Zinnia Demitasse
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Milo - November Patreon
🕑 Added 2025-11-05 04:07:26 +0000 UTCA drop of blood bubbled from the callused thumb of a sandy haired boy with freckles scattered across his nose. The drop itself wasn’t anything he would have normally worried about. It would stop bleeding soon enough. There was a pesky little issue of a neighboring worker, however, that made that single drop of blood a bit more difficult.
The vampire leapt across her sewing table, barreling into him with a thud that sent both their bodies skidding into the large shelf behind them where spools of different threads came dropping down on their head. Fine spun string bust forth like a drunken party popper, covering the work station and the two tussling on the ground.
“Sandra! We talked about this!”
The freckled face boy shoved a hand against the vampire Sandra’s throat, keeping her snapping maws at bay. It was the hand that had the blood on it, unfortunately, which only made Sandra more violent as the smell deepened
“Need help, Milo?” Someone called out. He was pretty sure it was Bethany, an old faun who was a miracle worker when it came to embroidery. He could picture her now, her salt and pepper hair tied up in two pointed buns that wrapped around her horns. She probably hadn’t even moved from her machine and was calling out as if this were just another casual work day.
“Nah! I got it,” Milo grunted, rolling to one side and feeling Sandra’s knee crack down on his ribs.
“You sure? Could call Feebus.”
“No!” Sandra snapped at him again, a bubble of spit falling onto his chest. He was already in trouble with Feebus and if the giant knew that Milo had caused another workplace distraction, there would be no hearing the end of it.
Sandra’s nails wracked across Milo’s face.
“I’m gonna call Feebus,” Bethany sighed.
“Beth, keep your damn, interfering hands, on the damn work!”
Sandra’s breath was hot and sticky on his cheek, the new blood welling with a stinging and sluggish drip. Sandra’s eyes were completely black by now and the woman was going to rip out his throat if he wasn’t careful. Or didn’t magically get stronger. He just needed to reach what was in his pocket. Just needed to get to the salts and… got it!
Flipping off the top of a small corked tube, he held it under Sandra’s nose. She jerked away, crashing into Milo’s machine, and sending the thing crashing to the ground. The steel body gave a strong groan before smoke began rising from it and the bobbin broke off, rolling across the floor.
“Oh, Milo,” Sandra started through her fanged teeth. “‘M sorry, luv.”
Milo sat upright, the front of his shirt covered in blood. “It’s alright, Sandra. Wasn’t your fault. That’s why we got the smelling salts.” Specifically curated for vampires to knock them out of even the worst blood frenzy. When Sandra became Milo’s work partner, he had made sure to buy a full case.
“Let me help you get your machine fixed up.” She was tucking her hair behind her ears in an attempt to normalize the situation. It wasn't like this was the first.
“Milo!”
Milo jumped at Feebus’s booming voice before glaring at Bethany. “Really, Bethany?”
“You did this all on your own, baby boy. Next time you fight a vampire, don’t be so loud. Or do it when Feebus is already making his rounds.”
Feebus was a big guy. Milo was certain he descended from giants of some sort though Feebus said it was because he ate his greens as a kid. He came walking forward, his purple shirt sticking to him from the humidity of the factory. He had his curly hair done up in a large plait down his back, the piercing’s across his left brow looking extra sharp in the dim light of the factory. Milo had seen him push sewing needles through those holes.
“Office. Now.”
He didn’t even stop at Milo’s station. Just simply walked by him as he went to a back room that was partitioned off with several large rugs. Milo made sure to cast Bethany another angry look before following while also trying to give Sandra a reassuring smile. Milo wasn’t one to throw anyone under the bus. Sandra would have her job no matter if Milo had to lie about her involvement in the current scuffle.
Weaving through the rugs, Milo didn’t lift his head until he walked six hanging tapestries in. Even then, he walked behind a large partition that blocked more sound, sitting down on a worn silk settee. Across from him, Feebus poured a glass of whisky.
