The Hot Mess Collective, Ch 1: Fold Night

Nori needs a drink, a date, and a killer podcast deal. But first, what's a vampire to wear? Enter the Navel for a night where magic meets modern mess.

Disclaimer: This story has adult elements, including intimacy.

Nori hated dressing up as much as she loved it. So many choices, so little time.

And her apartment was a mess too, which made her feel a bit guilty and like a teenage cliché. But the feeling passed quickly enough since Nori knew what it meant to prioritize.

Right now, it was hard enough deciding if she should try to impress with something classy or turn heads by showing skin.

Or showing fangs. She was going to the Navel, and the Navel was a Foldfolk exclusive bar, so she had that advantage at least.

But would anybody really notice her fangs if she didn't show any other flesh? And she was going there to just meet friends, after all. Who knew if there would be any delectable men (or women) she could lure back home?

So many factors, not least among them the humidity outside.

What to do...

Screw it. She yanked a black silk slip dress from its hanger, the kind that looked deceptively simple until you noticed the lace inset running strategically down one side. Classy and skin. Compromise achieved. She paired it with strappy heels that were probably a mistake given the walk to the station, but vanity won out tonight.

A quick glance in the mirror confirmed the look worked. Fangs barely visible unless she smiled wide, which she wasn't planning on doing much unless absolutely necessary. Before grabbing her clutch, she fished her wallet out of yesterday’s bag and checked for the laminated card nestled beside her driver’s license. The “No Affiliation” badge, Fold-issued, dull grey, and utterly necessary for getting into places like the Navel without proving fealty to one court or another. Independence had its price, and sometimes that price was bureaucracy.

Her phone buzzed on the cluttered vanity. A quick glance showed two missed messages from ‘Mom’. Nori swiped the notification away without opening it. She knew exactly what it would say. Some variation of ‘Just checking in, Ammu. Have you met anyone nice? That lovely doctor Ahmed asked about you.’ Translation: Find a nice, respectable, human boy already. Preferably halal. As if. Nori loved her mother, but the gulf between their worlds sometimes felt wider than the Fold itself.

One last check before heading out. She pulled up her blog – ‘Midnight Musings from the Undercity’ – on her phone. Mostly fashion commentary, bar reviews, and the occasional rant about Fold politics, carefully anonymized. A new comment popped under her latest post about navigating the Court of Shadows’ notoriously bad transit system. ‘slutpire’. Charming. With a practiced flick of her thumb, she deleted it and blocked the user. Haters gonna hate, trolls gonna troll. And vampires gonna need a drink. She slipped the phone into her tiny clutch, grabbed her keys, and headed for the door, the click of her heels echoing faintly in the messy apartment.

***

The walk from the station was predictably sticky, the city air thick with the promise of a summer storm, but the entrance to the Navel was a welcome pocket of cool anonymity tucked between a perpetually closed laundromat and a pawn shop promising 'Cash for Curses'. Nori flashed her No Affiliation card to the heavy oak door, which shimmered momentarily before swinging inward with a silent, weighty grace.

Inside, the air thrummed with a gentle enchantment that vibrated against her teeth. Soft, multi-hued lights floated like captured will-o'-wisps, casting shifting patterns on dark wood panels and velvet booths. Each light carried a subtle spell: one near the entrance offered calm, another at the back booths encouraged whispered secrets. The ambient noise was a low murmur over the almost subsonic hum of contained magic, like stepping into a secret beneath the city’s skin.

Most patrons formed small groups, their humanoid shapes tinged with an aura of power. A Fae with color-shifting eyes conversed with someone whose shadow appeared too deep. In the corner, a man Nori vaguely recognized from a minor Court event sipped a drink, his nails resembling polished obsidian. The truly bizarre preferred deeper places; the Navel attracted Foldfolk who could or chose to blend with the human world. Surface dwellers might overlook its entrance, but for those aware, it was a sanctuary.

She scanned the room. No sign of the others yet. Early, as usual. Her internal clock, perpetually set to ‘vampire standard time’, often clashed with her friends’ more flexible schedules. She slid onto a stool at the polished counter, the dark, cool stone smooth beneath her fingertips.

Behind the bar, meticulous and silent, stood Bart. He wasn't constructed of flesh and bone, but of smooth, grey river stones bound together by barely visible seams of glowing blue energy. His movements were precise, economical, lacking the wasted gestures of a human bartender. Two small, steady blue lights served as eyes, regarding her calmly from a featureless stone face.

