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Alucard had to grin; this coffee shop completely fit his father. Dark, smoky, with questionable occupants, and entirely too much red, it was perfect. He’d never been here before and was looking forward to asking Dracula how he’d known about it. Approaching the display case, Alucard was amused by the tiny coffin-shaped placards advertising ‘Molten Blood Cake,’ ‘Bat Wing Bars’ and ‘Spooky Sponge Cake.’ Even the chocolate chip cookies were, ‘Count Choculas.’ He ordered a ‘Count Chocula’ and a ‘Ripper Fog,’ which he sincerely hoped was just earl grey tea and milk.
The man who served him was wearing head to toe black, white face paint and bloody lips. A Goth, through and through, he instantly reminded Alucard of the Type O Negative concert Laura dragged him to back in the early nineties. She’d suggested to him that he might not want to go in a black on black suit, but he’d been concerned about stains. The last concert she’d dragged him to was Jeff Buckley, and he’d actually enjoyed it quite a bit. Well, until he’d lost his favorite grey sweater to an over-enthusiastic female and her glass of red wine.
Alucard had assumed Laura was concerned about him blending in. He couldn’t care less about looking good for this show, so he’d ignored her warning. If she’d told him that he’d be so inundated with admirers, he would have worn anything else. It’d been humiliating.
When they’d arrived, he’d noticed the glances and welcoming smiles but assumed that they were for Laura, who was on his arm. He hadn’t clued in until he went to get drinks and a goth in a mesh black shirt and leather pants had smacked his ass. The White Wolf had been startled and then incredibly pissed. He hated being touched by strangers and hated people who didn’t seek consent, even more. The man had backed off, but told the vampire that he was available for a drink later. Unfortunately, Alucard hadn’t figured out it was an invitation to the man’s blood.
Apparently, he looked so much like a vampire that even Peter Steele, the front man for the group, had called him out from the stage before they’d even played the third song. Steele had pointed him out in the crowd, and stated that his brother, Lestat, was in the house that night. Alucard still couldn’t believe that they dedicated that song to him, the one about black hair dye. Laura had been incredibly jealous, but then empathetic as the night wore on. After the dedication, the attention became unbearable. Half the woman and a good third of the men hit on him non-stop. They were all fairly drunk and very handsy.
It’d been horrible and they'd all called him things like Lord of the Dark, Blood Prince, or some such nonsense. One woman had actually bared her throat, and knelt to him. He’d been so embarrassed that he’d told Laura he was going to hide in the bathroom. She’d helpfully pointed out that was where the hook-ups happened. He’d spent the remainder of the evening hiding in their car until the concert was over.
Taking his tea and cookie, Alucard thanked the server, and located a dark corner with a blood red couch and a low table. He reflected that at least this time he was dressed properly. But when the door opened with a church bell toll, Alucard thought that once again, he’d been wrong.
When Dracula had asked him to come out for coffee, he’d asked if his sweater and slacks was sufficient. His father had said that he’d be casual too, and not to worry. Only the vampire lord would consider the purple alligator shoes with embossed silver tips, full black suit with leather arms and crisp black shirt ‘casual.’ At least he’d foregone the tie, opting for an open collar. That was about as casual as this ensemble got.
Alucard noted that he’d put a glamor up for once, although his choice for maroon eyes were still strikingly eerie. Even the talons were gone, and shockingly, his fingernails weren’t black. Those rings were eye-catching enough though. He’d pity anyone who tried to mug the King of Hell for them. Still, Alucard supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. After all, this was a pretty spot-on ensemble for the Prince of Darkness to wear to a simple coffee date.
“Thanks for meeting me here,” Dracula said as he slid into the velveteen chair opposite Alucard.
“My pleasure,” his son told him, and grinned when Dracula eyed his cookie. The White Wolf didn’t want to say anything, but he’d deliberately snagged it for the Prince of Darkness. It was chocolate chip after all.
“Is that the cookie with the bits?” Dracula purred as he casually leaned forward and put his hands on the tabletop. Ringed fingers inched toward the plate in question. Alucard arched a brow and nodded. “Did Laura make it?” Dracula asked, the fingers inching closer, stroking the side of the plate now.
“Sorry, no; I bought this one here,” Alucard said, struggling to suppress his grin. Dracula’s brow furrowed for a moment and flattened just as quickly.
“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to share?” Dracula asked smoothly, already dragging the plate toward himself.
“I guess I could,” Alucard said, not bothering to even try to hide his amusement now. Dracula happily took a bite and chewed. His father scowled immediately and then put the cookie down.
“That is not the cookie with the bits. That is disappointment in a cookie shape,” the Prince of Darkness said with distain and pushed it away.
“I’m sorr—” Alucard started, actually feeling badly. But Dracula wasn’t done.
“That is a cookie-shaped lie! It doesn’t even taste the same. What did they put in it? The tears of infants? It tastes like sadness and resentment. Did the man at the counter make it?” Dracula swiveled around the chair and Alucard could see just enough of his face to know that his father was glowering. “I bet he did.” Dracula snarled and the hair on Alucard’s neck stood up. “He looks like the kind of sadistic bastard that would do something like this to innocent cookie lovers.” The White Wolf looked over at the 'sadistic bastard,' who was oblivious to the impending doom staring him down.
Dracula was working himself into a fine rage, and Alucard could smell the whisper of smoke now. “Why isn’t that considered a sin? Thou shalt not bear false witness against thy neighbor? How about false witness of thy cookie?! There should be a special kind of hell for someone who would get your hopes up like that and then serve you the ultimate deceit! In fact, I think I could make some room for assholes like him, do you think—” Alarmed, Alucard got up and came around the table. He stepped in front of his father and Dracula looked up.
The King of Hell was gripping the sides of his chair and his talons had extended. His eyes were burning red. Alucard was torn between amusement and real concern. All this over a cookie? Dracula's son thought. He knelt, thinking it would be wise to show respect until his father calmed down. He put his hand over Dracula’s and saw a little bit of calm come back into the Vampire Lord’s eyes.
“I’m sorry,” the White Wolf said slowly, “that the cookie was disappointing. That happens sometimes because recipes can be different. I am sure that it wasn’t intentional. If you want, we can head back to the apartment and I will make some of the ones you like. I have Laura’s recipe.”
Dracula looked abashed. “I just wasn’t expecting the cookie to be so bad. It was just bad, Alucard!” His voice had taken on a plaintive note. “It seems unfair that they would look the same but taste so different!”
Alucard nodded sympathetically. “It isn’t fair and I should have known better. Next time I will just bring some and not buy them at random. That was a bad idea.” If I had known how bad of an idea, I never would have done it, he added on silently. The man was serious about his chocolate treats.
“Is your drink good at least?” Dracula asked him after a moment.
Alucard sighed and handed it over. Hopefully he wasn’t as adamant about his tea, the vampire thought.
---
I went looking for trouble
And boy, I found her
She's in love with herself
She likes the dark
On her milk white neck
The Devil's mark
It's all Hallows Eve
The moon is full
Will she trick or treat?
I bet she will
She will
Happy Halloween baby
- “Black No. 1” Type O Negative