Don't... Patronise... Me

"Look, Vampire. You aren't much older than me. You don't patronise me. I have been taught, taught well, may I add. I don't need you talking to me like I'm something on your shoe." He spat it, resentment filling his voice. He thought of the time he'd spent searching for answers. Given up all luxuries. This was the first time he'd spent time in an vehicle for two years. He'd only travelled by horse up to now, camping rough, living off the land. 

"And never steal my knife again. That's worth more than you could ever imagine. Seriously," his eyes grew wide, pleading with the thing to give the artefact back. "If you do, I'm going to have to take it back. And that wouldn't exactly be pleasant for you." He pulled back his hoodie sleeve, and there was revealed some kind of hardened leather gauntlet, where the hidden knife appeared from. But there was also another mechanism there - a musket gun, small as a hummingbird. Marco loaded a musket ball into the gun, cocked it, and aimed it at Alex. His wrist jerked backwards, and he made a noise as if he'd shot it, before laughing, taking the bullet out and replacing it in his pouch. He then returned to throwing his knife up and down again, trying to fight boredom.

The End

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