was going to have to do, and when he was done, he unlatched the hood, and closed it before turning back towards the woman.

"Well...I've got some good news and some bad news..." Clark started, lifting his hand to scratch the back of his neck as he lifted his gaze to meet the woman's dark brown one. "The good news...is that I don't think the damage is that bad, considering you've likely been driving like this for thirty miles." His gaze dropped a bit, his cheeks flushing slightly with shame. He didn't like admitting his failures before such a beautiful woman, but he didn't have it in him to lie to her. "The bad news is that I won't be able to fix it tonight. I'm not the best with European cars to be honest, and don't have the tools for the job. There's more good news though. There is a guy in town who has the tools and the knowhow. So if you'd be so kind as to wait until tomorrow, I should be able to give you some specifics. There's a motel just up the street if you need a place to stay for the night, and Herrings across the street makes some pretty good drinks and the best burgers you've ever had if I do say so myself."

 

[CutiePie1997]

"Of course, ma'am," the mechanic responded. "I can take a look at it."

"I am very grateful," Emelia said with a smile that bordered on flirty. She caught the name on the man's coveralls and, with an even wider, more flirtatious smile, added, "...Clark."

As he went to work, Emelia studied him from just out of reach. Studied him included inconspicuously drawing in a deep breath through her nose. She picked up the scent of the fresh blood mixed with grease and grime on his injured knuckles, causing her to release the deep breath with just the hint of a purr that -- if not for the Jag's banging -- the man might have heard.

Clark was a fairly good-looking man, and Emelia sensed that as a younger man -- with a full head of hair and fewer years of hard labor behind him -- he'd likely drawn the attention of many a woman. Even now in his work grubbies with his hands and his left cheek covered in the residue of automotive work she found him attractive enough to contemplate as a potential lover.

Then again, it might have been the wondrous scent of the blood still dripping from one knuckle that was causing Emelia's blood to course faster through her. Or maybe it was that fact and the fact that she hadn't fed in more than 10 days. Take it easy, remain calm, don't attack him until he's repaired the Jag, she teased herself.

Emelia wasn't that spontaneous or reckless of course. Over her six centuries of after-life, she'd elevated her self-control to a level that few people -- Vampire, Human, or otherwise -- had ever achieved. No, Clark was safe tonight, that was for certain. Lucky for him. Only slightly inconvenient for her.

"Well...I've got some good news and some bad news..." he told her after he'd concluded his inspection. He told her about the damage and what it was going to take to repair it, namely a night's delay in her trek across the country. "So, if you'd be so kind as to wait until tomorrow, I should be able to give you some specifics."

"I can do that," Emelia said without hesitation. That was the nice thing about having nowhere to be at any particular moment in time.

He continued, "There's a motel just up the street if you need a place to stay for the night, and Herrings across the street makes some pretty good drinks and the best burgers you've ever had if I do say so myself."

Emelia looked in the gestured direction and found a building with the typical neon beer signs of a small-town tavern. She mused, "Herrings..." Looking back and smiling, she offered out the Jag's key fob. "Do with her as you will, Clark. I am putting my baby in your hands."

She turned to retrieve her phone and purse from the vehicle, leaning in such a way that her deliciously shaped ass was displayed, as was much of one long, luscious leg as the split up the dress exposed it. Extracting herself again, Emelia smiled to the man again, asking, "Can I buy you dinner and a beer, Clark. You know, as soon as you close up, I mean. It is the least that I could do for you."

Whether he took her up on her offer or not, Emelia turned and headed across the street and into Herrings, not sure whether she'd find a pack house with rowdy customers or an empty space pleading for patrons with some disposable income.

 

[Lucian_Devine]

The sound of his voice on her lips, in that mysterious accent of hers, all but made Clark weak in the knees, even at his age. God, if only he were a decade or so younger who knows what he might have done, tried, or at least said. "It's n-no problem really..." He started, stumbling just a little over his words as he tried to stay professional and keep his gaze from wandering down her chest, and the inner curve of her breasts peaking out from around her blouse. "It's all in a day's work." He gave her another smile before turning his attention fully to the car.

Clark was happy that the woman took the news so well. Lord knows that she wouldn't have been the first person to bite his head off, likely thinking that he was trying to rip her off like many a mechanic did and would in this sort of situation. Yes, he was the only mechanic in town that hadn't closed down, but part of the reason for that was because he was an honest man. He told things like they were, even if he could have run up the charge without them knowing the difference. As such, even the people in this small town who knew nothing about cars weren't shy about bringing their cars to him, and fathers, husbands, and brothers weren't shy about sending their daughters, wives, and sisters to him if they had car troubles and they were busy.

The woman turned to look in the direction of the bar he'd mentioned before saying it's name aloud to herself, looking back at him, and giving him a smile that about stopped his old heart dead in it's tracks. He took the key fob that she offered him, and smiled back, giving her a nod. "She's in good hands, Ma'am, I promise. I'll just move her around back where she'll be safe."

As he offered to move the car, the woman turned to get the things she wanted from it, likely her purse and phone. As she did so, it was beyond impossible for Clark to not stare at the utterly and deliciously shaped ass she all but displayed before him, at least until one beautifully long and shapely leg peaked out of the slit in her black dress, clad in a sheer black stocking. The sight of both of them had his mouth literally hanging open while her back was turned, and he barely managed to catch himself and close it when he saw her extracting herself from the car. He didn't know what he would have said, let alone done if she'd have looked over her shoulder and caught him ogling her. He took a polite step back as she turned around, not wanting her to feel crowded or creeped out by him being so close. She seemed to feel anything but those things when she offered to buy him dinner and a drink, giving him another one of those heartwarming smiles that actually had him blushing a bit now. "Heh, that's awfully nice of you, ma'am, and since it's bad manners to let a lady drink alone, what kind of man would I be if I declined? Just give me a bit to close up, get cleaned up, and it's a date..."

Clark's flush deepened as he finished speaking, but he was in too deep now. So he stuck to his guns, and just hoped the woman wouldn't look too deep into things. Thankfully, she seemed not to as she turned almost immediately and started to walk across the street to Herrings. He let out a long and slow sigh of relief, fanning himself with his hat for a bit before putting it on, stepping into her car, and pulling it around the back of the shop.

The atmosphere of Herrings bar was an enigma of sorts. The place was pretty packed, but it wasn't as lively as one would expect for a place as full as it was. Everyone basically kept to themselves, and even the couples and groups weren't talking nearly as much or as lively as you'd expect them to. Emelia's arrival though, did cause a bit of a stir, and rather than starting with the people who were looking in her direction and continuing to their companions turning around to look, it was more like a wave. The people closest to the door saw her first, and the exotic beauty caused them to point her out to those near them, causing those people to turn, see her, and then do the same, until the entire bar was suddenly abuzz with conversation about her.

As for the bar itself, it wasn't as run down-looking or grimy as one might expect a bar in a small town like Brownsville to look. Every table was spotless, every booth and crumbcatcher cleaned, and the bar was gleaming as the bartender worked diligently getting everyone their drinks while keeping everything stocked.

 

[CutiePie1997]

"It's n-no problem really..." Clark told Emelia, his tone filled with nervousness. "It's all in a day's work."

She knew what his issue was, of course: her, or more specifically her body. She hadn't had to catch him ogling her shapely figure to know that he'd been checking it out. She could sense it in his expression, his demeaner ... and, of course, he was a red-blooded American male, so it would have been outrageous to believe that he hadn't looked her over with great interest and, likely, hungry thoughts.

Emelia headed across the street and into the tavern, unsure of what to expect. There were a half dozen vehicles parked outside, but that could have meant anything from six individual men driving here individually to watch the game on the telly to the members of two to four full softball teams and all of their spectators -- some of them reaching the bar from the nearby ball park as pedestrians -- packing the place to the gills.

It turned out to be something somewhere in between; the place was packed, more so than Emelia would have expected in such a small town on a weekday evening. The feel of the place was wrong, though; it was too quiet, there was no joy amongst the patrons, and the only excitement seemed to be Emelia's own arrival in the place.

She smiled politely to those who made eye contact with her as she strolled toward the bar. Most of the locals only looked her over, though, many after she'd already passed them. Emelia picked up on the sudden buzz filling the place; her beyond-Human hearing allowed her to hear their hushed conversations clearly, with most of them being the expected comments and questions: who is this stranger, a bit overdressed for Herrings, and Jesus, check out that ass. The rest of the whispered words were similar.

She smiled to the man behind the bar as he approached, asking, "Do you feature a local microbrew or wine...?" And before he could answer, she extended her hand to him, adding, "Emelia Winston."

 

[Lucian_Devine]

https://i.pinimg.com/236x/b5/1b/c0/b51bc085838861c8ab5c9e8ac582dc03.jpg
Max Herring
6'2" Firm chest and broad shoulders.
Thick but short black hair.
Tan skin from plenty of time in the sun, smile lines just starting to show, along with some bags beneath his eyes.
Light blue eyes

Max was something of an enigma when it came to the town of Brownsville. He didn't hate the small town, but he didn't love it. He was the owner of the last bar in the dying town, because he hadn't chosen to close up shop or leave said town. So to say that he was a beloved figure for that reason alone would be an understatement. He'd also helped lead the town to their first and only undefeated high school football season, leading the league in a variety of categories, taking them to the state championship and beyond. Hell, he would have taken them to the national championship if he hadn't blown out his shoulder in that very game, but it WAS that very game that had changed his fate completely. The backup had taken over and won the game for them, and while some people hadn't forgotten about Max, the town as a whole and everyone else had. The girls had, the colleges had, any chance of a pro career had, and his dreams of leaving this town her long gone. So, here he was, running the family business, beloved by the people, but forgotten by the town until it no longer mattered.

