The zombie stopped right next to the couch that had been his bed for the last three days. Ashalina lacked the concept of personal space and had no ability to “read the room”. She didn’t say anything but Robin could hear her standing next to his head. The soft susurrus of her rustling sheet-hijab and the damp flapping of cold-cut lunchmeat dangling beside a carburetor that was her breathing provided a most disharmonious soundtrack to the morning.
He waited.
She stood there.
He counted to fifty.
She stood there.
He sighed loudly hoping she might, just this once, take the hint and go away.
She stood there. “It smells like stroke in here.”
Robin rolled onto his side shoving his face into the couch cushions. Not really wanting to engage in conversation but too curious as to what she meant by that oblique statement, he asked the muffled question, “Do you mean like masturbation? It smells like I’ve been stroking off?"
“No. It smells like hemorrhage,” she stated bluntly.
“You mean, like a blood clot in the brain?”
“Yes. That is what I said. Hemorrhage.”
Robin pulled his face partially out of the cushions, still not looking at her. “Oh, ha! So you mean you smell . How can you smell that? Food doesn’t have smells in this place. Wait… can you smell a stroke happening?” That would be a wild talent to have.
“Yes, of course. I have them once a week.”
Robin pulled the blanket down and craned his neck to look at Ashalina. “But wouldn’t that kill you?”
“Well, yes, but I am already dead. So, no.” A normal person might have shrugged making that statement, but she stood statue-still, arms dangling loosely at her sides.
“Huh.” Realizing the scene wouldn’t change without him being the instigator, Robin rolled off the couch, carefully folded the knitted blanket featuring colorful tropical birds and made his way into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Ashalina soporifically followed. “What, you need a glass of agua too?” he asked a bit testily.
She nodded. “Yes, please.”
“So a zombie needs to stay hydrated,” Robin scoffed.
“Yes, of course. All living things need water.”
“But, as you pointed out just a moment ago, are not currently .”
“That is true,” Ashalina said with a nod, the head cover of her red homemade apparel slipped to her shoulders revealing lank, greasy black hair. She self-consciously — if slowly — pulled it back up. Everything she did was slow. “However, I am also not alive either. This body still needs water to continue operating.”
He handed her a full glass. In between her kindergartener-juiceBox-gulps she stared blankly at him. Not wanting to appear rude, though also not knowing if she was aware of rudeness, Robin didn’t feel comfortable simply walking away. He couldn’t go to the bedroom — Zebryl was still in there — and he didn’t want to go outside because it was, for once, raining. He was glad for that as the lawn was starting to look a little dry and Betty’s house did not have an automatic sprinkler system. He hadn’t taken the time to water the lawn as hauling out the hose and sprinkler head was a hassle. He doubted either of the devils cared about yard maintenance, so it was up to him to keep things looking decent. .
Ashalina finished her water and continued to stand there with the empty glass held loosely in one had. Robin feared she’d drop it so he took it and put it in the dishwasher. Mail had been collecting on the kitchen table so he went to sort it in an effort to get away. Ashalina followed him barely an arm’s length behind. He pretended not to be bothered.
There were a lot of bills: gas, electricity, telephone — which included internet service — and water. Robin had been unable to find Betty’s credit card and feared StinkPew might have nicked it. If that were the case, they were shit-outta-luck as the skunk’s headless body was now in a landfill somewhere. At some point, maybe soon, if they didn’t get the household bills paid, city officials and bill collectors would come knocking. If he had even the slightest confidence in being able to get by on his own out in the city, he would leave this entire yarn-snarl of a Home Base
In the meantime, he’d have to be a good house daddy and take care of the mundane details himself. That rabid bitch, Yarya, should be the one shouldering these responsibilities as it was Cabalher HomeBaseRecruit
Sure, the sex had been mind-blowing but this wouldn’t be the first time he’d misconstrued orgasm for affection. An irritating and heart-stomping lesson he learned repeatedly at least once or twice a decade. And sure, the handsome bastard had saved him from major injury at Monika’s, but that was no indication of real sentiment, love or otherwise. The devil was simply adhering to the strictures of whatever verbal contract they’d enacted on that first night of debauchery. The incubus clearly cared as little for Robin as he did for the wereSkunk or the zombie. They were all mere tools to support Yarya’s efforts at carving out more territory to dominate the world, or at least, the city.