"Evening, Bart," Nori said, resting her clutch on the bar top.

Bart inclined his head a fraction of an inch, the only greeting he ever offered. His voice, when he spoke, was like gravel tumbling down a hillside, magically smoothed just enough for comprehension. "Usual?"

"Please," Nori smiled faintly, a hint of fang showing. "Blood Spritz. And hold the melodrama tonight."

Bart turned, already reaching for a chilled coupe glass and the distinctive, deep-red bottle kept under the counter. The low hum of magic in the room seemed to deepen slightly as he worked, a quiet symphony accompanying the creation of her drink.

He placed the finished drink before her – a delicate crimson gradient fading to clear at the rim, garnished with a sliver of something dark and crystalline that pulsed faintly. Nori took a slow sip, the cool, metallic tang sharp and invigorating against her tongue. Perfect.

A flicker of movement near the entrance caught her eye. Sayo glided in, a vision in charcoal grey silk tailoring that probably cost more than Nori's entire wardrobe. Their sharp features were composed, almost mask-like, but their dark eyes, carrying the unmistakable glint of old magic and mischief, scanned the room with assessing speed before landing on Nori. They offered a precise, small smile that didn't quite reach those watchful eyes and approached the bar.

"Fashionably late, or am I just tragically early, darling?" Sayo murmured, their voice smooth as the silk they wore. They slid onto the adjacent stool, arranging themself with deliberate grace. One perfectly shaped eyebrow arched.

"Never tragically, Sayo," Nori countered, taking another sip. "Just suspiciously on time."

Sayo gave a low chuckle, a sound like rustling leaves. "Some of us value preparedness." They gestured subtly to Bart, who nodded and began assembling a drink involving clear spirits and what looked like pickled ginger.

Before Sayo's drink was ready, the heavy door swung open again, admitting a gust of humid air and Maeve. She pushed damp, copper-coloured curls off her forehead, her oversized, faded band t-shirt clinging slightly. Layers of silver chains and thrift-store charms jangled as she slumped onto the stool on Nori's other side, looking thoroughly unimpressed with the world.

"Gods, it's like soup out there," she announced, her voice thick with a Dublin brogue layered over with Fold cynicism. "Nice dress, Nori. Trying to make us all look like we just rolled out of bed, or actually got someone specific in your sights tonight?"

"Why not both?" Nori grinned, finally showing a bit more fang.

"Ambitious," Maeve conceded dryly, waving a hand dismissively at Bart. "Whatever Sayo's having, but double it and make sure it burns."

Just as Bart set down Maeve's potent concoction, Imani appeared beside their small cluster at the bar. She hadn't seemed to walk through the door so much as simply materialize, a still point in the low thrum of the Navel. Dressed in flowing layers of deep blue and gold, she observed them all with large, luminous eyes that seemed to see more than the surface. Her serene expression was a calm lake, though Nori knew from experience that still waters ran deep, and occasionally, spectacularly combusted.

Imani offered a gentle nod that encompassed them all. "The wards outside are... agitated," she stated softly, her voice melodic but clear. "This storm feels like it's bringing more than just rain." Her gaze lingered for a moment on Nori, sharp and considering, before she turned to Bart. "Iced tea. Still."

Sayo tilted their head, intrigued. "More than rain? Go on."

Maeve groaned. "Oh, fantastic. Cryptic storm warnings from our resident mystic." She took a large gulp of her drink, wincing slightly. "Can we get five minutes of actual drinking in before the apocalypse, please?"

Nori laughed, feeling the familiar comfort of her mismatched friends settling around her. "Let's grab a booth before the drama queens descend." She picked up her Blood Spritz, the cool glass a welcome anchor. The night was young, the company was right, and whatever the storm brought, they'd face it together. Probably after another round.

The four of them moved to claim one of the darker booths, close to the back, where the murmurs of conversation were just soft enough to create a sense of privacy without sacrificing the background noise essential for any decent planning session or drunken confessional. The dim lighting cast deep shadows across their faces, hiding as much as it revealed. It was in places like these where secrets thrived.

Nori took her usual spot next to Maeve. As Imani joined them, the subtle ward Maeve always maintained around their group fizzled slightly, reacting to the different energy Imani carried. Imani glanced sharply at the interruption but relaxed almost instantly, a faint, apologetic smile crossing her lips as she recognized the familiar, if sometimes haphazard, aura of her friend’s protection.