Despite what had happened all those years ago, Max didn't let the bar go to hell. He kept the tables, booths, glasses, and even the bar itself spotless. Nobody else would care, but he cared. He'd always taken pride in his work on the field, and he took no less pride in his work now. He was bent over, with his back to the bar, in the process of swapping out a rack of glasses when he heard the door open, and the little bell over it ding, and along with it a soft murmur from the patrons. He took a quick glance at the clock and called back over his shoulder. "You're early Clark! I wasn't expecting you for at least another hour! Did you finally get that truck of yo..."

Max had finished switching out the rack of glasses and turned around mid sentence, hearing the person approach the bar. He hadn't yet stood up though, and the sight that awaited him as he did so, was anything but the old man from across the street, but rather a face full of tanned skin, left exposed by the blouse of a woman he'd never seen before. The sight of it left him stunned for a moment, his mouth hanging open from the word that he hadn't finished. It took him a moment to recover before he finally stood up to his full height, snapping his mouth shut in the process. "S-sorry about that m-m-ma'am. I thought you were someone else." He stumbled over his words, blushing as he frantically apologized, more than aware of where his gaze had been as he'd turned around and that he'd been staring with his mouth literally hanging open.

While Max heard the question that the Emelia posed to him, her exotic accent like music to his hears, she didn't give him time to answer before extending her hand to him and introducing her hand to him, something that he truly was thankful for, giving the awkward way that things had started. Many a woman would have taken that the wrong way, not that he would have blamed them. He dried his hands off on the towel over his shoulder and reached his own hand out to take hers. "It's nice to meet you Emelia." He said with a wide and genuine smile. "My name is Max. Welcome to Brownsville, and as for your question, I'm afraid not. There's not much near our little town, especially lately, except for local farmers trying to make a living. So the only beer I have is bottles and what's on tap. As for wines, I have the more recognizable brands, but I'd be happy to check the back if you're looking for something more high end."

 

[CutiePie1997]

"You're early Clark!" the man kneeling down behind the bar called out at the sound of Emelia's approach. "I wasn't expecting you for at least another hour! Did you finally get that truck of yo..."

He ceased speaking with a look of shock on his face, a reaction to which Emelia was quite familiar. She only smirked a bit in response, contemplating on how seeing someone as elegant and beautiful as her walking into your establishment as a stranger might affect a man ... or even a woman at times.

It wasn't as if Emelia was the most beautiful woman in the world or even the most beautiful woman ever to walk into Herrings; she was simply the most beautiful unknown woman to walk into this particular bar this night.

For his part, the bartender wasn't that bad looking either: tall, dark, and handsome could very well have been originated by someone seeing this man for the first time. Emelia's first thought about him was Please tell me you're available, Gorgeous George. Her thought about him wasn't Please tell me you're single, of course; she didn't care whether or not he was single or, more specifically, even married. Emelia had never let a piece of paper and vows get in the way of what she wanted, be it sex or her more vital need: nourishment.

"S-sorry about that m-m-ma'am," the bartender said, adding, "I thought you were someone else."

"Yes, Clark," she responded, repeating what he'd already said. "Your kind mechanic friend is tending to my automobile ... which decided it wanted to take a break from its cross-country venture by breaking down in what I'm beginning to believe is the middle of nowhere..."

Emelia caught movement nearby and looked to her left to an older man nursing a bottle of beer. She feared that her comment might have been taken wrong by the man who had the look of a long time local; she added with a smile and respectful tone, "...no offense to anyone who enjoys and loves this little charming piece of the middle of nowhere, of course."

"It's nice to meet you, Emelia," the bartender said with a wide smile as he took Emelia's offered hand. "My name is Max. Welcome to Brownsville..."

He apologized for not having a local microbrew or wine, and when he offered her one of the standard national brands, Emelia instead nodded her head toward the wall of colorful bottles and asked, "How about something simple, maybe a Screwdriver ... soft on the ice but heavy on the Vodka?"

As Max make her drink for her, Emelia caught him up on Clark with, "Your mechanic friend is, in fact, on his way over. I invited him here for a beer and burger ... or whatever his favorite is. I'm sure you are aware of his favorites, yes...?"

Max was, of course, which didn't surprise Emelia; she was certain that the two men had known each other for many a year, maybe even decades. She sensed that Max was younger than Clark, perhaps by one of those decades, give or take. She sensed something else about him, too: even speaking to him for just this limited amount of time, she could sense the air of a man who had once had it all, lost it, and yet come to appreciate what was left behind for him.

Athlete with broken dreams, she thought to herself as Max turned with her drink, telling Emelia that it was on him. Or maybe a star pupil, with scholarships, withdrawn after he had to stay home to care for the family business or maybe even the family itself? She was correct with the first guess, of course. And who knew, she might even be correct with the second one, too. She'd find out, she was sure; people liked to talk about themselves in bars -- even the bartenders sometimes.

"Regarding your friend Clark," she said as she lifted the Screwdriver to her lips, tasting it. She smiled and nodded her head in appreciation, then continued as she glanced about, "I don't suppose you have an empty table to recommend...? Something a little quieter?"

That, of course, was meant to be softly and comically sarcastic: the bar was dead. Despite having more than three dozen patrons, Emelia had seen more excitement and hear more voices -- including laughter -- at a wake. She leaned closer to Max and asked in barely over a whisper, "Did someone die...? The place seems awfully quiet for a bar."

 

[Lucian_Devine]

"Oof, I'm sorry to hear that." Max said in response to Emelia's car trouble. "You're right about this place being the middle of nowhere. Clark's place is the only auto shop for sixty mile, but he's a good man. He won't try and run you up like a lot of mechanics would in his position. He'll quote you straight.

Max saw Emelia cast her gaze over at Roger when she mentioned Brownsville being in the middle of nowhere, likely worried that she might offend someone, but he figured he'd put her mind at ease. "Aw don't you worry about Roger or anybody else. They know the score." He said, turning around to grab another bottle of what Roger was drinking, popping it open for when Roger was done with the one he was nursing, and plopping it down in front of the man. The man barely even looked up at him, and didn't even bother throwing another glance at Emelia before throwing his head back to finish the beer in his hand, slamming it on the counter, and moving to cradle the new one.

"Now that, I can make." Max said with a wide smile as he walked back over to Emelia and slid a coaster in front of her and reached for the top shelf vodka to make it. "And you are quite right about that, I do indeed know what Clark wants. I memorize the usual drink order of everyone in town as a matter of pride. Food matters a bit much, given we're a bar, but our cook makes a pretty damn good burger. So most people stick with that unless they are feeling adventurous."

Emelia's request came as Max finished her drink and was setting it down on her coaster. He couldn't help but chuckle at the sarcastic remark, looking around them and giving her a nod before reaching down to grab a shot glass for himself. First drink for newcomers is on the house by the way. Though I'd appreciate if you didn't tell the boss he whispered as she leaned close to whisper her comment about somebody dying. He poured himself a shot of vodka and downed it quick, hissing as it burned his throat on the way down, and clicking his teeth as he leaned close again. "I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't tell the boss 'bout that either." He let out a heavy sigh before continuing. "As for your question. It's not a somebody dying, so much as a something, and that's the town of Brownsville." He poured himself another shot, met her gaze, downed it, gave her another nod, then started talking.

"It started, I'd say...twenty years ago. The first batch of high-school graduates started to leave town instead of staying to help their parents. Then, their parents can't work the farm without help, or they get old and get hurt. Help costs money, or medical bills pile up. Then taxes comes due. Properties get foreclosed on. Less people means less reason for the next batch of high-school graduates to stay, meaning more and more leave. There was a small resurgence about..."

Max looked up, trying to remember as he poured himself a third shot. "...Twelve years ago now. The high-school football team, cause high-school sports are a way of life around here, had an undefeated season all the way through the state championship. School didn't have enough money to go to nationals. So the town pooled money to send 'em. Swept right through everyone till the national championship when the star quarterback got injured. Everyone thought it was over, but the backup picked up where he left off, and won it for us. We thought that would change everything, and bring a bunch of new people, but then he went off to college and the pros, and never sent any money, and the people never came, but kept on leaving. So, between kids leaving, people dying, families getting foreclosed on, and business leaving for greener pastures, it's just those of us that love this place too much to pack it in." He took his third shot, screwed the cap on the bottle, and put his dirty glass in the rack of dirty glasses just as Clark walked in.

"Hey Max!" Clark called out excitedly, looking clean but disheveled, like he'd gotten dressed in a hurry, in case Emelia had changed her mind about meeting him here. "There's a European car in my shop that needs fixing, but you know I'm no good with them. Is there any chance you could stop by tomorrow? You know I could use the money."

Max turned towards the older man, and gave him a smile. "Sure thing Clark. I'll stop by first thing.

