Who: Claudia and (open)
Where: A city building rooftop
When: The witching hour
Rating: TBA

Pop. Another champagne grape burst satisfyingly between Claudia's deft fingertips, the round pustule swollen with sweet smelling juices now cracked and oozing between her polished nails. The cellophane bag rested between her legs, crossed Indian style under the full length, Bohemian sundress she had selected for this hazy summer night. Chilled orbs pressed against her thighs, she hunched over, plucking another from the bunch. Pop. Smiling serenely, she flicked the remains over the edge of the rooftop, down into the dank depths of the city. With her flax golden curls wild and untamed, she looked more like a flower child like a Child of Darkness. Except, perhaps, for the unlit cigarette that hung from her lower lip. She relished the smokey taste they gave to her victims, so she had bought a pack with her grapes. Intending to light it, her hands shook so badly while attempting to strike the match that she abandoned the effort and instead sucked on it, like a piece of toxic candy.

The city's night scape was full of the beckoning neon lights that held many immortals rapt, but Claudia saw nothing of this, save their reflection in the tiny droplets of water that trembled and shone on the fruit. She was weary of this place, of this time. It was not uncommon for her kind to grow nostalgic of eras past, but there was no golden age Claudia longed for. Such an empty feeling, to detest both where one came from and where one is at the present. Empty, unlike the taut flesh of grapes, unlike the paper coated tobacco that rested against her tongue, unlike the city that swarmed below her.