“What’d you find out?” He passed the whisky to Milo, his large fingers leaving smudges on the crystal glass.
“The smelling salts did their job but whatever went into my blood was an instant frenzy for her. We’re talking the blood didn’t even get a chance to smear across my skin before she was on me.” Milo downed the drink, wincing at the bitter taste and trying to ignore the way that Feebus laughed. Milo had been trying to shoot whisky for years now but had yet to swallow any of it with an elegant grace.
“You think it’s a problem then?” asked Feebus
“It’d be a real easy way to declare war on vamps,” Milo said. “Especially if it is undetectable within food.”
The rumors had started last year. A way to weaponize vampires in the market, even if they had no claim to a cause. By dousing non vampire food with a certain enzyme, it had the potential to make their blood so potent that even the slightest whiff would send a vampire into a blood rage. Until recently, they assumed that the amount that would have to go into food would be by the buckets. Not a lot of people would be lining up for that experiment, nor was any one food cart able to supply a customer with a potent enough amount.
Until now.
Milo found the stall that had perfected it. A small little cart made mostly out of old metal siding, that changed up their menu every week. Most of the time, they changed up their owners as well. It was what was beneath the stall that interested him. A vat of something they were brewing, contained beneath a sewer grate where the bubbling pot was held in place with an iron hook and an elongated bar. Milo was impressed by the stupidity of keeping something so potent and realm altering, down with the rats.
“What are you planning on doing with the stuff?” Milo asked.
“What stuff?”
“The stuff,” he emphasized. “What? You’re not actually going to let them keep the shit, are you? They’re going to start a war.”
Feebus was patient with him. Milo liked to jump eight steps ahead while Feebus was still tying his shoes. Whatever that metaphor was. “They are right now reheating leftover stew. We don’t know if what happened to you is a fluke. It will have to be tested a few more times.”
Milo frowned at his empty whisky glass. He supposed Feebus couldn’t go storming the spice district without some sort of repeatable evidence.
“I’ll go back again in a few days. Test it on another vamp. Not Sandra. She’s gone through enough.”
“You will not be testing it out at all. You’ve done it once. There is no need to do it again. I have others.”
Milo bristled. The others. A bunch of pretentious street kids that liked to pal around with Feebus, thinking him their savior or some such bullshit. They’d lick Feebus’s boots if asked but none of them were truly loyal. Not like Milo.
“I said I’d fucking do it,” he told Feebus, chin tilted up and eyes flashing with irritation.
Feebus stared at him for a long moment, no doubt trying to intimidate him into backing down. Milo knew the other boys would do it. Cowards. He wasn’t going to be such a name.
Feebus walked forward, boots echoing through Milo’s ears. He didn’t dare flinch or avert his gaze. No. This was Feebus. And if Milo wanted to make it anywhere in this world, he wanted to become Feebus’s right hand man.
Lifting the whisky bottle, Feebus poured Milo another stiff drink. “Three days,” he said. “See if you can repeat it in three days with one of the vampires down near the docks. They normally are having their bi monthly book club down there.”
“You’re sending me after the nerd vamps?”
“I’m sending you after the vampires who are honed and not crazed. So if they become crazed, we have more information to see what we are dealing with. Now watch your tongue. You are bordering on offensive tonight, Milo.”
Milo held the glass of whisky in his hand. “Sorry, sir.” He wasn’t. They both knew it. But it was nice that he tried to keep up appearances.
Feebus tutted, tongue flicking against his teeth. “Enjoy your drink. I’ll go get the kit and fix you up.”
Milo quite liked the pain, but he wasn’t going to tell Feebus that. No. He’d drink his whisky, maybe get one more out of the ordeal, and let Feebus take care of him. Weird fucker. Then, he was going to pass the fuck out and figure out how to get more of that frenzy food before a war broke out within the Night Market.
He would be useful.