"Oh..." Clark perked up after, blushing a little from what he had to ask next. "...I...Is there any way you could..."

"Yeah, I'll put it on your tab. Don't worry." Max said, cutting Clark off before he got to the part that he truly hated having to ask, knowing it was coming, and just giving the man a smile and a nod.

"Thanks Max, you're a good man." Clark said, a look of clear relief on his face now.

"Yeah yeah, just don't let the boss find out, okay?" Max said with a chuckle and a shake of his head. "You're order is on the lady here, and going in now, it will be up shortly. I'll be right there with your drink."

Clark took a seat at the other end of the bar and tipped his hat at Emelia for following through on her word, and Max just chuckled to himself. "One burger!" Max called back to the cook behind the counter behind him. "And one Rusty Nail on Miss Emelia Winston." He said, making sure to tell her what he was making for Clark, so that she wouldn't be surprised by what she was agreeing to pay for before he brought the strong Rusty Nail to the older man and walked back to Emelia.

 

[CutiePie1997]

(OOC: I have a surprise for you below. If you don't like it, I'll change it. I just thought it was funny because the given name had come to me subconsciously, and when I realized what I'd done, I added the surname.)

Max explained about how Emelia could depend upon Clark's mechanic work and honesty. She responded with confidence, "I'm sure he'll do me good. I could sense that about him."

She wasn't just being polite regarding the mechanic; Emelia really could sense such things about people. That ability was just one of her many Beyond Human abilities. Of course, it had been daytime, and the sun had been overhead, she wouldn't have been able to judge Clark's honesty in his estimate and reassurances. The sun's direct rays defeated those skills of hers, making her just another woman. Beautiful, sexy, confident, and reassured ... but beyond that, just another woman.

"As for your question," Max began, speaking of the trials and tribulations Brownsville had and was still facing. It saddened Emelia to hear about all that the small town had been and still was going through. At the same time, though, it caused her to wonder if maybe she shouldn't stick around for a few days, if not more.

Emelia was a bit of a vulture when it came to towns like Brownsville, feeding off their misery. Oh, she wasn't proud of it, of course; it was just the way things were for her kind. People who were down and out, desperate for assistance of one sort or another, were always more willing to become participants in that act that kept Emelia alive than those people whose lives were wonderful and perfect.

In her early years as a vampire, Emelia hadn't concerned herself with how her feedings affected those upon whom she was performing them. In truth, most of her early victims died with her fangs sunk deep in their necks. As a Youngling, she simply didn't understand restraint and moderation.

In her first century of being a blood sucker, Emelia had killed more than a thousand men, women, and even children, when she was truly desperate. Dead bodies attract attention, of course, so she was forced to relocate often as well. In those first 100 years, Emelia had relocated from town to town, country to country, continent to continent.

It was only after she'd been discovered by Lucian Devine that Emelia's life had become more settled. Lucian was one of the Originals, one of the world's first six vampires, four men and two women who'd been cursed by a witch after they wronged her in a way that even Lucian no longer recalled. He taught Emelia how to feed her need without killing -- or so much of it anyway -- thus limiting her relocations to stay ahead of the authorities and others who would have liked to lynch or burn her to death.

Lucian went even farther, though. He taught Emelia how to harness her Beyond Human abilities: strength, speed, intuitiveness, the five standard Human senses, and even extrasensory abilites; she couldn't really read minds or tell the future, per se, but she could anticipate what others might say or do to a degree that seemed as though she was.

With these newfound abilities, Emelia was able to build a comfortable life for herself. She had money, safety and security, and more of those things that every person wants for themselves and their children.

But there was a cost, of course. Emelia still had to feed. She rarely ever killed anymore, instead taking only enough blood from her donors, not victims, to keep her alive. Of course, even that had its negatives, too. Limiting herself made it painful -- even potentially deadly -- to be caught outside in the light of day. Oh, she could go out in the sun if she wanted or needed, but it was painful and debilitating; she lost most, sometimes all, of her Beyond Human abilities. And staying out there too long could kill her.

Max spoke of the success of Brownsville's football team from twelve years earlier, and while he didn't actually say it up front, she could sense that that All Star quarterback he was talking about had been him. She felt sorry for him for having lost such a great opportunity; it was an old story that she'd heard so many times before, whether sports or otherwise.

Clark eventually arrived, speaking of having a European car with which he was no good. "Is there any chance you could stop by tomorrow? You know I could use the money."

Emelia laughed, sipped at her drink, and said, "He does not just pour drinks. He fixes exotic automobiles, too. I have to admit, I did not see that one coming."

The two men talked about her Jag, then about the cost of Clark's drink and meal. The mechanic asked, "...I...Is there any way you could..."

"Yeah, I'll put it on your tab," Max cut in, trying to intercept and dampen Clark's shame. "Don't worry."

"Thanks Max," Clark responded with a smile of relief, "you're a good man."

"Yeah yeah, just don't let the boss find out, okay?" Max again joked.

Emelia sipped at her drink again, wondering just who this boss might be and how Max kept his job if he was handing out all this drink and food without charging those partaking of them.

"You're order is on the lady here," Max told Clark, reminding the man that Emelia had arranged the mechanic's meal and refreshment."

Clark smiled and nodded his head to Emelia, and she responded in kind while lifting her glass before her, then downing what remained of it.

"One burger!" Max called back to the cook beyond the counter behind him. "And one Rusty Nail on Miss Emelia Winston."

Emelia chuckled, saying, "Rusty Nail...? I haven't heard of that one for a while." She thought back a moment and realized that the last time she'd heard that drink order was when she herself was a waitress in a speak easy in downtown Chicago ... in 1922 during Prohibition.

A female voice called out from the kitchen, "One burger...!"

A moment later, a pretty young thing stepped out into Emelia's view; her name was Millie Herring, and she was Max's 22-year-old cousin and only full-time employee. Actually, full-time might not have been the most accurate description; she worked as many hours as he could give her, which during the lean times was sometimes as little as 15 a week and at other times -- particularly during professional or college sports playoff seasons -- as much as 80.

But beyond a paycheck and all the free food she wanted to cook for herself, he couldn't offer her much. The bar didn't have a health insurance plan, and it was this that Millie really needed from an employer. Since she was a little girl, she'd suffered from the obvious and less obvious effects of diabetes and a handful of other diseases and ailments about which she preferred not to talk, even with her doctors at time. Her weak disposition had prevented Millie from achieving or partaking in many of the things that make a young woman's life happy and fulfilled.

Millie caught sight of Clark sitting at the bar and called out an addition to his order, "Onion rings, extra charred, and not one but two big dills, sliced lengthwise!"

The two smiled at each other at the recognition of Clark's order, and Millie turned to head back into the kitchen, only to stop at the sight of the stranger sitting at the bar. Emelia met the younger woman's gaze, studying her, sensing her ... and after just a few seconds knew more about her than most people in this world -- other than her loving cousin, Max -- had probably ever known about her.

Millie was entranced with the beautiful stranger and had to force herself to pull her gaze away and head back into the kitchen. Still, she would take several opportunities to peek out at her again through the night.

"Mister Bartender," Emelia would call to Max while he was finishing up with another patron, flashing her empty glass to him. When he arrived, she asked, "Can you advise me on where to find a bed for a night or two or ten." She nodded her head toward Clark, then continued, "Our mechanic friend tells me that my car will be down for at least a night, possibly several if parts must be shipped in from afar."

Clark had, of course, spoken of the motel down the street, so Emelia's primary reason for asking was to ensure that Max knew that she wasn't leaving town any time soon. They discussed her sleeping arrangements, and a call was made to Howard and Ginger, the motel's owners.

Emelia looked around the establishment and once again saw how there just didn't seem to be much joy amongst the patrons. She gestured Max closer to tell him, "Without letting anyone know who is paying..."

As she spoke, Emelia withdrew three one-hundred-dollar bills from her purse and slid them inconspicuously across to Max. "Will you announce that the next round is on the house. Then ... what if we liven this place up a bit. What is something popular around here that might lead to some fun ... say ... a dart competition ... or pool...?"

She slipped another hundred-dollar bill across to Max and added, "With a prize for the winner, of course."

 

[Lucian_Devine]

Every time Max saw Millie, he couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the girl, yes she was a woman, but she always seemed so young to be dealing with all the stuff that she had to deal with. He always wanted to help her, or more specifically, wished he could help her, but he couldn't afford to offer a health insurance plan, and money was too tight for him to truly help with her medical problems, not that she'd likely take his help, even if he did. She was a spirited little firecracker, at least as much so as her body would allow.

Hearing Millie call out the additions to Clark's order pulled Max out of his own head and brought a smile to his face. "Show off." He said as he gave her a smile. He knew that she knew that he didn't really mean it, as evidenced by the smile that she gave him before her gaze drifted over to their newest arrival. It seemed to linger on Emelia for a bit before she finally forced herself to look away and head back into the kitchen, not that he could blame her for staring. Hell, he'd done the exact same thing hadn't he?

