Mimic Blood

Azrael had been strutting down the West End like a cartoon pimp. Instead of a fob watch on chain, he had mindlessly twirled the Kaki Kirupatorikku. The spiky ball had broken two ribs and started internal bleeding. That is his story and he is sticking with it.

Hospitals will not accept Azrael's currency and, besides, ramping. He sought the medical attention of Dr Smateushin Pateushin, whose houseboat/operating theatre is currently floating near Lake Boga. The operation was uncomplicated - alas, Dr Pateushin did not get opportunity to use plunger.

The patient needed a blood transfusion to stabilise, so Dr Pateushin used the Blood Mimics in the cupboard. Blood Mimics are tiny mimics which functionally imitate the blood of the veins into which they are injected - they serve as a catch-all blood type and have a far longer shelf life. They will also kill the host if left untreated but I have had eleven smokes today (so far). Tonight, however, the Blood Mimics do not work, so Dr Pateushin phones her blood guy and cracks a bottle of Di Giorgio 'Lucindale' 2021 Limestone Coast Cabernet Sauvignon.

Q: Can vampires sweat? A: Mechanical ones do when gliding on warm updraft, with wings that must be bought separately. So much so Christian Holiday's clothes become heavy and his flight curves down into the river below. It is quite refreshing. Christian backstrokes downstream towards the floating medical clinic.

Christian hoiks himself onto boat with a flop. He proceeds to leave trail of water but Dr Pateushin does not complain, the alternative being Christian undressing. He points to the Blood Mimic bag and she nods. Christian sticks in a hypodermic needle and plunges back 5 ml, which he drips onto his tongue.

'Ah. Yes. I see.' Christian clacks mouth, tasting. 'Tell me, is the patient silicon based?'

A shiver, like crack in mortar of building atop tectonic plates rolling in their sleep, runs up from Dr Pateushin's hip to right armpit. Dad always said I should specialise. This is the realisation that one is out of one's depth. Dr Pateushin slaps Azrael's hand away from wine:

'Silicon was not mentioned on paperwork.'

'Well there's your problem. You're not using Blood Mimics, you're using Mimic Blood.'

Dr Pateushin farts nervously. Her gut biome is healthy and she does not fart loudly or often. Christian recognises the waft of dry wheat. He is not hip to its emotional cause but it correlates with deal being struck.

'So I will take the Mimic Blood. It has petro-chemical applications. I will supply -' Christian sniffs air. '- B-negative to your patient. It's one of these pockets.'

Time passes. It is not drinking music but Judea has got stuck into the carton of coopers pale strapped to Dorothy's haunch. He knows he pushes the legal BAC limit but no police pull him over because Dorothy is a camel. Dorothy is a camel who will not go within a hundred metres of their destination.

Judea dismounts and unclips the goon skin from Dorothy's pack. On foot, he gets lost in the weaving streets of suburbia. Booze keeps him company. He is swaying tunelessly drunk by the time Christian answers the door.

Christian digs the vibe, eyeing Judea's movements with a quick up-down. Not sexually. Christian bops head twice per second. Left fist goes down and right fist goes up, then vice-versa.

Judea starts on a pirouette but decides against it with stumble lost in growing jive: 'I. Have. Something. That you'll want.'

Christian tries to wiggle his ass but it does not: 'Oh, prey tell.'

'You're undead, right? Like zombies or ghosts.' A vertical sine wave runs Judea's body. 'You don't bleed?'

Christian's ass wiggles: 'I don't.'

Judea's pirouette clips Christian's right elbow but he lands: 'Ghost Blood.'

'Ghosts don't bleed.' Christian smiles wide snappers. 'Usually. Funny story, depending on funny.'

'Well. What've you got?'

Christian chuckles. Judea is glad he has drunk because that chuckle runs up his spine.