The Mayfly Cruise

It was far from a quiet day at sea. The cruise had known ahead of time about the bad rain and storms they’d suffer for half of the trip across the Atlantic, but they were wiling to go through with it with more than half the guest’s approval. Even if their guests grew paler with each sunless day. They still had fun indoor activities, and there were days or more where they were granted God’s Sun, and they relished in tans and shuffleboard.

This was not one of those days. Santonio was out, staring at the dark clouds. He was on the ledge of the restaurant, getting a breath of fresh air. His foot was level against the the fancy fence holding him in. His hands gripped the railing as if he would leap over it at any moment. He had to perform soon, he didn’t know how long.

He tisked, looking behind him to the crowded dining hall. The hours were long and tedious, and he knew he would be seeing this crowd for a long time. Santonio turned back toward the hidden night sky, a cold mist falling over him. Charming, he thought. Something to rid him of the glitter they apply every night.

His shiny exterior ignored, he thought he looked good. His poufy shirt was something from a romantic’s novel cover. It was gracelessly held in suspense, red suspenders on his black dress pants supporting his terrible career choice. His regular uniform, but not unlike something he would wear himself. His black hair in a ponytail, even he knew he looked like something straight out of a b-list movie, or worse. The air began to smell faintly of cigarettes.

Behind him, the singer who had just got off stage decided to intervene in his quiet thoughts. She wore a long blue dress, it trailed like there was a tiny man at the end, holding it so it laid perfectly straight across the room. It was beautiful, but he wondered if it would’ve been better a mess in his room. The lady in the dress, she was less so perfect. And that was what made her so nice to talk to.

         “Another night spent stargazing?”

         “What else is there to do, when you’re the star of the show?”

         She snickered, “You weren’t listening to any of that! I’ve seen the back of your head coming out here so many times,” a sharp inhale of her cigar, “It’s almost routine.”

         “Just like anything else out here, I’ll say.” Santonio grimaced, “When do you think we’ll get another night off?”

         “With this kind of storm? Never. Ah, but you don’t have to worry about that, do you, Santonio? If you feel lonely, you can get another friend to follow you home, hm?”

         “Hush. It’s not as fun after six hours of my beautiful voice, having to search the crowd instead of prowling the bar myself.”

         She nods, “And how have you been eating?”

         “Didn’t we just have this conversation?” He waved away the constant barrage of smoke. “It’s not fun, having to hold myself back is killing me more than you know. Can’t you just give me one of your regulars, for a night? Wasn’t there that lad, the silly top hat with the cane he doesn’t need. I think-”

         “No. If this is what you want to talk about day in and day out, you might as well kill one and satisfy yourself!” She huffed, curls and well put up hair bouncing behind her as she went back inside.

         Santonio walked after her, passing her on his way to the stage. “And if this is what you want to do anytime I mention it, that’s all you, darling.”

At approximately 19:34 on the MayFair Cruise, Santonio began to sing. His voice dripped through the room, which was as large as the very sky he watched. It was almost as dark. He felt faces melting into the darkness, their clothes and expensive hairdos hiding themselves; keeping their faces intact, but only that. His spot, the only illuminated tidbit of the stage. A dreary pimple on dark skin. Ignoble.

Those many hours spent at the spotlight, minutes that tick by faster only when he’s remembering them. Those were tiresome. But even without Isabella’s help, he had managed. He found a man, a good looking youth that had so often come to watch him sing, but often not her. There were moments during the show, he found himself looking directly at the man, and found the man looking away. It was fun to watch him squirm.

Santonio had introduced himself, as if he didn’t know the man. His ponytail came loose in the middle of conversation, and he felt the man’s gaze on his. The man introduced himself as, “Just a stranger. O-or an.. admirer, I suppose.” He tried to look coy, it was humorous. Santonio couldn’t finish his after show signature yawn, this stranger was so amusing. It was a nice change. He wanted to test it, almost desperately. The lengths this man would go through for him.

Santonio steadily poured his wine, the sound fighting against the silence of the room. The man continued to stare, mouth agape at Santonio’s suite. The interior held a bed that shouldn’t have been given to the ship’s entertainment, of all people. The floors were dark hardwood, and the walls had a blue and white pattern reminiscent of an old home, complete with flowers and odd shapes. There wasn’t a mirror in the room. His small window was blocked by a drape the man knew Santonio shouldn’t have had.

