Ok, ok, ok, ok... But.. Do I understand right that I just read what is quite literally a stereotypical intro to vampire smut, laughed at the funny parts, enjoyed the action parts and honestly would buy a book of just this funny back and forth even without the smut part (Okay maybe even with the smut part, who knows, if it's written this well.)? Am I okay? Is the one who wrote this okay? How did this happen, we're better than this, is right? RIGHT?

I think she was Orc, too, no? Indoctrinated to think she was human? Or did I misunderstand?

It was a rainy autumn day like any other - one where I lamented my inferiority to others, where I took a walk in the quiet, cold park, let the wind caress my face, feed the pigeons on the bench, making sure the smaller or hurt looking ones got their share of the meal. Ungifted with power in a world of supers, I never could have imagined that my fascinations with mechanisms and physics would put me at odds with them. It was always about aiding the ones they perceived as crippled, handicapped, inferior, but what they saw in my technology was always a threat. A threat not only to their superiority, to their ego, but also a threat to the invincible who were not used to having so many beings capable of harming them, even if only in self defence. The narratives they've spread and the laws they passed made me an outlaw. I'd like to say I didn't get into the villain business, the hatred of supers, the illegal trades out of selfish reasons, if you could believe that. But oh well, time flies, days go on and we all clash with something or someone on a daily basis, changing and growing and becoming our better selves. Sometimes literally.

I sighed. These thoughts haunt me all the time - perhaps I should seek therapy if any therapist could be in the same room and not run. I raise my right arm - a hunk of metal, wires, servos and sensors, made in the image of the one that got ripped of by Hunko-man, may he rest in peace, and brush back my overgrown, brown hair. How long since I've last had it cut I wonder? I let my arm slide down my weary face, over my sunken face and tap the metallic frame of my cyber-eye, a tender gift from Armadillo-woman. I feel my fingertips around the scars the blows my very normal, very fragile face has received from the powerful. Who would have thought that after having suffered so much violence and hatred from the lesser folk, after defeating them abd slowly growing my technological empire, I would be afraid of what comes tommorow. There is so much at stake, so much I have yet to do, there's still this conflict inside me that compels me to run. A few raindrops fall on my head and the nape of my neck. It tears me out of my head a little, but there's still so much planning, so much commitment, so much professional help I'm going to need to do my best - failing at this seemingly trivial task seems foolish yet I cannot resist this fear.

Clack! My right arm responds to a subtle discharge of static electricity, clenching into a fist befole relenting again. A soft caress of the wind playfully brushes my hair yet again. I cannot deny it any longer - it has become unbearable. "What is it, Ms. Thunder?" I turn around and set my gaze onto a woman in a tattered and torn robe, at least 27 years of age and years of fighting weighting down her face and body. Her white hair all messy and her lightning-blue eyes sparkling playfully, as they do. She chuckles and walks over to me - she seems years younger just when she makes that face We've fought day after day for a good half a decade and she was always mocking me, like right now. Controlling weather must get into your head. "Well actually!" she carefully and softly retors "It's going to be Mrs, soon. But I've a lot of my mind, and we've both come to our same spot - it's no good to ignore each other just because we've got nerves on our mind! Cheer up and let me tag along!", berating me for the doom and gloom I carry.

"You had it easy, flying way over here. I had to take a cab and deal with the traffic!" I mockingly accuse her, to which she gives me the meanest look she can produce suppressing laughter. "Well, I'll have you know flying is very difficult! And whatever, you can't gatekeep walking no matter how hard you try, you horrible tyrannical fiend." is her response, punctuating each of the last three words by poking her pointing finger into my chest. I freeze up a little - a touch of a hero - especially in their suit - still makes me shake. Oh so much pain and suffering and risks of death they used to cause me with a mere touch exactly like this. I must remind myself this is different. I sigh, genuinely surprised she'd call me that. "So what's with the outfit?" I ask, pointing to her wizard-like garments. "Nostalgia. Memories. I wanted to wear it one last time. Since they made your technology legal, I have less and less reasons to arrest you." she offers.

Arrest. A word I have mixed memories for. Some of my best ideas and moments came after being arrested, but also only later in life, when Speedguy and Bardbarian stopped crossing me and arrests became somewhat civil or even pleasant. "Ah, yes - memories... I do remember those arrests as fondly as I remember abducting you to build a weather control machine. It was somewhat funny when you later volunteered to help me build one." the memory makes me chuckle. She was so sheepish when she realised it was meant to ease natural disasters, not melt everyone on the surface of Earth or something simmilarly horrible.

"Well, look who's talking, Doctor creep-orgo! Arrests are not supposed to be fond memories, you dunce! This is why you need therapy!" she responds, smacking my shoulder gently, yet to me, it feels like a truck just ran through me. I remind myself there is no malice and no harm hidden in this playful violence, but I do freeze up for a moment. This time, she notices and apologetically hangs her head "Sorry... I want you to get better, not worse. Really." speaking softly and with a certain sadness to her voice. She seems to want to say more, to get stuck in the apologetic spiral her goodypants mind tends to visit, so I cut her off "No! No. I'm sorry, I still associate the more aggressive forms of touch with danger - it's a trigger I am still learning to cope with. I'm fine, though, really."

She looks up, then, and looks unto my eyes with a gaze that seeks truth, not comfort. It is a strict, yet soft gaze - one you give someone you've known for a really, really long time. Even when you know it, you can't defend yourself from its completely un-super power. You can't lie to the face she makes. "Really?" she asks. "Really." I answer. She then reaches out with her hand once more, this time caressing my unkept hair and sliding it off my face. "You have this, because you're overworked. How long until your barber appointment?" these words are accompanied with a melancholic, warm smile, stuck in thought. "Exactly two hours, fifty-three minutes and 40 seconds when I finish this sentence." I answer while she gets ever so closer to me, tiny step by tiny step. "Did you pick up the cake?" she asks, furrowing her eyebrows jokingly. "Yep." I grin and bend over slightly so our eyes get on the same level.

"Well, then we can take this walk and talk a little longer. Without the gloom - tommorow's a big, happy, carefree day, you big dummy."

"Indeed. I'll do my best, so shall we go look at the location of your first arrest of me, soon to be Mrs Cyborgo?"