Nori always appreciated little gestures like Maeve’s casual wards. She knew Imani didn't always like to use her magic, or her 'gift', which she often described as being both a blessing and a curse. There were times when Imani would join them for a quiet drink, her eyes heavy with fatigue from seeing too much, always too much. Those were the nights when they all knew better than to push, when they let the silence do its healing work.

"Same again?" Bart had followed them to the table, a silent, looming presence with his small, steady blue-light eyes watching closely.

"Actually," Nori mused, "let's mix it up. Copper Sunrise for me." Maeve chuckled beside her.

"The hangover express?" she teased.

"Takes more than one cocktail to scare me, Mav." Nori smirked, daring fate to challenge her resolve.

Imani raised a delicate brow at the exchange but chose to stick with her previous order. Bart confirmed their orders with a customary tilt of his stone head. As he departed to prepare their drinks, Imani's attention returned to her companions, lingering particularly on Nori as though something in the air was calling for her awareness.

"Alright, spill," Sayo said as Bart left, leaning forward with elbows propped elegantly on the dark wood. They surveyed the group with a mischievous glint. "What's the latest?"

"Only gossip I have is that I'm drowning in readings," Maeve grumbled into her glass, the liquid nearly halfway gone already. She made a face. "Being a student again apparently means no social life and permanently bad hair." With a huff, she pushed back the same rebellious strand that never seemed to stay in place.

"Poor Maeve," Nori shook her head in mock sadness. "Maybe you need an older, wiser influence? A professor, perhaps? One who could, you know, help you with your… academic pursuits." A wink accompanied this suggestion; everyone knew Nori's flirtations extended in multiple directions.

"Oh, gods, Nori, don't even start," Maeve muttered, taking another long swallow of her drink.

"Come on," Nori nudged her friend's shoulder playfully, her voice lowering into a conspiratorial whisper, "you can't tell me you haven't considered Professor Hanan, with those brooding eyes. Imagine him cornering you in the library stacks..."

"Nori, stop," Maeve tried to suppress a laugh, nearly choking on her drink. "He's ancient!"

"Distinguished!" Nori defended, fully committed to the role of wing-woman.

Imani cleared her throat delicately. "As... fascinating as this is, maybe we could change the subject?"

"Yes, please," Maeve agreed immediately, her cheeks pink whether from the booze, embarrassment, or both.

"Oh, I don't know, I was enjoying it," Sayo interjected smoothly, their eyes dancing with suppressed laughter. "It's been a while since we heard about Maeve's love life—or notable lack thereof."

Before the conversation could derail further, Bart arrived, his stone feet clicking quietly against the hardwood floor. He laid down a tray with their drinks: an icy pale brew with froth cascading over the brim for Maeve, a sparkling glass of iced tea for Imani, and for Nori, an iridescent orange potion swirling gently in an elaborate crystal decanter, topped by a thin slice of something translucent and blood red. Beside their respective glasses, small cards appeared out of thin air, listing prices. Maeve's was the most significant, reflecting the cost of both the booze and the magics woven into it.

"Cheers," Imani said lightly, clinking her iced tea against the other glasses as they lifted them up in unison. Her gaze seemed to catch on something distant for just a fraction of a second before she joined the rest in taking a sip.

Maeve couldn’t hide her curiosity anymore. "What even is that?" she asked Nori, gesturing toward the mysterious copper-orange potion with her glass.

"Don't ask," Nori replied flatly, a subtle crease appearing between her brows. "I keep trying these fancy blood cocktails because I get bored. They're always... a letdown." She took a careful sip and gave an involuntary shudder. "Still tastes too human. But, you know, it works."

Sayo's brow quirked up. "Well then, if we're done with beverage critiques, what about this storm Imani mentioned? Anything we should actually worry about?"

"Oh, relax," Nori said, swirling the liquid in her glass absentmindedly. "Honestly, the only storm I'm worried about is the one brewing on Gossamer Threads."

Maeve snorted. "Ugh, don't. Did you see Ellie Meadows's wedding feed?"

Sayo leaned back, a flicker of amusement in their eyes. "The Fae wedding? Impossible to miss. Every feed, every crystal. Heard the whole thing, including the groom's human relatives, was glamoured to high heaven."

Maeve rolled her eyes theatrically. "Humans playing Fae, Fae playing royalty. Rich people wasting money on glamour. And I still can't change my lipstick shade without getting a spell-migraine," she griped. "I'm with Nori – screw the courts, screw glamours. The illusion's usually not worth the cost, trust me."

