in Night City you can be cum

The first 3 books of The Iliad is just the ancient Greek version of desperate house wives

Come beat my characters up!  https://artfight.net/~LeftHandBlu

Lobster, caviar, Black Forest cake, all these things Victoria had thought fondly of the last two nights. Right now, however, she craved nothing more then a double quarter pounder from the local macca’s and maybe - if she was lucky enough - a hot fudge sundae if the ice cream machine wasn’t ‘down for cleaning’.

Her sire sighs quietly beside her as she heaves yet another goblet of blood up and into the bucket she cradles. Casimir corks the bottle before the liquid inside can start oxidising and places it into the ever growing “no” pile. It is a frustrating process, if not an altogether dangerous one.

Finding a young Ventrue’s particular poison was believed to be one of the clans first right of passage. A testament to their willpower and fortitude. A way to weed out the weak. After 2 weeks of feasting in vain and the desperate imbibing of her sire’s vitae, Victoria understood why.

Pulling her head from that cursed bucket Victoria eyes the man sitting beside her with a tired scowl. Her teeth and lips stained a brackish red. Each new glass he placed before her a more torturous experience then the last. Some she could tell were not for her by stench alone, others would have to hit her tongue with their putrid taste before her body would reject them. It was akin to the worlds worst wine tasting tour. Her husband and sommelier would describe the kine she would be tasting - age, history, region - and then she was encouraged with gentle words and gentle hands to swallow sludge.

Surprisingly, she found they all tasted of distinctly different horrors. The blond-brown eyed beauties her sire could stomach tasted of rancid meat and filled her nose with the stench of burning flesh - like she had been dining on herself. Whereas another local Ventrue’s- one who oversaw the local universities after hours library shift - taste for soon to be barred lawyers had reminded her of those pictures of penguins covered in oil after a spill. Clinging and slimy and foul smelling all at once.

She was grateful, to some extent, for Casimir’s connections. Supplying the local blue blood population with bespoke tainted ‘wine’ from his vineyards gave him the distinct advantage of having a wide swath of options for her to try without the need for hunting. But really…it was getting to a point that the fledgeling was lamenting the loss of fast food.

“That’s it. No more tonight. The body was not meant to endure five stomach pumps in a row.” She groaned, clearly displeased and exhausted after another night without progress.

Casimir smiled in the deeply sympathetic way a parent does to their sickly child when they wont drink their cough medicine. In other words, it didn’t quite reach his eyes. A gloved hand rubbing soothing circles across her back.

“I take no pleasure in this, my dear. But it is imperative that we find your vintage post haste.” Casimir’s eyes flick between his shuddering partner, the rejected collection of vitae and the small crate of bottles he intended to get through tonight. It would appear that the family man with the perfect wife, job and home had really done a number on poor Victoria. Perhaps then…something on the opposite spectrum. “Just one more tonight and then we will cut our loses.”

Victoria’s grunt in response is not as agreeable.

This time her sire reaches for a bottle with a different label. Older branding, thicker bottle, a little dusty round the top. Casimir explains he’d mentioned their little “issue” to the bartender at his preferred Elysium. She’d fished out an old bottle who’s owner had no use for it any longer and handed it off as a last ditch effort. He pops the cork with practised ease and pours just a sip of spiked vitae into a fresh glass. It’s almost black with age and, to Victoria’s nose, smells vaguely of…dark chocolate strawberries?

Having something so pleasant smelling after so many failures worries the fledgling in its own special way. Sleeper agent. This one would sting the most she thinks as she eyes the liquid warily.

“43, stay at home mother from Virginia.”

Victoria knocks back the drink.

“Brunette, high school graduate, owned a blue SUV.”

The vitae sits on her tongue and doesn’t taste like fire and brimstone.

“No notable people in her lineage, no history of disease.”

There is no burn as it washes down her throat, only a pleasant warmth and a growing hunger.

Victoria seizes the bottle from Casimir’s grip and brings it to her lips before he has the change to stop her. The ever present gnawing hunger eases just a bit. She feels fuller then she has in years as the bottle is tipped so far back it points at the ceiling. Satisfied and yet craving more. Casimir, though far out of Victoria’s view, blinks owlishly once before breathing a sigh of relief.

The empty bottle is placed gingerly back upon their coffee table away from the others. The fledgling sheepishly sucking her teeth after such an embarrassing sight.

“S-so…nothing on that list seemed…that unique.”

Casimir blew a single laugh from his nose and offered her his handkerchief.

“She was sleeping with her neighbour.”