Max didn't have much time to think about Millie though, because Emelia called him back to her, flashing her empty glass. "Another Screwdriver on the rocks for Miss Emelia..." He said as he scooped up a fresh glass, flicked his light blue gaze up to hers and flicked his fingers and spun the glass in his palm as he moved over to the ice bucket, let the glass settle perfectly in his palm, face up, and dipped it into the ice. "...soft on the ice..." He continued as he pulled the glass free and reached for the orange juice, opened it, and eyeballing the pour before reaching for the top shelf vodka he'd used for her before. "...and heaaaavy on the vodka." He started with a standard short pour, but as the clear liquid started to pour out of the bottle, he pulled the bottle up into long and glorious stream in front of the gloriously beautiful woman, even flicking his gaze up from the alcohol mid pour to meet hers once more before focusing on his task, bringing the bottle back down, tapering the pour, and pulling the bottle away. He finished the drink with an orange garnish, a straw, and slid it the short distance to her.

While Max had known that the car in question was Emelia's, the prospect of her actually staying in town hadn't crossed his mind. The thought of it had his body tingling. She was out of his league of course, but a man could dream, right? "Heh well, we won't know for sure until I get a look under the hood, but I'd be more than happy to help you find a place to stay. Howard and Ginger own a motel just up the road, not two blocks from here. You can pay by the night or by the week. If you tell them I sent you, they'll even give you a discount, on account of us trying to keep the drinking and driving down.

When Emelia looked around the bar once more, Max got the sense that she was planning something, even though he'd only just met the woman. So, when she gestured him closer, he was more than happy to oblige. He heard her two ideas, and he couldn't help but like the sound of them, and not just because of the money, but because it would be nice to see and hear the bar sound like it probably had back when his parents had owned it, or his grandparents. He pulled back from her, giving her a nod and a smile. "I think I can make that work." He slipped the first three bills in the till, and the fourth in his pocket for safe keeping, in case things got rowdy, he'd still be able to pay the winner.

Max stepped over to the last call bell, stopping briefly to give Millie a heads up. "Fair warning...Things might get a bit...crazy." He then gave it several loud rings, surprising everyone in the place, including Millie, but of course excluding Emelia. "In honor of our new arrival, despite the unfortunate circumstances that brought her here, he tipped his invisible hat to Emelia, I've decided to do something special. Starting in thirty minutes, we're going to have a one-round-elimination darts tournament, bracket style. The prize pool is one-hundred dollars, winner...take...all. AND! In recognition for all of you being here for the announcement of this event, the next round of drinks is on the house! Plus, anybody participating in the tournament will have half off drinks after that. So call up anybody who might be interested and can get them here! Let's get this place packed like it used to be!

As he finished speaking, Max stepped away from the bell and back towards the bar as the people who had been at the tables and booths came forward to get their free drinks and sign up for the darts tournament. He pulled brought out a pad of paper to write down the entrants, and would use a phone app to quickly set up a bracket system as well as keep score. After everyone got their free drinks, they moved back to their tables to start calling and texting people to come for the tournament for half off drinks and a chance at a free hundred dollar prize.

Max meanwhile, moved over to where Emelia was sitting, and leaned across the bar. "I hope you don't mind me improvising a little. It seemed a good way to spice things up as well, and maybe fill this place up like it used to be, even if just for one night."

 

[CutiePie1997]

"...and heaaaavy on the vodka."

Emelia enjoyed Max's showmanship in his work; it reminded her of that Tom Cruise movie, Cocktail, even though she'd been familiar with similar bartenders dating clear back to the Depression and Prohibition. Still, it was fun to watch, particularly since she sensed that he was intentionally showing off for her.

Max made the announcement about the darts tournament and drink price alterations after warning his younger cousin, "Fair warning...Things might get a bit...crazy."

Emelia watched the reaction from the patrons with great interest. She could learn a lot from people by the way they moved or spoke or otherwise reacted to new situations; she could sense things about some of those individuals that made them more likely to one day be donors as well. Even without speaking to a single one of them, she'd targeted at least half a dozen potentials simply by listening to and watching them.

Emelia hadn't come into Brownsville with any hope of satisfying her special needs, of course, and yet she was already beginning to realize that the little town could very well be a smorgasbord for people such as herself.

She looked to the kitchen and already saw young Millie beginning to prepare for the rush that was ahead; additional excitement and drinking always resulted in a surge in food orders, and Emelia could see that the young woman was already beginning to feel stressed, even before the first order came her way.

While Max was busy with taking and filling drink orders, as well as tending to the dart's tourney signups, Emelia rose and wandered back into the kitchen. Millie was surprised to see her, smiling politely and greeting her with, "Hello. Is there something you needed to order?"

"Is there someone who could help you in here tonight ... Millie, right?" Emelia asked; she'd heard one of the patrons refer to the girl by name earlier.

"Um, yeah, I guess," Millie responded, confused. "My friend Heather helps on game nights. And my mother sometimes. Why?"

Emelia again dug into her purse, pulling out another four hundred-dollar-bills and setting them on a shelf near big cans of tomato ketchup. "Why do you not call them up and see if they are available to help you tonight. Can you do that?"

"Um, sure, yeah," Millie answered, her confusion only deeper. As Emelia smiled and turned to return to the bar area, Millie inquired, "I'm sorry, but ... can I ask: why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Paying people to come down and cook, of course," Millie laughed. "I mean, what do you get out of it? It's not your tavern. Why are you putting out money? What do you get?"

Emelia smiled wide, winked to the younger woman, and answered, "I get the satisfaction of knowing that I am helping someone who needs the help."

Millie just stared a moment, then laughed. Suspiciously she responded, "No. Really. What do you get out of it? I want to know?"

"I am going to see if I cannot find someone who wants to bet on the winner of the darts tournament that your cousin is arranging," Emelia told the girl. "And I am going to recover even more than what I paid to help you out here in the kitchen."

Millia stared a moment, laughed again, then asked, "Really? How do you do that...? Know who's going to win, I mean."

"Really," Emelia told her. "After things get going, will you see if you can take a break and come out to talk to me ... and I will show you how I know. Okay?"

Millie considered the stranger, smiled, and said, "Sure. I'll get out there."

They parted, and Emelia returned to the seating area. She found a small unoccupied table within view of the dart board and made herself comfortable. Max found her, saying, "I hope you don't mind me improvising a little."

"Not at all," Emelia responded, taking the replacement drink he'd brought her. She gestured Max in closer, asking, "Tell me, is there anyone here amongst your patrons who you know to be the gambling type. I would not mind putting a couple of dollars on the outcome of the tournament."

 

[Lucian_Devine]

Max wasn't normally the kind of guy to show off, at least not lately. He'd changed a lot in the past twelve years. Some would say for the better, some for the worse, but that was just life doing what life did. Either way though, something about Emelia just made him want to smile and show out like he'd never done before, even back in his playing days. Hell, back when they'd been playing during their perfect season, he'd been all business. He'd never been one to showboat like he'd just done for her. She was far from the first stranger to come through Brownsville, and she certainly couldn't be the last, but something about her, be it the look in her eye, the way she carried herself, or...something, just made him want to try that little bit harder.

True to his word, things did in fact get crazy after Max made the announcement. Some would say that it was more than a little bit crazy, given that he'd added the extra thirty minutes for more people to arrive, but Max figured that more people would like the chance at the free money. So that helped the crazy sustain past the initial rush of the first free round.

One bit of unusual though, came when Emelia slipped past the bar and into the kitchen. Yes, Max was busy with customers, but he was never too busy to see someone trying to slip past the bar. More than one person had tried to slip past and talk to Millie over the years. Customers naturally weren't allowed back there, for a variety of reasons really, and Max of course suspected that she knew that, yet she did it with all the confidence of someone who either knew them personally, or had been doing it for years. He swallowed hard as he hesitated for a second, torn on what to do, but in the end, he just focused on the customers. All of this was because of Emelia after all. He found it hard to believe that she'd go back there and hurt Millie, just...because.

Once the two women were done with their conversation, and Emelia left the kitchen, Max let her move back out from behind the bar before popping in to check on Millie. His cousin seemed okay, still moving with a purpose, not out of sorts or anything, minus the rush she was preparing for. So he let her be and moved back to take care of his own side of things, not the least of which was setting up the bracket for what was proving to be a fairly sizable tournament for a town of this size.

When he dropped off her drink, Emelia gestured him closer, and Max of course obliged, needing no excuse to lean closer to the exotic beauty that was Emelia. When she asked her question though, he couldn't help but chuckle. "Heh, hell, that one's easy..." He started, moving around to kneel beside her chair and put his arm on the back of it, so as to make his next gesture a bit more subtle. He leaned in close to her ear, like he was whispering a secret, but in doing so, he cocked his head to one side, gesturing to a man in a suit, or more specifically, the only man in the bar wearing a suit. He was seated in a corner with a large man seated at either side of him. "His name is Chris Harper. His family have been in this town since it's founding, and he owns the bank that's been foreclosing on all the homes I mentioned earlier. It wouldn't be so bad on the surface. We all have to make a living after all, but he's also a sadistic son of a bitch who doesn't bend worth a damn on anything to help anyone and enjoys every bit of suffering that he causes. He's one of the few people in town that has more than enough money. As such, he'll loan money to anyone and take anyone's betting action. The men beside him are the Hanson brothers. He pays them to be his muscle, roughing people up who don't pay what they owe, and escorting him around, in case anyone tries to take him out Wild West style." He finished before rising to his feet, taking her empty glass with him. "Will there be anything else, Miss Emelia?" He asked nonchalantly, trying to hide the fact that they'd been conspiring, in case anybody had tried to eavesdrop on them.