After nervously observing a pair of hawks hanging around on the backyard fence, Robin spent the rest of the morning doing odd chores about the house — dusting knick-knack shelves, organizing the kitchen cupboards, vacuuming. He found that if he kept busy he didn’t wallow in a pity puddle so readily. He hoped those birds were not shape-changed Ferals
He spent an hour patching a couple deep gouges in the walls left by StinkPew’s claws. wasn’t? Thinking about the smelly goth chick was enough to trigger a clench in his gut, not as a yucky smell-memory, but as a yikes-what-I-did-to-her memory. How had he killed her? Obviously, the exploding bolas, but why did the Santa SackNaughty & Nice
“Oh, Robin daahhling,” the incubus cooed upon entering the living room.
Begrudgingly he responded, “What?”
The devil looked ready to hit the clubs in his long sleeveless duster, red-accented, black leather pants and boots and that interlacing set of harness straps across his bare chest. “You might want to suit up all the way, my dear. You and I are going to top the town.”
“Phrasing,” Robin snorted.
The devil looked perplexed. “What do you mean?”
Robin inhaled deeply gathering courage and locked Zebryl’s red, crystalline eyes with his own. “What do mean, ‘top the town’? Are you wanting me to jaunt about the burbs sticking my dick in every hole we find?”
Zebryl tilted his horned head in a disarming way. “Well, not the suburbs, specifically. I’m suggesting we explore the fairgrounds. It’s run by the RoseJoy Tribe.”
“And what, tell, is the RoseJoy tribe?” Robin suspected they were about to go hunting for Recruits.Resources.
Zebryl sniffed. “I think you’ve been sufficiently warned about , so please do not jest in such manner. But to answer your question, the RoseJoys are the most influential FeyTribein Bigbad City. Their Home Base
Ashalina shuffled in to join them from the laundry room. The zombie seemed to have claimed that as their personal space. “Oh. That is a very silly place,” she stated flatly.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Zebryl turned a narrowed gaze toward her. “You will be staying here, Ashalina. Yarya has need of your, ah… company.” A hint of wickedness glinted in Zebryl’s eyes while his lips struggled not to smirk. “This is a task uniquely suited to the SkillsSeduction. Carouse
Robin turned back to his task. “What if I say no?”
Zebryl laughed lightly. “Oh, I don’t think that will be your response.” Zebryl’s hand slipped inside Robin’s red Santa shorts fast as an asp. He took hold of Robin’s junk while leaning in to nibble lightly at one ear lobe. Robin couldn’t help his hardening response despite wanting to be left alone.
ZEBRYL’s RESULTS: QUALITY = 43
PRE d12 + d10 = 11 + 1
Seduction d12 = 11
Seduction d12 = 8
Seduction d10 = 10
Seduction d8 = 2
ROBIN’s RESULTS: QUALITY = 14
WLP d10 = 6
Mood [butt hurt], BOH [imped] d8 = 8
me so fast I can’t mount a defense. For some reason, he had been granted use of one of his BohdiWillpowerSeduction
Zebryl’s extreme skill and pumped up PresenceBohdiFrigid Lover Impediment
“Fine, I’ll go with you,” Robin acquiesced, not entirely of his own volition.
The door bell rang.
Zebryl did not stop stroking. “Who could that be?”
“It’s probably the delivery service dropping off the outfits I ordered from Betty’s online account,” Robin admitted.
“New clothing,” the incubus intoned. “How droll.” His face descended into Robin’s lap.
Ashalina was already heading for the front door. Robin suddenly remembered the wards of protection. “Don’t forget to say — ‘No Knock Knock’ — before you open the door, Ashalina. Otherwise it’ll blow up.”
