Upon Arrival.

Cecilia’s head rose quickly to meet the girl’s gaze. Her expression remained, for the most part, neutral. Her eyes, finely rimmed in jet-black liner, were stirring as she looked the girl over. The sun caught Kealey’s hair making it look like spun gold. At face value alone, Cecilia liked the girl, regardless of the fact her disposition screamed, ‘eternal optimist.’ Though it took Cecilia only a mere moment to study Kealey, holding her gaze made it feel like years.
She stood up; her suitcase shifting slightly as she did, and Cecilia steadied it before rising to her full height. She moved with grace and poise, like every action was either premeditated or rehearsed over the years. Her eyes never left Kealey’s as she moved. Standing in six-inch heels, and at her natural height of 5’6”, Cecilia easily stood a head taller than Kealey. She folded her arms across her chest and spoke, not coldly, but coolly to no one in particular, “I had half imagined someone would have been here to begin with.” Her accent was more French than Southern, but both regions could be found in her words. Her accent was neither harsh nor strong, but rather soft and appealing, simply a sharpness to her consonants and an elongation to her vowels.
A moment of silence passed before a smile broke her blood red lips exposing her pearl white teeth. Her smile was sincere and even bordering on sweet. She extended her hand to Kealey, but not in the casual fashion of a handshake, but palm down, as if she expected Kealey to take it rather than shake it. Her smile widened ever so slightly as if she had just realized mistake. She turned her hand slightly to the side and spoke her name delicately, “Cecilia Amara Babineux.” As her words formed about her red lips, her teeth were revealed as not only straight and gleaming white, but both her lateral incisors canine teeth lengthened beyond the natural line of her teeth, and formed two sets of razor sharp fangs. Immediately her smile dissipated and her outstretched hand shot to her mouth, covering her teeth. She turned her head away and quietly said something that sounded like, “Excuse me.” She turned back to face Kealey, her lips closed, and her hands by her sides. Her lips didn’t open nearly as wide this time as she spoke without a smile, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The breeze carried Kealey’s scent on it. She smelled of something sweet and memorable, like lightly scented flora.

Cecilia bent forward slightly and gripped her fingers tightly around the thick man made strap of her black vintage suitcase. As she stood back up straight, her purse strap slid off her shoulder and to the crook of her free arm that now carried a black hatbox. The shine of her nails matched the gleam on the braided cord handle on her hatbox. The box was of a solid construction, specifically chosen to protect the delicate lace, netted, and satin rose adorned hats inside.
She tightened her left hand on her suitcase; it was heavier than she had remembered. The poor, well travelled, case would have surely burst at the seams had they not been so diligently reinforced when the case was made for her. She had been exact in making certain that not an article that was in her possession was left at home. She had packed, folded, stuffed, and bundled numerous times over to ensure all her possessions could travel with her to her new living arrangements. She wished now that she had grabbed her over burdened suitcase with her dominant hand, but the act had been committed with her left, and pride refused to have her let on even the slightest sign of distress.
“I’m from the South,” Cecilia responded politely but formal manner. She knew the stigma that followed Southerners that travelled to the North. “Baton Rogue, but I imagine you’re hearing my parents in my accent. They were both Parisians.” She would not admit it, but she was proud of French blood, more so than she ever could be about the French bastardized American blood that ran through her stepfather’s veins.
With closed lips, Cecilia smiled in not quite a smug fashion (but with confidence nonetheless) in response to Kealey ‘s comment about her high heels. She walked forward a few steps, her stride as smooth as glass. Her hips swayed slightly with each step, brushing gently against the suitcase and hatbox at her sides. With each step she placed her foot directly in front of the other, her heel toe motion making an audible tapping noises that echoed in the emptiness of the lot. The dark black seams of her stockings ran up her legs as straight as could be before disappearing under the expensive fabric of her skirt. She turned around and walked back to Kealey, her movements as graceful as before. Despite the weight of her suitcase, her walk was effortless. If nothing else, her finishing school had taught her to always be composed.
“I wouldn’t wear them if I wasn’t able to walk in them.” Her smile faded softly, as if she were embarrassed by her forward haughty remark. She looked over Kealey, as if still studying her form. “Shall we?” She asked gesturing to the Mansion with her hatbox and outstretched fingertips.