 

[CutiePie1997]

"His name is Chris Harper," Max told Emelia when she asked of the possibility of their being a gambling sort of person in his tavern.

She studied the man as the establishment's owner described him, a smile slowly spreading her lips as Max went on. Even through she hadn't asked for a particularly bad man, Max had most certainly picked one out for her. Max was of the same thinking Emelia was, and she appreciated, even admired that.

"Will there be anything else, Miss Emelia?" he asked as he stood to leave.

She looked to Max, smiling again. Knowingly, she promised, "I have it from here. Thank you, sir."

Max returned to his patrons, and Emelia turned her attention to Chris Harper. Despite what Max had said about Harper being a true scumbag, he engaged with many of the patrons in conversations, even laughing with them about things happening in their fair city.

As the dart tournament got underway, Emelia kept an eye on Harper -- using her beyond human hearing to listen into his conversations. As she looked for the right opportunity to win some money off of him on gambling, she instead discovered that the man was cheating on his bets. Unbelievable, she thought to herself. The man has more money and power than the rest of the town's residents combined ... and yet he finds it necessary to cheat?

Harper was raking in some big money off big bets, despite the state of Brownsville's economy, and Emelia determined how he was doing it. He was offering an over-under spread on games in which he had a shill, a cheating partner. The shill would inconspicuously do better or worse than the betting patrons expected him or her to do in an effort to ensure that Harper won money overall whether the shill won or not.

Emelia knew how to deal with a person like that, of course: cheat'em back. By the time the tourney was down to the Quarterfinals, Emelia figured that Harper had raked in more than $2,000. That was amazing to her considering the economic conditions in Springfield. Sadly, it was a universal truth that the more desperate a person was, the more risks they would take to get what they needed.

The town favorite, a huge man named Yani Richards, was participating in the next game after a bathroom break. Richards had once worked at a machine shop upon which Harper's bank had foreclosed during the COVID shutdowns in 2020. When the economy rebounded a year later, Harper could have reopened the shop. Instead, he'd liquidated the equipment, razed the building, sold the property to become a parking lot for a trucking company in which he was a partner, and left 24 locals out of work. Many of those people hadn't recovered financially, including Yani Richards, who'd run out of unemployment, bummed around in part time jobs with few benefits for a couple of years, and was now mowing lawns and cutting firewood while his wife worked two jobs that barely kept their three children fed.

Emelia casually approached Richards and explained her idea to him. Richards initially thought she was crazy, so Emelia told him, "Go speak to Max. He'll vouch for me."

Once Yani was in, Emelia casually made her acquaintance with Chris Harper. She flirted with him a bit and got invited to sit at his table, after which she began talking about how she knew nothing about darts but loved betting money on games of skill. Her story convinced Harper enough that he took several bets from her on Yani Richards' game: that he would win by more than 20 points; that he would entirely miss the board at least three times, and that he wouldn't hit the bullseye more than 8 times; his average in the game they were playing was 15 bullseyes.

"How much would you like to put down, Miss Emelia?" Chris asked, knowing that he was going to win not one, not two, but all three of the bets they'd made. "The median bet tonight has been $20."

At that, Emelia slapped a stack of a $1,000 down in hundred-dollar bills. She saw the shock in Chris's eyes and asked timidly, "i'm sorry. Is that too much? I mean, it's just some extra money I won in Atlantic City when I put down my last chip on number 36 on the Roulette table."

Chris hesitated, but -- knowing that he'd conned Emelia into making some really bad bets -- he slipped the money off the table to count it out of sight as he said, "No, no, not all all." He counted out $12,000, asked if she wanted to spread it evenly across the three bets, and happily shook her hand when she asked, "Is that a good way to do it?"

suggested, returning to give her a wink before flashing his newfound cash and announcing, "I have two hundred bucks saying this game is mine!"

Twenty-five minutes later, Chris Harper's face was all tied up in disbelief and anger. To get the maximum amount of money from Emelia, his shill was supposed to have lost by more than 20 points. And yet here they were, two of Brownsville's best darts players, nearly half an hour into a game that should have been over in ten minutes and Yani Richards was only up by 8 points. Not only that but the sixteen-time barroom dart tournament winner had had two darts miss the board and two more not stick and fall to the floor, fulfilling Emelia's more-than-three misses bet. And last but not least, Yani had only hit 4 bullseyes, not his normal 15-20.

Emelia's man repeated cursed himself, acted injured in his elbow, and complained that he couldn't focus on the board for some unknown reason. In the end, he won the game by only 18 points, scored 6 misses, and struck only 8 bullseyes. The crowd was stunned by the poor performance, but then people began spying the asshat Chris Harper counting out hundred-dollar bills into a stack for the sexy visitor to town, marking a loss that was significantly larger than his gains for the night.

"I am so excited," Emelia said with playful joy that sounded like it was straight from some blonde-walks-into-a-bar-ouch! YouTube video. "I've never won like this before."

She snatched up the money and waggled it toward the patrons, drawing applause and laughter and getting pats on the black. She looked to Chris, donned a pouting-lower-lip expression, and said, "I'm sorry. I don't mean to make light of your loss. Tell you what, how about double or nothing on something. Whaddaya say?"

(Part 2 next; sorry, this went long.)

 

[CutiePie1997]

(Part 2 starts here)


"I'm sorry, Miss Emelia, but you beat me out of all the cash I brought with me tonight," Chris said.

"Well ... what about something else of value that you have," she suggested. She looked around the crowd, then back to Chris. "I hear that you're some kind of banker ... and landlord ... that you rent houses and apartments in ... where are we again?"

"Brownsville," he answered. Then, looking about, he said, "Yeah, sure. I see, what ... at least 15 of my rental tenants here ... as well as about a dozen people who are buying homes and other properties from me. Why do you ask?"

"Well, what if I bet all of this--" She returned the stack of hundreds to the little round table's top. She continued, "--against all of their rents and monthly payments for next month."

There was a hush throughout the tavern, followed by Chris laughing hysterically. "Are you crazy?" He again surveyed the crowd, did the math in his head, and said, "That'd be at least $50,000. You don't have nearly that much sitting here."

"Okay," Emelia thought, trying to appear befuddled. "Well, what kind of a bet would make you go for this?"

Chris studied Emelia for a moment, then asked, "Do you play darts yourself?"

Emelia laughed, answering, "Sure! About a hundred years ago." Ironically, that was he last time she'd played darts, back during the heydays of the Roaring Twenties. She asked, "Why?"

Chris stood, pulled three darts from the board, handed them to Emelia, and challenged, "You put two darts in the bullseyes, you win."

Emelia laughed loudly. "No way! Impossible! I might as well just give you the money back. How about one dart?"

"Two," Chris stood firm. When Emelia tried to negotiate again, he offered, "One dart ... five feet beyond the line."

Emelia was standing near the line by now, holding the darts. She studied the board, the darts, the line, the crowd. "Five feet?" Chris nodded, Emelia backed up, and she repeated her studying. She negotiated, "Two darts ... and you pass on two months."

Chris was the one to laugh loudly now. After a moment, though, he started to walk her way as he agreed, "Two darts, two months..." When he was close to her, he leaned in and whispered, "And if you lose, you go home with me ... and not to play darts."

She looked him in the eyes with feigned shock. Looking around the crowd at the faces watching her -- and the ears trying to hear their whispers -- Anna countered, "Three months ... I will back up three more feet ... and you can play about in any of my three holes."

Chris was the one to show surprise now, and as his lips spread in a delighted smile -- and his gaze took a walk down and then back up her body -- he said, "Deal. Done."

Chris stepped aside as Emelia took a deep breath, steadied her nerves, scanned the excited crowd, and aimed a dart. She lowered it, looking to Chris to ask, "How do I know you're going to go through with this? I mean, I'm leaving as soon as my car is fixed, maybe tomorrow."

Chris announced the deal -- leaving out the sex part, obviously -- to the entire group to ensure that there were enough witnesses, then looked to Emelia and asked, "Good?"

She nodded, aimed a dart, took a long, long moment to prepare herself, then let it fly. The dart stuck firm inside the outer, green bullseye ring, leading the bar's patrons to go bonkers. Chris looked unhappy, but through the din, he told Emelia, "That's one. You need one more."

The crowd settled down, Emelia aimed again and flung the dart. This time it hit the inner red bullseye but immediately bounced away from the board and fell to the floor. The patrons began to go crazy with joy, but then flooded the tavern with a sad, solemn sound of disappointment.

Chris smiled, tickled and relieved that the well-aimed dart had not stuck. He told Emelia, "One more."

She prepared to toss the dart again, then hesitated and asked, "Four months?"

"For what in exchange...?" Chris asked. "I mean, I don't think you can offer me much more than you already have."

Without looking away from Chris, Emelia called out, "Clark! What do you suppose my car is worth ... I mean, once it's running again?"

The mechanic gulped the swallow of beer he'd just taken in, cleared his throat, and answered, "Around here...? Maybe $20,000, but that's just 'cause no one has any money 'round these parts. But in the city...? About $60,000."

