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eruden-writes · 2 years

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Room & Board - Part 6 (Tabaeus x Reader)

Anon submitted this prompt: For the prompt submissions a vampire that feels guilty after feeding/attacking someone so they leave obscenely valuable ancient artifacts as payment/an apology?

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x x x x x

Together, you and Tabaeus make a list of preferences in a house. It takes the better part of two days to get the bulk of it - and the reasons behind the wants - solidified in your head.

A finished basement and an easy to board-up attic, which would give Tabaeus options for their own room.

Two or more bedrooms. At least one for yourself and an office, you decided. Perhaps an extra bedroom for a roommate, if that ever became a possibility.

Two or more bathrooms, a necessity for any multi-person living situation.

A garage, preferably with a workshop, since homeownership meant upkeep. Plus, you might need a place to hew some wooden stakes.

Hardwood floors, for ease of clean-up. Especially if blood was involved.

Perhaps a garden, ideally a greenhouse. You always wanted to grow fruits and vegetables. Plus, the more you read of vampires, the more you realized there were herbs you could use for protection.

As you work on the list, new concerns cropped up. Mainly, what records you may need for Tabaeus. Birth certificate? Proof of citizenship? A bank account?

These are the worries swirling around your brain as you stand at your job. You decided not to call off for the third day in a row. Even if Tabaeus had enough valuable trinkets to make you a billionaire, you figure it’s best to keep working for now. Who knew what would draw suspicion your way?

So you stood, cleaning the counters after the main dinner rush of the Milk King Lemon Jollies at North Plaza Mall. You stare blankly at the perpetually sticky counter as you move the damp rag around, concerns about house hunting swarming your thoughts.

It’s quiet now, with your previous mob of customers sated with sweets and meats. Some still linger around the food court, munching away. The ice cream machinery and refrigeration hums around you as the hotdog cooker clicks and clacks and rolls the fresh hissing wieners. The ambient sound of the food court chatter draws you further into your head.

“Excuse me? Hello?” An irritable voice finally cuts through your fog and you jerk to attention.

Blinking away your worries, your best customer service smile stretches over your lips as you turn to face the potential patron standing in front of the registers. As you approach them, your tone is no less fake as your farce of a smile. “Oh, I’m sorry! What can I get for you?”

“Finally, I’ve been standing here for fifteen minutes!” Liar, you think, knowing that - despite your distraction - you always make a habit of checking for customers every few minutes. On the person’s chest, you notice a name tag from one of the more ritzy boutiques from down the road. Somewhere that caters to more obscenely wealthy clientele.

You only vaguely register the she/her under the customer’s name, before your attention is dragged back to her face by her snapping fingers. “Pay attention! My goodness, I know this is a minimum wage job, but do better!”

To your credit, your smile doesn’t falter. “Your order?”

“Yeeaaaah,” drawls the woman, turning her eyes to the lighted menu board hanging overhead. You sourly think she does not sound like someone who has been pondering their order for fifteen minutes. She points her finger, tipped in a long sharp nail, at the menu. “Can I get a sample of the slushie?”

“I’m sorry, but we don’t give samples of the slushie,” you answer, apologetically. Your cheeks hurt from how much you’ve turned the sweetness up on your smile. You brace for the customer’s aggravation, as you always do when you cannot comply with a request.

No amount of sweet smiling can save you as the customer turns an icy look to your face. “Excuse me?”

“We have no measurement for sample sizes, other than samples for the Lemon Jollies,” you explain, indicating the blenders of pre-prepared drinks in a cooler between the registers. “I can get you a sample of one of these. Our new passionfruit flavor is really good!”

“I want a sample of the slushie.” Each word is said slowly and harshly, as if you’re simply lacking comprehension. She makes a sharp motion with her hand, indicating the slushie machine, as she moves her head in a derisive manner. “Figure it out.”