The boat shifted it’s course. They were both sitting on the large bed, a respectable distance away from each other. Santonio was handing the other man a drink when they both watched the wine swish around the glass, a dab falling onto the mans shirt. He swore, jumping a bit at the cold touch on his skin. That was the first time he’d said something since he came into the room. Santonio sighed, finding a paper towel for the man.

          “I’m awfully sorry,” he smiled. “It is a nice room, but the turbulence is the worst.”

         He took the towel cautiously, swallowing a terrible feeling. “I’ll say.”

         “Erm… Can I get you another drink?”

         “Certainly.”

         Santonio found another wine glass, his main source of fun on the ship. The silence returned, the man next to him trying to quiet his cough and his awkward glances. Once he got the drink, he downed it immediately. “So, where are you from?” His collar was lifted, as if he’d just forgotten the mess on his shirt.

         “Where am I from? What a cute question. It’s befitting of you… I’m calling you cute, you know.” Santonio cradled his wine, finally sitting next to the man. Close enough that their thighs touched.

         “T-that is what you’re doing, isn’t it? Thank you.”

         “You’re welcome. You know, usually I like to take my time with these things, but you’ve got me feeling different today. It’s almost scary.”

Santonio’s mouth was moving closer to his neck, the man could feel it. A slow crawl as the distance between them dissipated into mist. If he were anymore higher, their breath could collide and form a kiss before they did. The man wondered why Santonio hadn’t gone for a kiss first, but thought nothing of it besides his own preference. And then he backed away.

         “Why did you stop?” The man wasn’t sure it was him saying those words, but it had to be. He was thinking it, definitely, but he felt almost rude saying it out loud.

         Santonio was smiling at the man, “I still need a name.”

         “George. Now please-” He had his eyes closed when Santonio dragged him deeper into the hellish colour of his covers. There were firm kisses, but that was expected. What drew him to Santonio was something indescribable, and after he had met him, his scent. It was tempting, like an apple from a tree. What he felt even standing next to him was like hell fire.

         His mouth worked lower on his neck, George was wrapping his body around him when he felt a prick. No, it was worse. A bite. But it was just that. A little nip. Santonio could hear his anguish, “Ah, I’m sorry. I rarely know when to stop.”



It was after a long night with George, the sheets ruffled but clean. He had a cig outstretched for George to take, he didn’t smoke himself. The waves outside were calmer than usual, as if even they wanted to hear their gossip. In that moment of silence in such a loud evening, Santonio posed his question.

         “Will you be coming to my next show?”

         His eyebrows skitted up, like he were a lost cat trying to race down an alley. Was this another invitation, or a way to ask if the sex was good? Did… Did he want him to come back? “I- I want to, but my brother and his wife need me to help with the shuffleboard. You know they had to bring some of the activities down here, on the lower decks. It’s been blocking their room.”

         He smiled at him, “You can invite them!”

         “They haven’t changed clothes for days.”

         Santonio laughed. “A swim in the ocean could fix that.”

         George tried hard not to laugh, bunching the sheets around him, “Well, I doubt Frederick will appreciate hearing that. Do you mind if I nap on your bed? It’s too much trouble to get up.”

         “It’s fine, as long as I get another night with you.”

         “Well, I never said no to that.”

         “Perfect,” Santonio mused before getting out of bed. Normally, he would have a rest in the bed himself, but now was a good time to see how long he could keep George to himself. The blood he had taken from him was already enough to get through the day, at least until tonight. Unless he wasted it, he wondered.

In and out of clothing, Santonio looked like water flowing from a glass pipe. Fluid motion that can’t be hidden by the clothes he wore. He felt it was more romantic than saying he was tap water, easily accessible. He laughed at his own joke, minding the other man’s breathing. George had fallen asleep?

There was a good part that wondered if George was really awake, or if he was watching him at that. “How sad it is to get used to the feeling of eyes on you.” He turned to face George, a still figure covered in red bedding. His eyes were closed, yet he still felt the pull of them. To think something beautiful is covered by dreary blankets, he wondered if that was how George felt about Santonio. For him, all he thought was how malleable George was.

A malleable neck, a beautiful thing. If he could tremble his hand down that neck, would it lead back to the two marks on his collar, or to a choke hold? It was amazing to think of such an influential person, already admiring your humanity. It made him want to hurt him, to drink more of him.



When George awoke a second time that day, Santonio was staring at him wistfully. Was it anyone but him, it would have been off putting. He lifted his head from beneath the covers, about to speak when he felt light-headed. He felt the world dizzying around him, spinning like a globe. “I..Uhm-”

         “Are you okay?” Santonio asked. His arms were wrapped around George’s, saving him from diving into the red bed.

