Irene taps away languidly at the porcelain cup of savory human blood. The vampiric instincts embedded deep within herself strain and struggle in a never ending battle against her human morality. After a moment of contemplation, her eyes flicker up from the enchanting pool of ruby liquid to drift down the long line of seats occupied by Irene’s own clanmates, her gaze searching theirs, theirs avoiding her’s.

Serenity Bae stands at the head of the two rows of tables, her presence ever-so commanding and dominant. A simple twitch of a finger is all it takes for the room to shift into dead silence, eyes of myriads of colors darting to lock on the head figure of the space too small for such power.

“As I’m sure you are all aware, the Park Clan is here, within our territory. They reside west of Seoul, where they will remain until the annual visit is over.”

Serenity’s voice effortlessly resounds through air as if it’s meant to be filtered through her lips instead of trapped within. She’s naturally commanding, a born leader in an unsuspecting world and those aspects are what keeps the pack of unruly and uncivilized animals in her power.

“What do we do if we meet them?”

Irene glances towards Suho, a man of moderate height and rather feminine features, his general presence is one that Irene detests. His affections for her is displayed openly, shying away when her mother is present, but doggedly attaching himself to her whenever possible.

“They’re not rabid animals. You greet them cordially then go on your merry way,” Serenity says, gaze cold.

To Irene’s satisfaction, Suho meekly nods without a word before Serenity formally dismisses the clan with a single wave of a dainty hand. The leader doesn’t spare Irene even a sideway glance, sweeping out of the room before Irene can so much as blink.

“Hey, beautiful.”

Nerves already at their end from Serenity’s stubborn lack of interest in her only offspring, Irene snarls in annoyance, eyes flashing and claws slashing deep trenches into Suho’s porcelain cheek. Blood sprays out of the wounds in rivulets, painting the room in an almost artistic fashion.

“Know where you stand, leech,” Irene growls in the stillness of the room.

The sharpness of her gaze pierces across shocked expressions, scattering frightened eyes away left and right. Suho is on the ground, whimpering from the unprecedented blow, and with a frustrated exhale of air Irene pivots on her heel and stalks out of the room, vampires stumbling on their own two feet to make way for her abruptly dangerous presence.

Brainless, bloodsucking trash.

“I don’t understand what’s so difficult to understand,” Irene whines, arms thrown into the air in exasperation.

Wendy watches her with stultifying eyes, sipping her drink methodically as if Irene is talking about possibly the most mundane thing in the world. Wendy chucks a balled napkin into Irene’s face, gesturing lamely at the vampire’s blood-stained fingers and nails.

“Clean that up first, you nasty,” Wendy says.

Irene’s baffled at Wendy’s show of nonchalance, but she figures that as long as Wendy’s been around her, what would be seen as crazy to another human being is almost as normal as shopping at a grocery store to Wendy. Irene obediently dips a corner of the napkin into the condensing glass of ice water, scrubbing away at the stubborn red painted across her fingertips.

“Your mom won’t be mad?”

Irene scoffs loudly, continuing to give attention to her soiled fingers. “She’s probably celebrating right now. She’s always thought I was too nice to the lower class leeches.”

Wendy hums, the kind of light rumble that signals listening ears, and Irene’s grateful to have someone who cares. It’s always been Wendy on her side, anyway (well, until recently). Irene’s thoughts drift towards Seulgi, but the train of thought is broken quickly by Wendy’s voice.

“You’re thinking about her again, aren’t you?”

Irene’s flustered, eyes darting to meet Wendy’s knowing gaze. “How did you - .”

“You get this weird look on your face,” Wendy says, waving her hand as if brushing away an incessant fly.

“Oh.”

“Disgusting. Stop thinking you ert.”

“Shut up, blueberry.”

“You’re one to talk, cheddar cheese.”

“Did you show your hairstylist your oldest pair of jeans and ask her to make your hair that color?”

“Did you dunk your head in bleach, dimwit?”

“Irene, are you stalking me?”

Irene cries out in shock, this time not being so lucky as to simply fall off the chair, but to take the furniture along with her to the cold and unrelenting floor. Irene doesn’t feel the pain, just a dull throb of pressure on the right hemisphere of her body, and she warily lifts her gaze from her position on the floor to see Seulgi’s flawless face with one brow arching higher than the other in a amused fashion.

“Hello, there.”

Irene springs to her feet with an athletic sort of agility, eyes wide and tongue stumbling over syllables. “Seulgi, what are you doing he