She didn’t respond, or he couldn’t hear her voice over the incubus’s eager cock-slobbering, but there was no explosion. A couple minutes later she shambled back into the living room with a large brown box balanced easily in one palm. “It is addressed to Robin Bennett.”
Mindful of the devil’s fangs, Robin carefully pried Zebryl’s head out of his crotch and stood up adjusting his shorts as best he could to hide everything. Ashalina appeared oblivious to the open air blow job.
“Well, at least we know she can read,” Zebryl remarked acerbically.
Robin hit him on the arm. “Hey, be nice. What made you think she couldn’t? Thank you, Ashalina.” He took the box from her and almost dropped it. It must weigh fifteen pounds and the zombie was holding it out like a sheet paper!
Zebryl shrugged. “She’s so gloppy, I presumed her brain was little more than pudding.”
“I was a physicist for NASA,” Ashalina stated simply.
Robin shoved the box in a corner to be opened later. “You mean, you were an actual rocket scientist? Like on Earth?”
Ashalina nodded. “Yes. I designed booster engines.”
“That is so cool.” Robin was genuinely impressed. He was also delighted to learn she was from home. Home meaning Earth, even if it was Texas, or maybe Florida. She was a fellow Earther. He suddenly felt ever so slightly less alone. He had so many questions he fired off a rapid series of them, “How did you die? Was it here or back home? How come you’re not part of Clan Mystichere and got revivified by Clan Undead
Ashalina appeared unperturbed by his scatter-shot inquisition. She stood still as always. “The last thing I remember was teenagers visiting the Houston control room. There was a disturbance of some sort. I swore I heard the word ‘vampire’ mentioned. Then I was here, in an office supply closet.”
Zebryl took Robin by one hand and started pulling him toward the garage. “You can query her later, my dear. You and I should get going if we hope to accomplish anything with the day.”
? ? ? ? ?
The fairgrounds proved to be a metropolis-scale playground of vibrant colors, wondrous architecture, indulgent behavior and outright sin. It was like Vegas, Disney World and the S?o Paolo Botanical Gardens all got smooshed together in one place. Horse-drawn chariots carted attendees from the the parking lot and train station onto the grounds proper with near Cinderalla-at-the-ball spectacle. Robin felt ridiculous in his well-used Santa vest and shorts. At least they were clean and the kid’s puke stain and multiple soakings of blood were long laundered from it.
Strikingly, Robin noticed a particular lack of children on the premises.
As they were deposited at the front gates festooned in what must be literal tons of flowers, vines and green-growing things, Zebryl took his hand in a possessive gesture. He was no longer compelled by the incubus’s Seduction,
Zebryl pointed out some of his favorite shops as they strolled casually down tree-lined avenues. It wasn’t overly crowded but there were certainly hundreds upon hundreds of beige, taupe and ecru folk of all shapes and sizes partaking in the festivities. The FeyFolkPlayer’s
Zebryl leaned in to speak quietly, “One thing to remember, my dear. Do not accept any sort of invitation from a Fey
Robin nodded. Everything certainly looked enticing. Food carts and pastry shops all exuded food smells strong enough to remind Robin he had not eaten human cuisine in weeks. His stomach gurgled and his mouth watered, but he knew it was all pointless as he no longer needed that sort of sustenance.
They saw gambling parlors with cheering gamers as dice rolled lucky 7s and loudly weeping losers as cards drew failed poker hands. There were cushioned dens filled with lounging nearly catatonic smokers. Fanciful, colorful clouds of mystical hookah smoke got blown out numb lips in wild shapes and patterns. They saw gluttonous eating contests. They saw writhing mounds of beige flesh cuddled together in grassy, recessed, sex pits; the moans and cries of animalistic rutting a hedonistic soundtrack Robin knew all too well from bathhouses.
