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Hysteria

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Books were like gasoline, you either loved the sawdust smell or thought it was more akin to an old women's attic. There's always those two types of people, but rarely did one mix as Evelyn did. Punk garb from head to two, a vanilla bean latte in one hand and some unknown poetry book in the other.

 

It was in these moments the woman was able to be most herself, secluded in her little corner and diving into a world so unlike this one. A small smirk graced her lips as she turned the page, so enraptured in the writers' words that she didn't notice the shadow from the corner of her peripherals.

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Guest Nicholas Blake

"Maya Angelou," said a voice above her. A young man--or, well, young looking--smiled down at her. He looked like a generally put-together person. His hair was neat, his clothes unrumpled underneath his long black coat. "I love her work. It's funny, most people have never heard of her." The statement wasn't a lie, but he had other reasons for approaching her. He'd been keeping an eye on Liz since he'd arrived, and he recognized this girl as one of his sire's blood dolls. Being the man he was, he ironically felt responsible for Liz's actions and felt compelled to help this girl if he could.

 

Evelyn Marx

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Evelyn's body sprang into action much faster than her brain usually did, fingers tearing at the pages as she tried to keep her nerves at bay. If the man hadn't kept such a friendly tone she probably would have thrown it at him...lucky for her, he also didn't seem to be sporting any fangs. None that her eyes noticed, anyway.

 

"Y-yeah..." she muttered, trying to laugh off her hammering heart as she unfurled the pages. It's a good thing she bought the book beforehand. "She got more popular after she passed, but few folks' seem to admire her work."

 

Wait, why was he talking about a dead author with her? Nobody talked to her unless they wanted something. Pessimistic the thought may be, she went with it and asked anyway, "Did ya need something or...?"

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