Your customer service smile falters. Months ago, when someone else had requested a free sample of the slushie, you happened to be working with the owner of this franchise. Now, you leaned into the excuse they had told the previous customer, “Ma’am, the syrup is too expensive to give free samples.”

“Look here,” she says as she stomps her foot. Her hands slam on the counter as she leans toward you. It’s only then that you notice there’s another person in line behind her. “I am the customer and the customer is always right!”

“Ma’am, a line is beginning to form behind you.” Your words come out brittle and your smile is not as sunny as it had been earlier. Frantically, your brain scrambles for a way to smooth over the situation, but - unless she orders something - there’s really nothing left of this transaction. “If you don’t want a sample of the Lemon Jollies or you need more time to decide, please step aside so I can help other customers until you’re ready.”

“I was here first!” By now, her tantrum has reached the breaking voice stage. You close your eyes and breathe through your nose, wondering if threatening to call security will aide this situation or not. She’s undeterred by your reaction though, as her words barrel forth, “This treatment is unacceptable. Where is your-”

Before she could finish the dreadful phrase, the customer behind her steps forward and lays a hand on her shoulder. “Pardon the intrusion, but what is the problem?”

Something in your guts flip, realizing the waiting customer is Tabaeus. You didn’t even realize. They’re wearing high-waisted black slacks, with a long-sleeved teal shirt tucked into the belted waist. Over it all, they wear that familiar trench coat. Sunglasses perch on their nose and a black beanie sits snug against their head, hiding the points of their ears from view. Vaguely, you note they’re even wearing the silver cursive ‘T’ necklace that had caught their eye at All Mart.

You’re brought back to the current situation as the customer makes a sharp movement at you. She has half-turned toward Tabaeus, presuming they were a fellow sympathetic party. “This minimum wage worker isn’t serving me!”

“Ah, I see,” Tabaeus simply smiles, standing at ease with their hands in their pockets. They tilt their head toward you, their red eyes peering over the sunglasses. “Should I take care of this annoyance for you?”

“How kind of you but-” The woman titters, before realizing Tabaeus is speaking to you. About her. At once, her back straightens and outrage has her hissing, “Excuse me!”

“Oh, yes, excuse you.” You barely catch the flashy glow of Tabaeus’s red eyes as they turn back to the woman. Tabaeus lifts their sunglasses up and you certainly see how the customer’s eyes widen, consciousness fading into a daze. Tabaeus leans closer to her, their voice dropping to a firm whisper, “Perhaps a dip will cool off your heated attitude.”

A too-wide smile spreads over the woman’s lips, her gaze remaining disconcertingly blank. Her voice is breathy and soft as stilted words leave her mouth, “That sounds wonderful.”

In silence, you watch her toddle off - a little wobbly on her feet - toward the main thoroughfare of the mall. You’re still trying to process what just happened.

Returning their glasses to the appropriate place on their nose, Tabaeus turns back to you. “Other than her, how has your shift gone?”

“What did you do to her?” Your head snaps toward them, your voice low and hushed so no one else in the food court can hear. Though, it seems no one has taken any notice.

Tabaeus cringes behind their sunglasses, a lopsided grin tilting at their lips. Their little shrug has your stomach dropping, even as they mumble, “Hypnotism?”

“Is that your answer?” Your eyes narrow and Tabaeus squirms under your critical look. “Or are you guessing?”

Tabaeus makes a sound, as if they’re not entirely sure themselves. “She was causing you obvious distress, so I just… did something?”

With a groan, you drag a hand down your face, refraining the urge to lay your face on the counter. You are at work. Your dirty little secret of a vampire is standing at the register. The shift is only half over. Your coworker is due back at any second.

Faintly, you hear a splash far off in the distance, followed by the shrill whistle of Mall Cop Roy. A further, rather wet sounding, commotion ensues and you watch as mall patrons drift toward the scuffle.