Cecilia could see the mansion ahead of them, coming closer into view with every step. The well-manicured greenery and small rock-strewn walkways were not enough to impress her, and she had to admit she was just as thrilled by the grandiose building up close, than she was by the gravel stains that were imprinting themselves on her well cared for shoes. The terrain was replacing the high gloss shine on her shoes with a dull grey dust.
She stopped on a dime at the mention of modeling. She turned so that she could look Kealey directly in the eye. Her face lit up as her lips broke into a smile. Her fangs were once again noticeable, but she was too sincere with her emotions to care, “Do you really need models?” She attempted to keep her tone cool and relaxed, but her expression did nothing to hide her excitement at the prospect. She had always adored fashion, and often runway shows had been staged in her foyer to allow her to view clothes before she purchased them, but never had she been asked to actually walk a runaway. “Well, if you’re in need, what can I do but offer my help?”
Her lips closed, but her smile remained on her face as she continued to walk towards her new home. “To be honest I can not say either way. I was schooled through tutors, so some tests have been arranged to assess my grade equivalent. There are some courses that I imagine I have already ‘graduated’ from, and others that I may require further instruction in. For now, this is my home, but within a week I imagine I’ll be attending classes.”
As they reached the mansion steps, she placed her foot on the stone rise, but the change in texture caused her foot to slip and shift back. Though the action its self was hardly noticeable, but it was enough to cause her purse to slid forward on her arm and spill a few articles onto the ground. A compact mirror fell open onto the first step, and a tube of lipstick rolled off the steps into the gravel. Much like her shoes had, the black metal tube took on a layer of dull grey powder. A small plastic bag also fell from her purse. It hit the corner of the step hard and burst before it fully hit the ground. The shock of hitting the gravel caused the uncovered liquid to splatter. Droplets of crimson red liquid sprayed up onto Cecilia's nylons and onto her skirt. The remaining contents on the ground pooled around her shoes. Cecilia stood still as a stone sculpture; looking both horrified and intrigued by the blood that now covered her.
“I’m so clumsy at times,” she said absentmindedly as she shrugged off all her baggage beside her. She knelt down and slowly picked up her lipstick and compact, putting them carefully back into her purse. She moved slowly, aware that Kealey would be watching her. Part of her believed if she moved slowly enough she wouldn’t notice her, while the other part of her simply didn’t care. She carefully placed two of her fingertips into the blood that had pooled at her feet. She moved her scarlet tipped fingertips towards her lips; her eyes transfixed by the colour, and her attention drawn to the copper scent that was now in the air. Before she could touch her fingers to her lips, she seemed to break free of her internal struggle, and stood up. She pulled a white tissue from her purse and cleaned off the blood from her fingertips and clothes the best she could. She returned it to her purse, the white face fabric now covered in red blood smears. She knew she would have to dispose of it later, as that much blood would never fully come out of anything so delicate. Gathering her things again she ascended the steps to the mansion’s front door, her high heels leaving intricate wet blood stains behind them. She turned back to Kealey, a forced smile on her lips, “Are you coming?”

Before entering through the doors, Cecilia turned her head back to look at the steps now covered in sticky red blood. The blood had already started to coagulate on the rock surface due to the immense expose to natural air. She thought it simply beautiful, but at the same time, saddening. The saying that accompanied the mention of spilt milk came to mind. She could always acquire more once she had unpacked, and in the privacy provided behind closed door, she could be more discrete about her mutation than she currently had been. She followed Kealey in, listening absentmindedly, but her thoughts were still with the blood, and what Kealey would possibly think of her now.

She came to the end of the foyer, and turned to the right as she had been previously instructed, but as she began to continue forward, her hand reached out and gripped the corner of the wall gracefully, but firmly. She took a few steps back and came more clearly into view in the middle of the foyer. She looked at Kealey and spoke softly, “I have a problem.” Her words were grave, and her lips seemed to hold the tension of the words like each syllable would be her last, but her eyes remained as distrustful and beautiful as they had been when she first met Kealey.

She walked towards Kealey slowly, each measure deliberate and drawn out, as if with each step she grew more confident to divulge further about her concerning trouble. “It’s about what I dropped outside.” She knew that no matter how much she unpacked this evening, there was no more blood to be acquired amongst her things. She had thought it safer to send the bulk of her supplies hidden amongst the rest of her belongings, which would be arriving within a week, than to smuggle them onto an airplane. The one bag had proved hassle enough. This plan had proved both safe and savvy, up until the very moment her week’s supply of blood drenched the dirty pebbled ground.