"But the spread," Sayo said, undeterred.

Imani shook her head in silent disapproval, sipping her iced tea.

"Nah," Maeve deflected, "But I hear you can practically taste the money those pretentious sods bathe in just from looking at their feeds."

Imani, usually the calm voice of reason among their small group, sighed deeply, her delicate fingers tracing the rim of her glass. "What's the point of even talking about it? Unless one of us goes viral on GlimGlam or something, we're not exactly joining their little club. Our kind mostly stays in the shadows."

"She's not wrong," Sayo hummed, taking a deliberate sip of their drink.

"You've barely touched your drink, Imani," Nori pointed out with a sly grin, her fangs briefly flashing in the low light. "Careful. I might start thinking you don't like hanging out with us." Imani simply looked at her with an expression that seemed far too worldly for someone her age.

"Well," Imani responded, lifting her chin ever so slightly, "I've been thinking a lot about… faith, I guess." Her lips formed a faint, self-deprecating smile. "Mom’s so rigid, and all these new-agey groups feel so… hollow. All 'empowerment' mantras and not much substance. Maybe I’m just being cynical.” Her mouth pulled into a thin line as she eyed the others.

"It's good to question things," Nori shrugged, leaning comfortably against the plush upholstery of their booth.

"Yeah," Maeve chimed in. "There's a lot of crap out there. You'll figure it out."

"Just don't tell my aunt," Imani continued, looking around the shadowy corners of the bar nervously. "If she knew I was questioning the traditional ways, she’d probably ground my broomstick for a month to make sure I listened to her lectures."

"Oh please, hexing cars is so last decade," Maeve remarked. "Broomsticks, though, that's classic."

Sayo grinned as they eyed Nori, "Alright, Nori. Your turn. You’ve been quiet. Give us the dirt." Their eyes sparkled.

Nori swirled her drink slowly, a faint smile playing across her lips. "So, I've been thinking," she started, pausing for effect. "You know my 'Midnight Musings' blog? I want to take that energy and... make it louder." She leaned forward slightly, dropping her voice conspiratorially, though her eyes gleamed. "I'm starting a podcast."

Maeve choked on her drink. "A podcast? You? What's it gonna be, 'Fifty Shades of Fang'?"

Nori grinned wider, clearly enjoying the reaction. "Close! Think... sex, blood, and magic. Real talk." She took a triumphant sip of her Copper Sunrise, ignoring the slightly off metallic aftertaste. "I'm calling it 'Blood & Boundaries.' Pitched it to Cauldron Media yesterday – you know, the Fold-friendly network?"

Sayo's perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched again. "Cauldron Media? That's a big swing, darling. They're picky. What's the angle? Not just court gossip, I hope."

Maeve wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Shit, Nori. Cauldron? Are you trying to get famous or just piss off every magical authority figure out there?"

Imani looked genuinely worried, her large eyes searching Nori's face. "Nori... Cauldron Media? Is that... wise? Especially discussing... well, blood and magic so openly. Some things have boundaries for a reason."

"Exactly!" Nori tapped the rim of her glass. "Boundaries! That's the whole point. Who draws them, who enforces them, who gets hurt by them. It's part investigative, part... well, probably part me just being a pain in the ass." She shrugged, feigning nonchalance she didn't entirely feel. "Worst they can do is say no. Or send a little curse. Think of the ratings!"

Maeve groaned. "Only you would call a hex 'good for ratings'."

"It is good for ratings," Nori insisted. "Think of the buzz! Besides," she added, lowering her voice again, "it's not like I'll use my real name or show my face. Total anonymity. Like the blog, but I can interview people. Hidden mics at Court events, disguised voices spilling old secrets..."

"You're going to get yourself staked," Maeve stated flatly, but there was a grudging admiration in her tone. "Or worse, sued by some ancient Fae lawyer who’s literally seen centuries."

"Minor details," Nori waved a dismissive hand. "Cauldron's got legal wards thicker than Bart's skull. Or so they claim."

"Right," Maeve said, leaning forward, her skepticism etched onto her face despite the grudging respect. "And Cauldron's going to let you spill actual tea? Like the shady blood sourcing down by the docks, or how the Seelie Court really collects its Tithes? Or do they just want a glossy, vampire-lite thirst trap for the norms and bored supes?"