Zebryl’s arm slid across Robin’s shoulders in a conspiratorial manner. “I think we should go to the Fashion Garden. You’ll love it. A most dashing pixie is master of the catwalk and I suspect he’ll be delighted to spruce up your attire.”
The smell of sweet cinnamon buns filled his nostrils. The scent was so overwhelming, Robin ducked out of the devil’s embrace to swiftly walk to a small cart. It was run by an adorable girlFairy with golden hair and gossamer insect wings.
“What may I serve you this lovely day, friend?” she asked in a sweet country drawl. Her wings buzzed daintily with the sound of summer insects flitting across tall prairie grass. Her hair had intricately-woven adornments made with wheat stalks. Her cart was laden with all sorts of pastries but Robin’s gaze fell directly on the gooey cinnamon rolls wound as tight as a Princess Leia hairdo.
Robin pointed eagerly, “I’ll have one of those. Uh…, how much does it cost?”
“Ah, ah, ah —“ Zebryl slapped Robin’s outstretched hand away. “I warned you about accepting things from their kind, Robin.”
The fairy smiled innocently. “Oh, it’s no bother, sweetie. Now don’t go gettin’ your horns all a-twisted Mister Infernal. This kind young man is just about to sample my succulent buns. Free of charge, of course. But only for first-timers.”
Robin defiantly snatched the proffered cinnamon roll before Zebryl could stop him. “Come on, Zeb. Really. It’s all fine. I asked for it.. the roll… not her buns.”
Zebryl looked unconvinced but let it slide even when he saw a hint of green Resolve
Robin took a hurried bite. The dough was expertly cooked, perfectly warm — not hot — and had just the right amount of icing to make it sweet but not cloying on the tongue. As cinnamon suffused his taste buds Robin though he might faint. He’d started to forget what real food actually tasted like. Man had he missed it.
Zebryl gently started to usher Robin away from the cart. “Thank you. I’m afraid we failed to catch your name Miss Pryad…,”
“Oh, no bother, Mister Incubus,” she intoned politely. “My name is Hlownette. Pleased to meet you two.”
Zebryl gave a slight bow. “I am glad we are in agreement, Hlownette. My name is Zebryl.”
The fairy smiled charmingly as she rearranged a plate of cupcakes. “Oh, I agree to nothing, Mister Zebryl. I hope you enjoy your time here. Have a golden day.”
“Though I take none of your scrumptious offerings, Miss Hlownette," the devil called adroitly as he pulled Robin along, “I am pleased to meet you as well.”
Robin jammed the last of the pastry into his mouth and swallowed. He wondered at that odd exchange between the two supernatural creatures. By the time they rounded a bend in the garden path the flavors had already evaporated from his mouth. He found himself craving another, if for no reason but to feel saturated in taste again.
Zebryl smiled knowingly as they took a seat on a bench next to a small pond. “I take it you’ve learned your lesson.”
Robin screwed up his face in confusion. “What do you mean? What lesson?”
“The taste of the fey treat has already evaporated, has it not?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Robin admitted, reluctantly. “My stomach feels just as numb as always, though I think it’s making me fat.” He pulled at his red vest wishing the cheap fabric had even a hint of stretch to it.
Zebryl eyed Robin hungrily. “Oh, it is not fat, my love. Take a look at your reflection in the water.”
Robin stood up and looked. There wasn’t even a hint of breeze so the surface of the pond was glassy. Robin gasped. “Holy shit, I’m buff!” Sure enough, his muscles had bulked out like a fitness model’s. “I’ve always been too slim of frame to get ripped like this. Even in my twenties I never achieved anything close.” He flexed, posed and marveled at his new physique. He looked like every generic gay porn hottie he had ever seen. “What was in that cinnamon roll?”
Zebryl snorted. “I believe the stemFey call them BeefcakeCakes
The incubus joined Robin in leaning over the pond. He put his arm across Robin’s newly en-biggened shoulders. “How about we go get you a new outfit, something that flatters your new frame?”
“Sure.” Robin couldn’t stop squeezing his own biceps and swole pectorals as they sauntered away.