"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."