Emelia smiled to Chris, asking, "Four months? And ... that other thing ... for the whole weekend."

Chris smirked and ogled her hungrily. He nodded, confirming, "Four months."

Without taking her eyes off the banker, landlord, gambling cheat, and generally all-around shithead, Emelia tossed the dart without even aiming ... sticking it firmly inside the red, double bullseye spot.

 

[Lucian_Devine]

After he got Emelia's answer to his final question, Max simply nodded and went back to doing his job, and boy did he have a job to do. The crowd was ordering up a storm, and poor Millie was working her butt off. Thankfully though, he didn't have to wonder too long about what Emelia had gone back to talk to her about, because Millie's friend Heather showed up ready to cook, along with his aunt Marie, Millie's mother. Both of them did help Millie out on occasion, but only ever one at a time. This was the first time they'd ever showed up at the same time. He didn't object though, and given the size and rowdiness of the crowd, he wouldn't have, even if Emelia hadn't been around to help organize and orchestrate the whole thing.

Things got especially busy for Max once the tournament started, especially when he had to remember which people had been here at the beginning so that he made sure to give them half off. Yes, he did eventually think to just write the names down, but it was only after several rounds of mental struggle in the middle of the rush, and even then, the thought only came to him because he was right next to the pad of paper that he'd written all of the names for the darts tournament on before inputting them into his phone for the bracket.

As for the tournament itself, Max was DEFINITELY glad that he'd chosen darts instead of pool, if only because of how fast a game of darts went, especially when it was a single elimination tournament. It also meant that the crowd got to pay attention to every game instead of having their attention split between multiple pool tables, keeping track of the score across multiple games, and of course focus their betting on a single game instead of multiple games. This was especially important as the customers slowly got more and more drunk.

The tournament progressed quickly without much delay, only finally taking a proper bathroom break once the quarterfinal matchups were decided. Nobody was surprised that Yani Richards was the number 1 seed, given how impressively he'd played and how thoroughly he'd trounced the rest of his opponents thus far. What Max was surprised about though, was when the man approached him and talked to him about Emelia suggesting that he shave some points off of his score, and doing it in a pretty blatant way too. She wasn't asking him to throw the game, just make it a very close finish. Yani told him that she's asked him to come to Max to vouch for her, and after he reflected on the conversation he'd had with her, and the smile that had slowly spread over her face as he'd described Chris Harper, her intentions became clear. His gaze then returned to Yani, and he gave the man a smile and a nod. "You can trust her, Yani, you have my word. I'll vouch for her."

Once Yani was in, Max couldn't help but be a little bit jealous of Chris, if only because of the attention that he got from Emelia as she was almost certainly suckering him into some bad bets that he thought were bad bets for him. He truly did enjoy ripping people off, and Max wished that he could hear the conversations going on between the two, but didn't want to risk the integrity of the charade by even looking in their direction, let alone trying to make a pass by to linger and clean up some tables. He figured that the more space he could give Emelia to bait the trap and draw him to it, the better.

Once the bets were clearly places and money had exchanged hands, there was nothing left to do but wait the rest of the time for the match to be played and wait to see the look on his face when Yani played what was likely the worst game he'd played in a VERY long time. Oh, and what a look it was, a mix of disbelief and anger as he realized that he'd been had, and likely lost back a fair piece more than what he'd taken. Chris didn't normally come across a person who had as much or more money than he did, but Max suspected that Emelia just might be such a person. What came next though, was somehow even more surprising.

Everyone in the bar cheered as Emelia flashed the money that she'd taken off of Chris, but when she started negotiating what started out as a double or nothing bet, but quickly grew into much more than that. He naturally couldn't hear anything that was being said, but given that everyone in the bar was so invested in the negotiation that they weren't buying any food or drinks, he just leaned on the bar as close as he could to their conversation, and observed. He grew especially curious when Chris walked up to her and the whispering started.

When Chris announced the deal to the bar, Max couldn't help but be surprised, not just at him for being willing to do it, but at her for caring enough to try it. Even watching Emelia step confidently to her spot, complete with a tape measurer and tape mark that two people had generously provided for authenticity sake, not to mention measuring twice, because of course and getting Chris' approval on the line, Max was nervous. He was especially nervous when he saw her hit the bullseye, but just the green outer ring. Yes, the assembled crowd cheered, and for good reason. It was one down, and she had two darts left, but one could also say that she only had two darts left. He did become a little more hopeful when he saw the second dart land true, almost cheering with everyone else until the dart fell from the board, leaving her with just one dart left, and the hope of a lot of people on her exotic shoulders.

Max saw Emelia prepare to throw again, but of course heard Chris' needling remark, followed curiously by her trying to up the ante once more. At his next words, and her shout, all eyes suddenly turned to the old mechanic. Even when she continued to speak, nobody turned away from the man, knowing that everything now depended on his assessment of the car that nobody had seen, because even now, with four months of assorted rents and mortgages on the line, they knew that the old man would speak the truth. It was just the kind of man he was. Everyone was of course curious about what the "other thing" was, but it wasn't important right now, and was even less important after Chris agreed to the terms, she threw the dart, and it landed true, smack dab in the middle of the red double bullseye.

A couple of things happened at once when the dart stuck in the bullseye. The crowd erupted with cheers and Chris erupted, physically advancing on Emelia as he started to shout at her. "You miserable hustling good for nothing wh..." Everyone knew what word was going to come out of the man's mouth, but no sooner did he get to that word, than Max was stepping between them.

"Stop right there, Chris, and I wouldn't finish that sentence either if I were you." Jack Hanson moved to put a hand on Max's shoulder, as he went to intervene though, Max didn't hesitate to shrug off the hand and punch the man square in the face. His brother, Jake moved towards Max next, but the crowd interfered now, holding him back, and it was then that Chris realized the situation he was in. "Hold him!" Max said, pointing towards Jack as he recovered and tried to come at Max again. "You made a bet, Chris, and you lost, fair and square. You had no problems collecting all your other bets earlier this evening, now, did ya? Eh, I didn't think so. So, here's what we're gonna do..." He turned back towards the bar. "Millie!" He shouted for his cousin, who he knew was watching and listening from the kitchen. "Grab my notebook and a pen from my office!" The crowd parted for the smaller girl in a scene that would have been comical in any other scenario, but not not here, and certainly not now with how serious things had just gotten. "Now, here's how this is gonna go." Max said... "And what gives you the right to dictate the terms of anything? My bet is with her, not you" Chris spat back, suddenly full of confidence, even though his two enforcers were being held back by the crowd, looking for any reason at all to beat the hell out of them. "Because this is my fucking bar! That's what gives me the right, and the second you stepped to a woman in my fucking bar, you lost any and all rights you had. So shut the fuck up and listen!"

Max set the pad of paper on one of the tables before ripping two pieces free. He wrote Chris' full name on the top of one, Emelia's name on the second, and his name on the last one. "Now..." He started, turning back to the crowd. "If you pay any rent, mortgage, or any other monthly payments to Chris, OR his bank, step forward and write your name on all three of these pieces of paper. We are..." He turned his head to Chris, giving the man a stern look. "...going to go to Garret tomorrow to start the process of getting all of this put in writing. Since I am acting as a sort of arbiter, I will forfeit in Miss Emelia's gift to us. I will continue to pay my mortgage as usual.

To say that the scene that followed was surreal would be an understatement. People didn't have to move through the crowd. The crowd parted for them so that they could do as Max had asked, write their name on the three pieces of paper, one for the two participants, so that Chris had a copy, in case somebody tried to sneak their way onto the list after the fact, for Emelia, in case Chris tried to destroy the evidence, and for Max, to act as a neutral third party, hence why he'd forfeited his share in it, for the sake of fairness.

Once all of the names were signed, in literal triplicate no less, Max slid Chris' copy to him, Emelia's copy to her, closed the notebook, and picked it up. "Now, does anybody else have any business to discuss with Chris or the Hanson brothers before I kick them the FUCK out of my bar for the night?

 

[CutiePie1997]

"You made a bet, Chris," Max challenged Harper when the latter confronted Emelia, "and you lost, fair and square."

Emelia smirked a bit at Max's use of the phrase fair and square. From one point of view -- Chris's -- there had been nothing fair about it. It was obvious to anyone who'd been paying attention that Emelia had tricked him into thinking she barely knew which end of the dart was the end to be out front when thrown.

Regardless of whether or not Emelia had played him for the fool, though, Chris has made a bet, and he was now going to deal with the consequences of his actions.

"So, here's what we're gonna do..." Max continued.

Emelia sauntered back to her little table in the corner while the bartender -- bar owner, not that she knew that yet -- dealt with Chris and the aftermath of the wager. She was very impressed with his ingenuity and would tell him so at a later time.

At one time or another, Emelia made eye contact again with Chris and each of his thugs, Jack and Jake Hanson. In her opinion, each of them needed to experience a session with her as a donor; it would be good for them to experience the calming effects of the  unnatural chemicals that Emelia's bite would inject into them.

Hollywood had for generations presented vampires to its audiences all wrong. Vampires didn't simply bite necks and drink blood; the process of feeding was far more involved than that.