Nori bristled slightly but kept her smile intact. "It’s a balance, obviously. Hook 'em with the sexy stuff, then hit 'em with the substance. We'll touch on the 'thirst trap' angle," she made air quotes, "because, let's be real, clicks are clicks. But then? Real stories. Anonymous sources on bad magical contracts, deep dives into forgotten histories." She leaned back, swirling her drink again. "Think 'Serial,' but with fangs."

Imani frowned, her brow furrowing slightly. "Serial with fangs sounds… risky," she said softly, her gaze steady on Nori. "Be careful, Nori. Cauldron Media has a certain reputation. They love our world, our magic, but they love it packaged. Shiny. Safe for everyone else. They don't always grasp the real consequences of digging too deep, or who gets hurt when secrets are aired carelessly."

"Oh, I'm counting on it," Nori countered, though Imani's genuine concern pricked at her bravado. "A little risk makes for good listening. And I'm not being careless. It'll be... curated chaos."

"Curated chaos," Maeve snorted, draining the last of her drink and signalling Bart for another with a sharp gesture. "Sounds like your dating history, Nori."

Sayo chuckled softly. "Imani's not wrong about their brand, though. It's all glittering courts and ethereal fae. Not so much the back-alley hex removals or, say, what really happens when a rogue enchantment goes sideways." They tapped a perfectly manicured finger on the table. "You'll need to be smart about how you pitch your 'real talk' if you want it past their gatekeepers, darling."

Nori felt a familiar prickle under her skin, different from the buzz of the bar's magic. It was the sharp edge of doubt – not her own, but theirs. Maeve’s crude dismissal, Imani’s gentle but firm warnings, even Sayo’s strategic analysis – it all felt like variations on the same theme: Are you sure you can handle this, Nori? Is this really smart? A flicker of genuine hurt sparked beneath the annoyance. Did they think she was just some flighty influencer wannabe, chasing clout without understanding the risks? Was her ambition coming across as naive stupidity? She'd pitched this idea meticulously, researched Cauldron, considered the angles. Why couldn't they just be excited for her, instead of immediately pointing out the pitfalls? It wasn't like their lives were paragons of safety and predictability. A bitter taste, sharper than the Copper Sunrise, rose in her throat. She swallowed it down, forcing another bright, slightly brittle smile.

"Yeah, well. Sent the pitch. We'll see." She tossed back the last of her drink, its artificial tang now sour. "Anyway. Enough about my grand, potentially disastrous plans. Anyone else got big news? Another secret affair with someone hopelessly out of reach?" Her attempt at levity fell flat. Maeve raised an eyebrow, Imani looked pained, Sayo merely sipped their drink with a calculating glint in their eye.

The table lapsed into an awkward silence, broken only by the clink of glasses and murmured conversations from other tables around them.

Such was the perils of having girlfriends in your twenties, Nori mused bitterly. They either think you’re insane for dreaming bigger than a date night, or they pity you.

Maeve shifted uncomfortably, rattling the ice in her fresh glass. "Look," she started, gruffly avoiding Nori's gaze, "it's not... pity. It's just... Cauldron, Nori. It's like deciding to poke a hive of very powerful, very rich wasps because their honey looks good. They sting, Nori. Hard."

Sayo offered a thin, placating smile. "Maeve’s metaphors could use some work, but she’s got a point. We’re just being… realistic, darling. Ambition’s great, but you gotta watch where you’re stepping." They took a slow sip of their drink, eyes observing Nori over the rim of the glass.

Imani reached across the table, her cool fingers brushing Nori's hand briefly. "It is exciting, Nori. Truly. The potential... it's huge. But so are the shadows that come with lights that bright. We just want you to be careful." Her voice was soft, earnest, cutting through Nori’s defensiveness more effectively than Maeve’s bluntness or Sayo’s careful phrasing.

Nori drew her hand back slowly, taking a breath. The hurt hadn't vanished, but Imani's touch had grounded her slightly. "Okay," she said, aiming for a steadier tone than she felt. "Okay. Realistic concern. Got it." She managed a weak smile. "And maybe I like poking wasp hives."

Maeve snorted again, but it lacked its earlier edge. "Yeah, course you do." Her smirk was fond, albeit still laced with disbelief.

As the night winded down, and the drinks flowed a little easier, the tension began to evaporate. They shifted to lighter, more familiar ground – new glamours on SpellBound, bizarre Foldtouched human fashion trends attempting to mimic Fold aesthetics (without the aid of actual magic), the latest viral GlimGlam hex craze gone hilariously wrong. It was comfortable, predictable, soothing to Nori’s prickly mood.