         “Yes, thanks. I should really go help my brother now.” George sounded pained, even to himself.

         “No, you don’t sound well. In fact, you sound hurt.”

         “Well, yes, because I am.” George laughed.

         “Even in this, you have enough time to laugh at your own jokes? Amazing. If it’s that bad, I can go instead.”

         “You would do that for me?”

         “Yes,” Santonio sounded incredulous, “Wouldn’t you do it for me?” He smiled.

         “This, and anything more.” George didn’t need to think.

         “Can I hold you to that later?”

         “Yes.”

         Santonio’s smile dropped, his hair falling around them as he undid his braid. “Thank you.”

‡ ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡

         ”Another stormy day, how nice.”

         “Is it? I always found them dreary.”

         That made Santonio curious, “But you’re here with me?”

         He shrugged, absentmindedly swirling his coffee around, “I can’t see how the two of you are comparable.”

It was dark, the cloudy sky still barely illuminating the night. The moon slowly peeking out through the clouds, a mouse barely out of it’s hole. The two of them, Santonio and George, were loitering on the balcony. The sun hadn’t shown itself in a while, begging to be exposed.

         “Are you planning on an all-nighter?” Santonio asked, noticing the coffee.

         “Hardly,” He smiled back, “Believe or not, this was the norm before I’d met you.”

         “Oh, what changed it?”

         “Don’t give me that coy look, you know!”

         Santonio did. He coughed to hide his giggling, giving George a look while he stirred his coffee a bit faster than before. “My memory isn’t as good as it used to be, I think someone’s been screwing me a few screws loose.” George turned around, and walked back into the dinner show. “Aw, George!”

‡ ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡

A night without George, it was odd. It was quiet, and there was a restlessness underneath Santonio’s skin, like he’s expecting something that never comes. Did he really miss him? No, he mused quietly to himself. No, no, no. George… was good blood. “I am using him.” That was nice, he thought. We just need more thoughts like those.

Thoughts that didn’t revolve around George were hard to come by. Santonio found himself wondering what the other was doing so many times out of the day. Even now, when he knew, it was hard not to project George into any situation. What if he’s somehow saving a cat, as we speak? He sighed, shoving a hand through his hair. The bed creaked.

The room was quiet, but outside was the waves of a viscous storm, and even worse so were the thundering steps outside his cabin door. They beat the floorboards with a satisfying stomp, a slow drag following behind it. Santonio stared at his door, taking all his strength not to pull open the door himself and reveal what demon lay behind it to take him again.

The creature stopped in front of his door. The door was oak, and it’s golden knob slowly turned. The door was squeaking, slowly opening until it drifted off to the wall. It was her. Her long blue dress discarded for pants and a dress shirt. Her hair was still up, and the makeup was caked from tonight’s performance.

         “Oh, hello. It’s…been a while, yes?” Santonio tried not to peek behind her, to see what she brought for him to discard this time. And yet he couldn’t help staring at her fangs on display, or the wild shift in her eyes. He always wondered if he looked that mad, if George ever lifted his eyes to see something so inhuman.

         “Mmm, yes. You have been having fun with a boy, while I do business.”

         “He’s not a child, please.”

         She mumbled distastefully, “Just help me with the body, yes?”

         “…Yes.”

She dragged the rest of him in, swinging him into the room like a ragdoll, or javalin. He eyed it with a grimace, the grotesque and drained face staring at him blankly from his hardwood panel. She squared her feet, facing him while she scratched her back. He turned to look at her instead.

         “You’re good for the month?”

         “Yes. I don’t play around.”

         He sighed, “I know.”

Her eyes were newly white, less bloodshot than the man’s before her. If only he stopped with his stupid rules, his imaginary vices that meant he had to starve himself. When she came to his room with the body in tow, it was the same plea she used to silently asked him. Feed. He never did. He was almost like a stubborn child, young and naive. Never taking the easy way, and always going to lengths to avoid it. He reminded her of her brother. And that’s why she never pushed him.

When the body hit the floor, it landed with a thud so loud she was glad they were on the lower deck. No doubt, if that weren’t the case, they’d get complaints and people down there countless times already. She crouched to meet the burlap sack, untying it’s entrance and throwing the rope over her shoulder. That’s when Santonio joined in, his hands gloved and hair tied up. He was never one for getting dirty. She, on the other hand, had pants with dried red stains that she didn’t bother to wash. Like anyone would see her this late at night.

