Iván’s grin was from ear to ear. If anyone who was well-versed in emojis could see that grin, it would’ve reminded them of that one emoji that involved a colon and a greater than sign. Like this “:>” or something.
He clutched his machete dearly as the Yladian consented to getting an arm chopped off. Technically. In more traditional views, puncturing someone’s arm or whatever body part using their two fangs before sipping all that juicy, satiating, refreshing red liquid that was essentially that someone’s life force was enough. To Iván, however, who was more about efficiency than traditions, chopping someone’s arm off and using a bucket to get all that sweet, sweet blood was smarter. It would be faster and it would ensure his own sustenance for days, weeks, maybe even months.
“You know, you’re really cool for doing this,” Iván mused as he held the Yladian’s arm with one hand, the other with the machete up in the air, ready for the chopping. He was almost drooling now, really hungry, starving even.
“Not a lot of people would be cool with this.”
Iván stared at the Yladian one last time before swiftly taking the machete down from up in the air in a slicing, cleaving motion. Any second now, the Yladian’s arm would be chopped off, blood pouring from out of it like water from a leaky faucet. But it didn’t. It wasn’t. The blade of the machete was just an inch away from the Yladian’s skin, its coldness could’ve been felt by the still-attached arm.
Vlad darn it, I forgot the bucket.
“Hey, uhm, weird question: Do you have a bucket?”
@Brant Dugal