When it was time for them to leave, the farewells were as affectionate as they were slightly intoxicated. Hugs were tighter, laughter looser.

"Don't get yourselves cursed walking home, darlings," Sayo threw over their shoulder as they sauntered away, heels clicking with a confident rhythm.

"You too, you overdressed peacock!" Maeve called back. Sayo waved a hand without turning, a dismissive benediction.

"Nori," Imani held her hand a beat longer, looking straight into her eyes. "Please... just be careful, okay? Remember, some doors, once opened, lead to places you can't easily walk back from."

With that cryptic statement hanging between them, Imani gave Nori's hand a final squeeze and stepped away, heading towards wherever she had parked. Which knowing Imani, was likely in a well-lit spot under an oak tree older than the building they’d been sitting in.

"One more prayer and she'll be taking vows, swear to gods," Maeve grumbled, pulling her leather jacket closer around herself against the evening chill.

Nori nudged Maeve with her hip. “Come on, let’s go before it actually starts pouring." Maeve grunted her agreement and together, they walked out into the warm New York night, leaving the Navel behind.

As they walked away from the door, Maeve abruptly stopped, frowning. She turned to Nori and, without any preamble, flicked her square on the forehead.

"Ow, what the hell!" Nori protested, stepping back.

"That was for making me worry, you idiot," Maeve declared bluntly. "Swimming with sharks, honestly."

"You know you don't have to try and save everyone, right?" Nori retorted.

"Less about saving you, more about saving me the hassle of planning your stupidly dramatic funeral when one of those 'sharks' bites back," Maeve replied.

Nori groaned. "So dramatic."

"Better dramatic than you being dead." Maeve resumed walking.

***

Nori had almost decided against the booty call, but the mixture of annoyance and adrenaline had her vibrating like an over-strung violin, so here she was at least going through the motions with this Michael. She slipped through the sleek foyer of the condo building, its polished surfaces gleaming under subdued lighting. The lobby exuded a distinct ‘Fancy Mundanefolk’ aesthetic, all muted elegance and soft edges. A stark contrast to the character-filled mess of her shared apartment — and to the pulsing hum of Foldfolk magic that threaded through most establishments in their corner of the city.

Here, everything screamed modernity. Sleek marble, angular furniture, the soft purr of the latest appliances. Not a stray incantation or errant spark to be found. The lack of ambient magic felt strangely sterile, raising a subtle chill along Nori's spine despite the comfortable temperature indoors. It was the sort of place you’d bring a Tinder date to if you didn’t want to have the inevitable ‘So, you’re not completely human?’ chat. Which Nori totally understood the appeal of skipping.

Michael opened the door, his hair tousled just so, dark eyes crinkling with warmth as he greeted her. "Hey, glad you could make it," he said smoothly, ushering her inside. She caught a glimpse of a cozy loft, all exposed brick and plush carpets. It wasn’t exactly glamorous, but it looked lived-in and well-loved.

"Nice place," Nori commented casually, shrugging off her jacket to reveal the slip dress underneath, appreciating the obvious delight that sparked in Michael’s eyes. "Very... monochrome."

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Thanks. I prefer to think of it as understated elegance."

"Sure," she allowed, offering him a teasing smile.

He led her further inside, past the open-plan living room with its inviting sofas and tastefully arranged bookshelves, towards a dimly lit hallway that ended in a heavy wooden door.

"This way," he murmured, his hand lingering gently on the small of her back. It wasn't an unpleasant touch, but Nori still tensed up involuntarily; sometimes physical contact could be a bit too intense. Michael didn't seem to notice, focused instead on opening the door.

Beyond it lay what was undeniably a bedroom, bathed in a low amber glow from bedside lamps. Dominating the space was a large four-poster bed adorned with rich curtains, invitingly turned-down bedding, and what appeared to be silken cord discreetly tied to each post. Oh.

"Right," Nori said aloud, crossing her arms over her chest, "Do you want me to juice now, or after the fun part?"

Michael chuckled, slightly awkwardly. "Juice?"

"Feed? On blood," she clarified.

"Which one do you prefer?"

"The first."

"And after?"

"We can see how we feel."

His eyebrows lifted.

Nori tilted her head slightly, her own brow raising in response. "Are you nervous, Mike?"

She liked throwing people off guard with that question, especially men. It tended to throw their confidence for a moment. A moment Nori rather enjoyed watching.

