TheAntiRebel
is still a threat
- Joined
- Sep 9, 2006
- Posts
- 2,163
Peter Largo
Tall, wide, muscular frame, dark hair, square chin, handsome rugged face
--------------
The black motorcycle roared down the dark city street before rolling to a stop in front of an apartment building. The rider, a mysterious figure wearing blue jeans, a black t-shirt, a black leather jacket and black motorcycle boots, yanked a piece of paper out of his pocket and checked it. Confirming the address, Peter Largo shut off his bike and climbed off while his pale hand shoved the paper back into his coat pocket. He jimmied the door to the apartment building open with an old credit card in his pocket and let himself in.
It had been decades since he had seen his lover. After years together, it had been New Orleans in 1964. Mardi Gras was raging at the time, and Peter had told her he was going out for cigarettes and to find some young ladies for them to entertain and feed on for the evening. He never returned. He wondered how he would explain himself to her. Would she be mad? Would she hate him?
50 years later, Peter looked identical. He was a vampire. Vampires called themselves “the Chosen”. His body was frozen in time, although at a terrible cost. And, the lover who he left in that shady New Orleans apartment decades ago was as well. They had lived like only two vampire lovers could. Meeting human travelers and drifters, listening to their stories, then feasting on their blood like a fine wine and spending the rest of the night making love to each other before going into hiding for the day. And repeating it the next night. They had a lot of good times together. Then he left.
Peter arrived at her door and knocked. He flexed his hands into fists and realized he was feeling something he hadn’t felt in many decades – nervousness. He didn’t know how she would react, and that made him, even a powerful, ageless vampire, nervous.
Tall, wide, muscular frame, dark hair, square chin, handsome rugged face
--------------
The black motorcycle roared down the dark city street before rolling to a stop in front of an apartment building. The rider, a mysterious figure wearing blue jeans, a black t-shirt, a black leather jacket and black motorcycle boots, yanked a piece of paper out of his pocket and checked it. Confirming the address, Peter Largo shut off his bike and climbed off while his pale hand shoved the paper back into his coat pocket. He jimmied the door to the apartment building open with an old credit card in his pocket and let himself in.
It had been decades since he had seen his lover. After years together, it had been New Orleans in 1964. Mardi Gras was raging at the time, and Peter had told her he was going out for cigarettes and to find some young ladies for them to entertain and feed on for the evening. He never returned. He wondered how he would explain himself to her. Would she be mad? Would she hate him?
50 years later, Peter looked identical. He was a vampire. Vampires called themselves “the Chosen”. His body was frozen in time, although at a terrible cost. And, the lover who he left in that shady New Orleans apartment decades ago was as well. They had lived like only two vampire lovers could. Meeting human travelers and drifters, listening to their stories, then feasting on their blood like a fine wine and spending the rest of the night making love to each other before going into hiding for the day. And repeating it the next night. They had a lot of good times together. Then he left.
Peter arrived at her door and knocked. He flexed his hands into fists and realized he was feeling something he hadn’t felt in many decades – nervousness. He didn’t know how she would react, and that made him, even a powerful, ageless vampire, nervous.
