He had invited her upstairs. They always do. Any hint of a predator's intent hidden behind a cute smile and sultry advances. He was maybe a little too handsy but Clara wanted bite to start the night. She didn't have too much time for any extended foreplay before Blood. Her lips found his neck, her fangs slid into his jugular, and she cradled her victim lovingly as she had her fill. The taste was immediately tellingly different.

She knew he was on something besides a bit of booze. The rush of Blood wasn't pure. There was something making her anxious. It made her fingers fuzzy and pleasantly twitchy. She initially thought it was the Blush pulsing in her veins but then dismissed her assumption. This wasn't Blush tingles. Clara drank deep and focused. The instant she did she knew exactly how much she was drinking from her beau's neck and about how much longer she could keep going. It was eerie. Her Vampiric Senses were honed and focused but her mind was racing ahead of them. As she finished having her fill she counted the hairs on his neck, guessed his cologne, and spotted a minuscule mark that might be skin cancer.

She broke her Kiss and licked away the puncture wounds quickly. Her tongue picked at cherry-red fangs and she audibly sucked any remaining Blood from her teeth. The pretty boy named Troy fell on his hotel bed and into the troubled sleep reserved for the Damned and the drunk exclusively.

What had he been trying to oh so discreetly sell in the lobby? Clara was in a light stage of undress and was re-adjusting the strap on her dress and pulling it back into place. In the small glow of a desk-light the name came to her: Adderall. She was out of Troy's hotel room and skipping down the hallway while Googling just what Adderall was. All the while her supernatural senses took in the activities of each room: oral in that one, the evening news and room service in the other, oh that one is crying. It sounded like ugly crying. Even as she observed this her self-taught fingers had pulled up a result. She reviewed her phone's screen as she waited for the elevator.

Attention deficit disorder? That doesn't seem right that would imply I've already got a deficit issue that doesn't make any sense I should really see about talking to a doctor about this and ask what does Attention Deficit Disorder even mean? L for lobby boop! L through forty seven floors wait where's thirteen? Is that an oversight or a cute tradition reserved for the superstitious and the unquestioning? As if removing thirteen magically protected you from misfortune that has to be the silliest thing--

The elevator opened with the ringing of a bell that snapped Clara out of her thoughts. She stepped out into the lobby. She looked left. She looked right. The lobby was way too bright. She quickly covered her eyes and made her way out onto the wet Sacramento streets. The streetlamps were miniature suns and passing headlights almost blinded the Bacchante but stretches of Darkness in-between helped to alleviate the stress light brought on her eyes.

She felt tingly, but only as much as she wanted to feel. This felt familiar. Felt like an upper. Clara groaned audibly as she arranged a ride to her next appointment. There was lots to do tonight. I'm gonna feel awful tomorrow. Impulse bites are always a bad idea.