Michael seemed taken aback but quickly regained his composure. "Me? Nah." He waved off the suggestion with an easygoing grin, betraying the faint flush creeping up his neck. "Just keen to explore our boundaries, yeah?" His gaze lingered on Nori, appraising her as openly as she'd assessed him moments ago.

Her lips curled upwards slightly in acknowledgement of both his admission and apparent bravado. Men, she mused internally, always trying so hard to keep up appearances even when faced with a literal predator.

"Well then," Nori replied, deliberately letting her voice dip lower. She uncrossed her arms and stepped forward with measured grace, slipping effortlessly into the seductive persona she knew so well. "Shall we start with getting you out of those clothes, Mr. Businessman?" she purred, fingertips brushing along the lapel of Michael’s shirt suggestively.

Michael swallowed visibly; his Adam's apple bobbing noticeably. "Sure... yes," he agreed hastily, clearly eager yet still somewhat overwhelmed by Nori’s unabashed assertiveness. He moved toward the bed, discarding his clothing piece by piece until he was bare before her.

Nori took a moment to appreciate Michael’s physique – lean muscle definition from regular exercise sessions, smooth skin marred only by a few endearing freckles here and there. He made quite an attractive picture standing against the backdrop of luxurious sheets waiting invitingly for their use.

"You look tasty," Nori remarked playfully as she approached him, tracing one slender finger across his collarbone teasingly.

Michael shivered under her touch but managed a small smile in return. "Thanks," he said quietly, his voice slightly rough around the edges now. Anticipation perhaps? Or nerves finally catching up with him despite initial bravado? Either way, Nori found herself intrigued by this unexpected complexity in her chosen playmate for the evening.

She let her gaze roam over him, slow and deliberate, making sure he felt the assessment. "You have a good pulse," she observed, stepping closer until she could feel the heat radiating from his skin. Her fingers followed the path she'd traced earlier, lightly dancing over his collarbone, then drifting lower, down the centre of his chest. She leaned in, her lips brushing against the shell of his ear. "Strong. Steady. For now."

A tremor ran through him, a delightful little ripple under her fingertips. "Are you... going to hurt me?" His voice was barely a whisper, roughened with a mix of fear and something else, something sharper.

"Darling," Nori murmured, pulling back just enough to meet his wide eyes, letting the low light catch the subtle elongation of her canines as her smile widened. "Pain is subjective. And sometimes... necessary." She pressed the heel of her hand gently against his sternum, a non-threatening gesture that nonetheless halted any thought he might have had of moving. "But are you scared?"

He hesitated, licking his lips. "A little. Yeah."

"Good," she purred. She dipped her head, inhaling deeply near the curve of his neck, catching the faint, intoxicating scent beneath his cologne – the warm, metallic tang that promised sustenance, energy, release. Her own pulse quickened, a low thrumming beginning deep within her chest. She pressed a soft, almost chaste kiss to the spot just below his jaw, lingering for a moment before drawing away again, leaving him wanting. "Hold still now."

She circled him slowly, trailing her nails lightly down his back, enjoying the way his muscles jumped beneath her touch. She considered the cords tied to the bedposts. Kinky. Maybe later, if the mood struck. For now, the thrill of the hunt, the dance of predator and willing prey, was enough. She came to stand before him again, placing her hands flat on his chest, feeling the rapid hammering of his heart against her palms.

"Right here, I think," she decided aloud, her thumb brushing over the prominent vein pulsing in his neck. She tilted his head back gently, exposing the smooth skin. His breath hitched. He closed his eyes.

Nori allowed her fangs to descend fully, a familiar, satisfying ache in her gums. She leaned in, the low hum inside her intensifying, blocking out everything else – the lingering annoyance at Maeve’s bluntness, the echo of Imani’s worried tone, the phantom sting of Sayo’s cool appraisal, the simmering frustration about Cauldron Media and podcasts and judgmental trolls. All of it faded, dissolved by the overwhelming, primal need.

She pressed her lips against his neck, a final moment of deceptive softness, and then she bit down. The initial resistance of skin gave way, sharp and clean. His gasp was muffled against her hair.

Warmth flooded her mouth, rich and vital. The taste was uniquely Michael – slightly salty, with an undertone like dark cherries and ozone, utterly distinct from the artificiality of the Copper Sunrise or the blandness of synthetic blood bags. It wasn't just taste, though; it was energy, pure and electric, surging into her. It felt like stepping out of a cold rain into a roaring fire. The tension knotting her shoulders dissolved. The static clouding her thoughts cleared. The petty anxieties and larger worries washed away on the tide of incoming life force, leaving behind only a profound sense of calm, of power, of rightness. This was real. This was grounding. This beat curated chaos any day.

