"I didn't survive for centuries under the rule of paranoid vampires by believing everything they said! Do you take me for some kind of idiot!? Now give me the blood now or leave with nothing! This is your last chance!"
Clover stared down the barrel of the gun with the utmost contempt. Honestly, she was afraid. It wasn't just the thought of a bullet ripping through her flesh, either. It was something basic and fearful about giving a part of herself to someone that she had originally only meant for another. Had only
admitted another to take.
Mindy was her ghoul.
Mindy could have her blood. This man--this
cur--could
not.
She found her mouth open: her lips pulled back in a spitting growl. Her fangs bared menacingly. Not the good-natured, toothy grin that she had adapted as of late. But a look of true
loathing.
Dark storm clouds began to rage in her mind as anger swelled. She smelled the stench of this man's rotting blood beneath his skin. A human sustained longer than was natural. Than was
advised. And, she thought to herself, who was
he?
She let herself fall back into her mind as another part of her stepped forward. Proud and commanding, this Clover showed no fear. Only seething hatred for this man in front of her and what he had demanded. She felt her mouth open and heard words escape.
Strong words.
Words that had more courage in them than she could conjure up from any portion of her body at the moment.
She let the words flow, stepped into Klondike and his gun, and heard herself bark, "Stand down, you foolish
mortal! Its a wonder you survived these centuries on your whining!
Sniveling.
Begging for sustenance! Just like a dog. So,
dog, let me tell you how this game is played. Me:
vampire. You?
Pathetic, mortal, worm. Now, you




ing
cur, lets start playing and teach you some manners!"
Angry, snarling,
livid, Clover slapped Klondike upside the face.
Intimidation!
1d20+3 → [14,3] = (17)