You add ‘your dirty little secret of a vampire hypnotized a rude customer into jumping into the mall fountain’ to your growing list of stressors. Though you doubt much will come of that one. Unless there’s a vampire lurking in North Plaza Mall, but what are the chances of that?

“I apologize for my appearance,” Tabaeus mumbles, leaning against the counter as your drop your hand from your face and look up at them. “I found myself missing you.”

Warm fluttering feelings tickle in your chest, but you clamp down on them. As strangely comfortable as you’ve grown to the vampire in a short amount of time, you want to keep a level head around them. “Missing me or my blood?”

“What do you take me for? Of course, I missed you.” Tabaeus frowns, though there’s an amount of pout in it that makes it playful. It doesn’t take them long to tilt their head to the side, a considering look glinting in their eye as their voice drops to a suggestive hush, “But if you are offering a nip, I certainly will not decline.”

“Tabaeus,” you sigh and move away from the counter, deciding to at least pretend to work by restocking cups and lids. As you’re doing so, Tabaeus follows you along the perimeter of the counter. Unable to ignore them, you airily ask, “How did you even get here?”

“The locomotive you took me on last time,” answers Tabaeus a with single-shouldered shrug. You should have known the vampire would remember the subway. And the fact they’ve fed on you multiple times would likely explain how they knew to come to the mall. “I sat next to an intriguing fellow that had a fretfully adorable weasel in his pocket.”

You stop in restocking the large cups and shoot Tabaeus a look. Judging from their unfazed demeanor, there was no innuendo in their strange words. However, your voice still sounds uncertain as you guess, “A ferret?”

“Yes! That is what he called it.” The vampire points at you and flashes a brilliant smile, as if they’d been searching for a particular word and you promptly gave it to them. “He offered to sell it to me.”

That causes you to turn abruptly back to Tabaeus, your stomach dropping. “Please, tell me you didn’t take it.”

“Of course not.” Tabaeus chuckles, apparently amused by your stricken expression.

“Thank goodness,” you breathe in relief and move on to refreshing the straws. You aren’t even sure what your current rental’s policy is when it came to pets. Animals were expensive to take care of and, besides, you knew nothing about ferrets. What did they even eat?

Your relief is short-lived as Tabaeus reaches into an inner pocket of their trench coat. “Although, I did acquire these little ones.”

In horror, you slowly turn to view whatever it is Tabaeus holds in their long-fingered hands. It’s a pouch. You press your lips together in a thin line, eyeing the bag and hoping it won’t move.

Of course, something in it stirs. As Tabaeus loosens the pouch’s strings, you hesitantly peer into the recesses. Two small furry things, with eyes like glass beads, stare back at you. One is a dark, almost black, grey while the other is lighter with stripes of brown.

Without thought, you lean over the counter and grab Tabaeus’s coat in two hands, dragging their face closer to yours. They oblige you, leaning forward with a curious look as you hiss, “Tabaeus, you don’t buy sugar gliders from some rando on the subway!”

“Why ever not?” Sincere confusion crosses Tabaeus’s face. They really have no idea why you don’t just buy random stuff from people you cross paths with. Faintly, you wonder how Tabaeus even bought the sugar gliders to begin with. You didn’t think they had any hard cash on them.

“You don’t know what’s wrong with them!” You look down at the little pouch, containing the little creatures. They’re still staring up at you with their glassy eyes, “They could be super sick or stolen or something!”

“They said they were-” Before Tabaeus could finish their statement, they get distracted. Their attention turns from your face to something behind you.

Briefly, you think they’re trying to trick you or even think of an adequate answer. Until a voice from behind you says, “What’s going on here?”

A cold chill rushes down your spine. You completely forgot where you were, the uniform you’re wearing, the setting. How it would look for an employee to grasp onto a potential customer’s jacket, hissing at them, as said customer held out a little pouch. Any outsider looking at the scenario would either assume you were accosting Tabaeus or they were trying to deal you drugs.

On top of all that, you completely forgot your co-worker today was due back from their lunch.

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