She drank deeply, regulating the flow, careful not to take too much too quickly, riding the wave of euphoria. Michael sagged slightly against her, his hands weakly gripping her waist, a low sound vibrating in his chest – not pain, something closer to a moan.

Finally, sated, the sharp edges of her hunger blunted, the static in her mind silenced, Nori drew back. A single drop of crimson welled where her fangs had been. She licked it away instinctively, her tongue tracing the faint puncture marks. Michael’s eyes fluttered open, pupils dilated, a dazed, almost blissful expression on his face. He swayed slightly, and she steadied him easily.

"See?" she murmured, her voice smoother now, richer. The brittle edge was gone. "Not so bad." She felt centred, the worries of the night now distant murmurs, easily dismissed. The blood hummed in her veins, a quiet song of strength and satisfaction. She met Michael's hazy gaze, a genuine, slow smile touching her lips. The night felt full of possibilities again. "Now," she said, her eyes gleaming with renewed energy, "about those silk cords..."

The silk cords proved pleasingly restrictive against his skin, the slight struggle adding a pleasant friction to the inevitable coupling that followed. Tangled in expensive sheets, Nori worked to build a friction of her own, guiding Michael’s hips, urging him faster, harder. But the energy she’d taken had left him depleted, his movements sluggish, his thrusts lacking the necessary vigour to push her over the edge. His efforts grew weaker, sweat beading on his brow from exertion that produced little result for her.

A familiar wave of impatience washed over her. It wasn't his fault, not really – a side effect of the transaction, the price he paid beyond just offering his veins. Still, frustration prickled. She needed the release, the final punctuation mark on the night’s sensory inputs. His panting attempts were just noise now, grating against the focused tension building within her.

With a small, decisive shove against his shoulder, Nori dislodged him. He rolled onto his side heavily, breathing raggedly, eyes half-closed in a daze that was more exhaustion than ecstasy. He offered no protest, too drained to even register the dismissal fully.

Ignoring him, Nori shifted onto her back, legs slightly parted. Her own body hummed, keyed up and unsatisfied. Fine. If he couldn't finish the job, she would. Closing her eyes, she focused inward, chasing the sensation herself. She knew exactly what she needed – the right pressure, the right rhythm. Her breath hitched as she guided her own pleasure, seeking the sharp, demanding peak that his faltering energy couldn’t provide. A low gasp escaped her lips as the tension coiled tighter, tighter within her, until it finally snapped, sending a shuddering wave of release through her body.

She lay still for a moment, breathing deeply, letting the aftershocks subside. Opening her eyes, she glanced at Michael. He was already drifting towards sleep, pale beneath his tan, utterly spent. A tool used, now set aside. Nori felt a flicker of something – not quite pity, perhaps just detached acknowledgment of the exchange. She'd gotten what she needed, one way or another. She slid out of bed, the movement barely disturbing him, padding silently towards the bathroom. The night wasn’t quite over, and she needed to wash away the lingering scent of his mediocrity.

She stepped in front of the mirror, taking in her flushed cheeks and tousled hair with a rueful half-smile. A smear of crimson on her lower lip caught her eye – remnants of their earlier, more successful transaction. She licked it off thoughtfully, the metallic tang sharp on her tongue. A reminder: she took what she needed, whether from the veins or between the sheets. It was enough, most days.

She wondered what her Ammu would say if she saw her now. Her human mother, who had no idea that she was a vampire. Or that even vampires existed. It was good that she was over in a whole another state.

Who did she really have in her corner? She was Unaffiliated. And she didn't even know of any other Bangladeshi-American Foldfolk either, let alone a vampire. She assumed they must have existed, but she hadn't had a chance to meet them yet. She was an outsider everywhere she went, even in her own skin.

It didn't matter. She was making her own path. No court, no clan, no rules. She had her friends, but more importantly, she had herself – her wit, her ambition, and a hunger that drove her forward relentlessly. She didn’t need to be coddled, didn’t want to be pitied. There were bigger things at stake than petty concerns and cautious counsel. The world was full of mysteries, of secrets waiting to be uncovered, and Nori had her own story to tell.

Nori smiled and wiped the blood off her lips.

"Looking good, girl," she told her reflection. "Get out there and show the world what you're made of."

***