First, a vampire's bite injected a quick-acting anesthetic through the two, upper fangs. This pain killer served to limit the pain, obviously, thus limiting in turn the thrashing and screaming of a donor or victim; a victim, of course, was a donor who didn't survive the feeding. No vampire wanted a feeding to become a drawn out, violent, kicking-and-screaming physical affair that might very well lead to the vampire's injury or death.

Emelia looked to the Hanson brothers again and -- even with her beyond human strength -- cringed at the thought of being entangled with them in a prolonged fight.

After the pain killer had taken effect, a pair of chemicals were injected by the lower fangs. The first was a mild hallucinogen while the second was an aphrodisiac. Together, they served to make the donor not only ignore the horror of what was happening to them but yearn for it as well.

...............
​

Many donors resisted less with subsequent feedings; many of those began yearning to participate in future feedings, sometimes to the point of becoming addicted to it.

This addiction was how some vampires created their Family. A Family included a vampire"s donors but it also included her children, those donors who had chosen to become vampires themselves.

A Family also included what Emelia's Creator and Master had called Friends of the Family. These were people who were neither Vampires nor Donors but instead simply assisted the Family in their own personal way. Sometimes these people were the Authorities: police, prosecutors, common laborers, and others who simply assisted and protected the Family.

Sometimes they did this for compensation: money. Sometimes they did this for other benefits the vampire could offer. Emelia preferred Friends who preferred benefits other than had, cold cash. With people like this, she became a very benevolent vampire.

It had been a long time since Emelia had had a true Family. It had been far easier to create, nurture, and feed a Family in the days before today's modern technologies: video cameras, smart phones, omnipresent surveillance cameras, and social media, as well as others.

(Note: everything below the row of centered dots above was added later. I had not had time to finish my reply before I needed to post. Also, I proofread, found, and corrected several errors. I apologize for not having done so before posting.)

 

[Lucian_Devine]

The bar thankfully quieted down after Emelia and Chris' wager, and it's aftermath, resolved itself. Max kicked the three of them out, with the help of the crowd, but not before seeing the way the three of them dared to lock eyes with her. He couldn't help but wonder what fate they would have planned for her if they had their way, but thankfully they wouldn't have their way today, not as long as he had anything to say about it at least.

The rest of the tournament resolved itself, and the hundred dollar prize was claimed, which was a small prize compared to what had already been claimed this night, something nobody would have guessed when the day started, but thankfully everyone was more than happy with the outcome all the same. People continued to trickle out, such that Max barely would have even needed to ring the last call bell if he cared to, and so he didn't even bother. He just left his place behind the bar, a fresh screwdriver for Emelia in one hand, and the bottle of top shelf vodka and a small glass for himself in the other.
Max walked over to the small table in the corner that Emelia seemed to have claimed as her own and set her fresh drink down in front of her. "This is for you, Miss Emelia, on behalf of..." He turned towards the bar. "...the dashing bartender whose friends whose friends you just helped out...more than words could...ever...express." He turned back to her and gave her a small smile. at his small joke at having not just said that it was from himself straight up. He of course had his reasons though, and that was so that he could sort of break the ice before asking if he could join her. She was still a stranger after all, and even though the two had seemed to be on good terms, he wanted to be polite instead of being too forward like many a man would be, both in general and in his position. "Is this seat taken, or would it be okay if I sat down?"

 

[CutiePie1997]

(Note: if you are reading along with our story, you will want to return to my previous post and read the paragraphs below the row of dots (aka periods). This is new text I just added that should have been there previously but wasn't.)

The rest of the evening was far more social for Emelia. Many of the tavern's patrons -- competitors and spectators alike -- came to Emelia's table to congratulate her on putting Chris in his place. She was humble about it all, often telling them that it was all luck, not that anyone believed that.

Many offered to buy Emelia a drink, particularly but not only the male patrons. In each case she told them something to the effect of, "Thank you. I am set for now. But I'll be in town for a few days, so maybe next time we meet...?"

Many showed their happiness that Emelia was sticking around a while. After some time, Millie brought an order of onion rings to the Dart Whisperer, something some drunk had called Emelia which she hoped would not stick a well as two out of three of the darts had.

"I hear you are remaining in town for a couple of nights," the girl said, already having heard the rumor. The pair talked about Emelia's dead car a bit, and the older women mentioned needing to call the motel for a room. Millie offered, "I can do that for you. The owners are friends."

Emelia gestured to the seat near her, asking, "Will you sit with me a moment, Millie?"

Hesitantly, after glancing back toward the kitchen, the young thing said, "Well, I really should..."

"Two minutes," Emelia cut in politely. "Promise."

"Well ... maybe just two minutes, sure," she said, sitting.

Emelia reached out and took Millie's hand. The younger woman looked nervous initially; she thought for a moment that Emelia might be a lesbian and was about to hit on her.

But a serene calm suddenly flooded over Millie, and in a flash, she felt totally at ease with Emelia and her intimate touch, as if they had been lifelong friends.

"You are ill," Emelia said knowingly. As she felt the younger woman's blood coursing through the vessels of her hand and fingers, she added, "Diabetes ... and..."

"Diabetic neuropathy," Millie said willingly, surprising herself; she didn't talk about her medical problems with others, particularly strangers. She blushed, embarrassed, though she didn't know why. "And ... retinopathy ... and diabetic ketoacidosis."

Millie laughed aloud. Sounding almost relieved, she confessed, "Wow! That, um ... it kinda felt good getting that out."

The two of them talked about Millie's medical problems for their agreed upon two minutes and almost ten more before the girl's mother called for her from the kitchen.

As Millie excused herself, apologizing, Emelia took her hand again, saying, "Do not apologize. Can we talk again soon?"

"Yes, absolutely," Millie said. She smiled to Emelia as if she'd just found a new BFF, then hurried off back to work.



The tavern was virtually empty when Max made his way over to Emelia's table, handed her a fresh drink, and said, "This is for you ... on behalf of the dashing bartender whose friends you just helped out...more than words could...ever...express."
"Dashing...?" she teased. "I don't know about that. Sure, he was cute." She laughed, then -- feigning modesty -- said, "It was nothing. I threw a couple of lucky darts at a board."

"Is this seat taken," Max asked, "or would it be okay if I sat down?"

Emelia gestured him to sit, sipped at her drink, and informed him, "I had a discussion with your cousin ... about her medical situation. I hope you don't mind."

She listened to Max's response, then added, "I think I can help her. I know people..." She smirked a bit, continuing, "...in the medical profession ... medical insurance, as well. I told her I could get her some appointments ... and that I could help with the cost, too. I think I can help her feel better ... much better."

None of this was true, of course. Well, the part about helping Millie feel better was. But the rest of it...? Well, it wasn't what either Millie or Max could even imagine.

 

[Lucian_Devine]

Max couldn't help but marvel at Emelia's laugh, even as she feigned modesty. It almost seemed to light up the room, at least to him anyway. He listened to how she tried to downplay what she did, saying that she threw a couple of lucky darts at a board, but waited to comment until she gestured for him to sit, which he gladly did so, opening the vodka and pouring himself a glass as he kept his light blue gaze up and on her, looking and listening as she spoke of the conversation she'd had with Millie.

Yes, Max had seen Millie approach Emelia, as well as pretty much everyone she'd helped save on rent, mortgage, and some kind of debt, male and female. Other people approached her as well of course, particularly men, but she seemed both familiar and adept at turning down the drinks they offered her and shutting down their advances without offending them.

When Emelia mentioned him possibly minding her taking to Millie, Max couldn't help but chuckle. "Heh, and why would I mind? Millie has been through more than enough pain and suffering in her young life, and sadly she's in for a whole lot more. Far be it for me to stand in the way of anything that could bring her some happiness." Max said softly, pausing to take a sip of his vodka, letting out a long sigh before shaking his head. "Besides, she's a big girl. She's old enough to make her own decisions." He set his glass down, moved his hands down, and adjusted his chair so that he could sit a bit closer to the table, and lean over it.

"Speaking of decisions though..." Max started, his light blue gaze flicking upwards from the glass of vodka that he scooped up once more to meet Emelia's. "...I understand Chris' decisions, as much of the bastard that he is. I understand Millie's, as young as she is. I understand all of their decisions..." He lifted a single finger off of his glass to point towards the kitchen when he mentioned Millie, and then let it drift in a circle to sort of encompass the bar and represent the town as a whole, all before he turned his hand around and pointed that finger towards himself and continued. "...and I of course understand my decisions..." He paused once more, finally returning that finger back to the glass, lifting it to his lips, and closing his eyes as he drained it with a single gulp. "...the only person that leaves..." he said, almost absentmindedly as he opened his eyes, reached for the bottle, and refilled his glass. "...is you, Miss Emelia."

Max lifted his glass, but didn't drink it, simply cradling it in his hands as he leveled his light blue gaze at the beautiful brown eyes before him. "You say that you got lucky, that you just threw a couple darts at a board, but let's be honest, the darts barely matter. You were willing to wager thousands of dollars, your car..." He leaned closer still, almost lifting his butt off the seat of the chair. "...and something..." He gave her a knowing look. "...for a whole weekend, all for a group of people, and a town..." He sat back in his chair, spreading his arms out wide to emphasize his point, almost to the point of spilling his drink. "...you just met and don't even know." He brought his drink back forward, but not before giving it a small sip, and set it down and to the side before leaning forward and crossing his arms. "It's not that I don't appreciate what you did, Miss Emelia, because I do, I truly do. I just don't understand why you would risk so much money, getting stuck in the middle of nowhere, and doing got knows what for an entire weekend with the biggest asshole this side of hell to do it."

