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Kappa of the Night

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Ah, Gojyo thought, looking at the romantically cloud-shadowed face of the moon, the eternal pains and sorrows of the undead, the pangs of grief when the first faint hint of dawn is seen and once again all the memories of what has been lost with our complete withdrawal from the world of daylight flood over the brief, gaudy pleasures of the night. He pursed his lips. Nah. He really didn't get the attraction of that Woe-is-me wallowing in self-pity some vampires went for. He supposed it got them chicks of a rather morbid bent, but he preferred people who made him laugh. Who wanted someone shrieking or, even worse, chanting their bad poetry at you while you sucked their blood?

He brushed his hair until it gleamed like a long fall of rubies in the candlelight's kindly glow – whoa, there, he thought, I've been hanging out with that Louis guy too much - and gave himself a quick onceover to check his shirt was free from blood spatter. Good enough. He had money, he had looks, he had a charming, if fang-filled, smile and he was good at cards. Who needed the attitude? He got all the neck he wanted.