“I have an ailment. It’s not contagious, but it could prove fatal it not treated. I was prescribed a radical and experimental treatment, but I do not have a prescription for the medicine.” Cecilia was lying through her fanged teeth. She had never been diagnosed, treated, nor prescribed a thing for her ‘ailment’. She came the conclusion all on her own when she was sitting on the floor of a blood storage refrigerator drinking blood so quickly she stained her hospital gown red.

“I need to know,” she was now close enough to feel the heat of Kealey’s body warm the stale air around them. She leaned forward slightly, and whispered in her ear. As her lips parted they made a soft, moist, click. “Is there a hospital, or a clinic, or a blood donation agency near by?”

“I completely understand," Cecilia replied absentmindedly before taking a seat. Her eyes glided over the room, as she felt it was a normal reaction to display, but she was completely disconnected. Her body was crying out to be satisfied by the red liquid that was, by now, evaporating and congealing in the sun’s rays. Her cravings were not from an actual need, but rather from the knowledge that her ‘medication’ might not be available to her when she actually would need it. Her anxiety was worsening by the second as her mind raced and her stress levels elevated. She had never spoke to someone about her ‘condition’, but rather chose to engage in an unspoken agreement of a five-finger discount with her local hospitals and clinics.

Cecilia took the pen and papers and began to fill them out inattentively. The fluid motion of her right hand left delicate trails of black ink across the pages of crisp white paper. In her own tantalizing penmanship she hand wrote her name in full: Cecilia Amara Babineux. She dated the papers and handed them back to Kealey. She had finished them in record time, as if she hadn’t even bothered reading through them, but only rather filled in the blank spots with the correct corresponding information about herself. Though, there was one blank space still left glaringly empty. When it came to discussing her mutation and any special requirements needed, Cecilia hadn’t written a word.

Cecilia sat perfectly still for a minute. Her eyes didn’t blink, her chest neither rose nor fell with the inhalation of breath, and her body remained completely motionless as if carved from stone. Her mind was whirling with thoughts of her predicament, possible solutions, and the obvious fact that she hated to admit to that she was a mutant. She had lied to her Mother and Stepfather about what this school was. She had lied to school about what she was. Sitting here, now, she was lying to the girl in front of her who had been nothing but kind but kind to her.

For a moment Cecilia lost her composure. She stood up so suddenly that she knocked her chair back onto the floor behind her. “This is a mistake.” She collected her things as quickly as she could as she turned towards the door. “ I’m sorry, I can’t be here.” She jiggled the handle, but the old lock was stiff and didn’t budge easily. Any calm and rational person simply would have needed to apply a little more pressure while turning the doorknob, and the problem would have practically solved its self, but Cecilia was neither calm nor rational. She could feel her heartbeat pounding in her temples as she attempted her turn the handle again and again, each time to no avail. In an effort of pure desperation, she dropped all of her bags onto the floor and pulled on the handle with both hands. She rested her forehead on the door and placed both her hands on the back of her neck, interlocking her fingers together, admitting defeat. Cecilia was too embarrassed to turn around.

“I’m not a mutant,” she spoke more to the door than she did to anything else in the room, “I made a mistake in coming here, and I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

Cecilia listened to the girl’s words, but didn’t turn around. She continued to face the door, her eyes closed, and her mind whirling with various thoughts. She inhaled deeply as she stood up straight and smoothed her hands over her clothes. As she exhaled slowly she turned back to face Kealey. She was composed as ever, and the only clue to her earlier outburst was the moisture in her eyes. Tears had yet to fall, but nevertheless her eyes had welled up just the same. Her lush red lips were pursed closed as she chose her words carefully.

“People here, people like you, are feared in the way misunderstood heroes are in fiction novels and comic books. I am feared like a monster in a child’s bedtime story. Mutants have such power, you spoke yourself of people who can freeze things, create things, feel things,” she paused as she attempted to blink away the tears that were still welling up in her eyes. “All these powers bring something to their owners, and I-” She stopped herself before she could finish her sentence.

“And I have no where else to go.” Cecilia picked up the chair and sat back in it. She looked up at Kealey who now very close to her. She crossed one leg over the other and folded her hands in her lap before saying, “So what’s left for me to sign?”

She knew what she had said was true. She had no where else to go, but the fact remained that she was out of blood, and there was a small chance of changing this fact without having to say the words out loud: "I drink blood."