“It’s not a cult,” Snod defended. “It’s a sacred order that was founded hundreds of years ago, charged
with a—”
“Holy mission from God to kill vampires, blah, blah, blah. Got it,” the vampire scoffed. “Wow.
They’ve really got you brainwashed bad, huh?”
“Fuck you.”
“No, seriously. You can’t get laid and you spend all of your time trying to kill vampires. What the
crap do you do for fun? Punch old ladies? Kick puppies?”
“Is this your plan? To keep talking incessantly until I beg you to drain me dry?” Snod groaned lightly.
“Just trying to be friendly,” the vampire protested, “since we’ll probably be down here for a while.”
“Can’t you... call someone?”
“Already told you, I lost my phone.”
“Not on your phone,” Snod snorted. “You don’t have anyone you can summon?”
“No,” the vampire said, finally understanding what Snod meant. “I don’t have any children to
summon. And my Maker will not come even if I tried. Trust me, you wouldn’t want him to anyway.”
“You’ve never turned anyone?” Snod was genuinely surprised. “Thought you things couldn’t help
yourselves.”
“No,” the vampire replied quietly, fiddling with the broken glasses. “Most of us ‘things’ take turning
someone very seriously.”
“So. You have no progeny, and you’re refusing to summon your Maker.”
“If he actually came, he’d kill you on sight,” the vampire said simply. “He doesn’t like humans very
much. You’re just food to him.”
“Aren’t we?”
“I don’t think so,” the vampire replied earnestly. “We’re not all monsters, Obadiah.”
“Don’t call me that,” Snod growled.
“Fine, shit... forget it.”
“What?”
The vampire didn’t respond, his eyes cast down at the bent frame in his hands.
Long moments of silence passed before Snod spoke again. “Why do you wear glasses?”
“I used to,” the vampire said, looking up at Snod with a little smile. “When I was human, I mean.
Obviously don’t need them now. Sort of a habit, I suppose.”