 

[CutiePie1997]

"Millie has been through more than enough pain and suffering in her young life," Max said about his younger cousin, "and sadly she's in for a whole lot more."

Maybe not, Emelia couldn't help but think to herself. Not if I can help it. Not if I can convince Millie to take a chance.

"Far be it for me to stand in the way of anything that could bring her some happiness," he continued. "Besides, she's a big girl. She's old enough to make her own decisions."

Emelia had sensed that in the young woman. Over the centuries, Emelia had learned one universal truth about pain and suffering, trials and tribulations: they made one grow up far faster than did those who didn't suffer them.

"Speaking of decisions though..." Max continued. He spoke about himself, Millie, the asshole Chris, and others, then turned the conversation to Emelia herself, saying he didn't understand her motivations. She smiled, downed the rest of her drink, and said, "Maybe I just like having fun. Is that not what they say? Girls just like to have fun?"

Looking beyond Max, Emelia nodded her head and gestured with a waving hand, then looked to the man again and said, "I hate to end this wonderful conversation so abruptly, but my ride it leaving." She meant Millie, who was walking their way as she donned her coat. Emelia explained, "Your cousin is going to give me a ride to the motel. I had a wonderful evening, Max. Please apologize to the tavern owner for me if anyone got out of hand tonight and broke anything.

If nothing stopped them, the two women would head out...

 

[Lucian_Devine]

Max couldn't help but be impressed by both how quickly Emelia downed her drink and how well she could hold her liquor. When she spoke though, all he could do was smile, chuckle, and down his drink in return. "That is indeed what they say. He watched as she nodded her head and gestured with a waving hand as she spoke before rising to her feet. He politely rose to his feet as she did, simply shaking his head at her apology. "Nah, don't worry about it. It's nothing we can't fix. You just make sure to take care of my girl..." He said the last bit loud enough for Millie to hear as he turned around and gave her a brief hug and a kiss on the cheek before stepping away. "...and if you don't mind, I'll walk you out, in case Chris has any lingering thoughts of revenge."

Without hesitation, Max did just that, leading the way towards the door and holding the door open for both women. Tempted as he was to escort Emelia to the passenger side of Millie's truck and open and close the door for her, he elected for the driver's side, doing the deeds for Millie. Once both women were in the truck, he leaned on the car door and gave them Millie a serious look. "Keep an eye on her until she's safe in her room, Millie." He said, loud enough for both women to hear. "Just because Chris isn't here, doesn't mean he's not there. He knows that her car is on the fritz, and we know what kind of an asshole he is. I'd walk her there myself if you hadn't beaten me to it." Any and all humor and joking was gone from his eyes and tone as he talked about the safety of both girls, and he even looked after the truck as he stepped back and it pulled out of his parking lot.

Max went back inside and rang the last call bell shortly after that, seeing the last few customers their last few drinks before closing out their tabs and doing what he needed to do to close the bar. It had been a good day. There could be no doubt about it, a good day for everybody except Chris. He went straight home after that, and did nothing more than get a quick shower, a bite to eat, and head to bed. He knew that he was going to be up early and have a long and busy day. So he wasn't going to have much time for anything else that night.

True to his word, Max woke up early, took another shower, ate breakfast, and headed out to his garage. He fought the heavy door for a second before pulling it open. In the center of the space was a tarped off vehicle, and surrounding it was car tools of all kinds lining the three walls with bottles and parts lying on the work tables beneath them. He walked to a specific table and grabbed the toolbox off of it, looping his strong hands through a couple of bottle of liquids and taking them to set in the bed of his truck before doubling back to grab two more. There were a couple of other things that he wanted to grab, but without knowing the specifics about the car, they could either help or be completely worthless. So he chose to just leave it at that and head on over to Clark's.

Max and Clark spent the better part of the morning looking over and working on Emelia's Jaguar. Max had the tools, and Clark helped out where he could. They flushed and replaced the coolant, changed the oil, did a full carbon cleaning, everything that day, but they were sadly not looking forward to telling Emelia the bad news.

 

[CutiePie1997]

That first night in Brownsville:

"...and if you don't mind, I'll walk you out," Max told the two women, though, Emelia knew he was more concerned about her than he was about Millie. Not because he didn't care for her; she was, after all, his cousin. He had another concern, which he expressed by saying, "...in case Chris has any lingering thoughts of revenge."

"Keep an eye on her until she's safe in her room, Millie," Max told the younger of the two women.

"Of course, Cuz," she said, leaning her head out to let him kiss her cheek. He backed off, and she fired up the truck, a cloud of black smoke belching out of the tail pipe; the wind caught it and blew it back around the cab, and with the window still partially down, it flooded the cab, causing Millie to cough, then laugh. "I need to get that fixed."

When Millie rubbed her thumb and fingertips together saying money problem without actually speaking the words, Emelia asked, "If you had the money, could Max and Clark fix it."

Millie laughed. "Those two? They could fix anything, given the right parts, tools, and money."

The tavern cook drove the short distance to the motel, pulling right up to the door of the room she'd called the husband-wife team to have ready. She pointed to each of them as she explained, "That's Howard there in the door to the office. Nice guy. He was a Cub Scout, Boy Scout, and Eagle Scout leader for years to spend more time with his boys. And that's Ginger there--"

The woman was just exiting Emelia's room, pushing a maid's cart, and gave an arthritic thumbs up to indicate that all was ready. "She was a schoolteacher here in Brownsville for over thirty years, until they closed the school and started bussing all of the kids to Springfield, about 30 miles away. Real bummer. I had to make that trip five days a week, until I got really sick and quit school. I'd like to finish my GED, but ... you know ... time, money ... there's never enough of either."

Millie walked Emelia into the room, grimacing. "It's not much, but it's the only place to stay in town. I mean, there's a bed and breakfast just outside of town that's nice, but it's like, wow, four hundred bucks a night or something like that. No bed or breakfast is worth $400 to me."

"I'll be fine, Millie," Emelia reassured her.

"If you want, I can swing by in the morning with some hygiene stuff," Millie offered, clarifying, "Toothbrush, toothpaste, and the like."

"I could use a change of clothes, too," Emelia told the other woman. "Something more casual than what I am wearing now."

Millie looked Emelia up and down, smiled, and said, "I dunno. You look fantastic to me. You walk around Brownsville like that tomorrow, and the townsfolk will elect you Mayor just to keep you in town for a while."

They laughed together and talked about clothing options. Emelia was taller than Millie, but their figures were similar enough that the latter reassured the former that she'd have something that would fit her nicely. Max's cousin was about to say her farewells when Emelia asked, "Do you have a few minutes to talk, Millie ... about some of your ... personal issues."

"My personal issues?" Millie questioned. She chuckled, asking, "Which ones? There are a few of them as I think you know."

Emelia walked to the door, slowly closing it as she gestured to one of the two mismatched armchairs near the window, telling Millie, "I think you will be happy that we talked. Trust me."



Three days later:

No one had seen either Millie or Emelia since they'd left Herrings that night. Millie had texted her mother late that night, telling her she was staying overnight at a friend's without specifying that it was or was not Emelia. This wasn't a strange occurrence, of course, so her mother wasn't worried about it.

For her part, Emelia had called the service station early the next morning, catching Clark just minutes before Max's arrival. She told the business owner that he and his assistant were free to do whatever was necessary to get her car back on the road. A few minutes after that, Ginger rode into the garage on her three-wheeled bicycle; she had Emelia's American Express Black Card in her pocket for the men and the most lavish takeout breakfast that the Brownsville Cafe could make in the basket.

Finally, in time for her shift, Millie arrived at Herring's. She looked amazing! Her hair had been thinning and falling out progressively worse year after year, and what was still on her head had been dry with split ends; Millie had regularly stuffed her hair up into hats to hide it. And yet today it was out on her shoulders, flowing full, thick, and shiny.

Her skin, which had been dry for years as well, often cracking -- sometimes painful -- and requiring medicated creams and ointments was refreshed, smooth, and almost China-doll like. Because of her skin troubles, Millie had very rarely shown much skin in public, almost always wearing long sleeves and full-length pants. This afternoon, though, she was wearing a tight-fitting blouse with spaghetti straps and an exposed midriff, matched with a tight-fitting, mid-calf length skirt.

She'd never been one to intentionally draw attention to her figure. But in addition to the little blouse and skirt Millie wore a pushup bra that gave cleavage to her firm B-cups and modest 3-inch heels that highlighted her legs and ass.

She strode into Herrings, catching the eyes of a trio of from-out-of-town road construction workers having a late lunch and beers in the corner while watching the previous night's baseball game. They whistled and called to her playfully, complimenting her and inviting her to come sit with her. Unaccustomed to such attention, Millie blushed after glancing their way, then continuing onward into the kitchen.

She slung her purse over a hook, turned to catch her cousin's eye, smile, laughed aloud, and held her arms out as she spun around, her skirt rising up to expose more thigh. "Whaddaya think, Cuz...?"