There was no point to walk the halls at night. Yes, some people even feared it. Once people went missing that they’d talked to the night before, they noticed. They were scared and much harder to draw out. The feeds had their pros and cons, and she didn’t know which one this was. And now, her pants were dirty because of it.

Santonio gripped the bag while she tore the entrance wide, ripping the body from it’s bag[like a hidden knife]. And then she took out her machete, clasped to her ankle for the long night ahead of them. She turned once more to secure that the door was locked behind them. It was kind of funny, she realized. A dead human on his floor, where that one live boy has probably been laid on countless times already. But she didn’t say it out loud. Now was business.

They took ends of the human, laying his body partly on the sack. Santonio had his own weapon, a sharpened letter opener. She scoffed, remarking that he should have better equipment now. He just played it off, saying it was better to be innocuous than wave a giant knife around. She smirked. And then they laid the mans arms out, stretching his legs to match. Santonio had the bottom half, while she worked the torso, head, and arms.

After each piece was separated and stacked on the pile, she had a go at every limb to make sure she didn’t miss a drop. Santonio just watched, making idle conversation in a grim demeanor that almost suited him. Yes, she was sure he was staring into her wild eyes with mild disgust and fascination. Yes, she thought. This is what you look like when you feed. Except hers were healthier. His eyes were just empty, red filling in the sides. He was hungry, but forcefully stopping himself.

There were times she stopped herself from offering some. It felt wrong to tempt him. If he were ever to break his little one-man oath, she didn’t want it to be because of her teasing. It would feel wrong, then. And somehow she knew he wouldn’t get over it. Her arms felt heavy holding the man’s head, and once she finished feeding, it was sufficiently lighter. Once she finished draining the last body part, she rose to stretch.

         “Thank you again, for this room.” She bellowed, her eyes roaming across it.

         “It’s no trouble, really.” His voice came from below her, and when she stopped eyeing the room to see him the bag was already full. Each drained and thin piece was stuffed into the bag, which looked much smaller than when she came in. All she had to do was tie it off.

         She grabbed the rope from the floor, kneeling toward the bag to tie it up. A simple knot, carefully kept from slipping off. And then she noticed the floor. It was clean enough, as they tried to keep it during the work. But there are never perfect sessions. Tiny spots of blood were still wet on the floor. She wiped a finger at it. “You have some work to do.”

         Santonio began to laugh, “I thought you were going to start lapping it up, honestly.”

         “Tsk,” she made a face, before laughing anyway. “As if I was really that meticulous?”

‡ ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡ ‡

They made quick work of the body. Together, her and Santonio drained it of a little glass more of wine for her late night. For all his hard work, Santionio didn’t want a drop. She thought it was odd, but paid no mind to his quirks. He was still young, after all. He still had time to hold onto his virtuous ideals. She left him, with a bag more closely compact than it was coming in. It was tied with ropes to hold things in place, and a few rocks to weigh it down.

Nobody would be surprised if another went missing. Many had gotten off the ship from the start, knowing how terrible the storm would be. Not to mention the amount dying in the search for rations. What was one more? Well, they both knew. One more human’s worth of blood was pleasure, a good night. Maybe not to anyone but themselves, definitely not George.

Santonio glanced around his room. There was a small mess of blood, tiny specks that she hadn’t licked off the floor. Just noticeable if he had any repeating visitors; Mostly visible if that visitor wasn’t spending seventy-five percent of their time on his bed, so there was almost no worry that he would notice them.

And yet, in the back of his mind Santonio had the urge to clean it up. As if presenting himself as someone who took care of himself, and as someone who wasn’t an evil monster was his main priority. Santonio was about to lie on his bed and rest, forgetting about the possible blood stains. But instead he found his hand reaching for the tissue by his side, and began to stare at it in his hand. What’s one more task for the night? After all she’d made him do, this one thing was nill in comparison.

Santonio often forgot what messy work it always was. His hands and knees ached on the wood paneling, while he scrubbed away the last of a messy bloodbath. Why was it always so messy? His eyebrows knit up while he took a sharp intake of the air, a bitter mistake. He never got used to the smell, no matter how much she said it wasn’t there. His eyes strung, but they were tired. The entirety of the nights recent endeavors flashed through, while he desperately tried to forget.

“That… was enough.” He stood from his spot on the floor, unceremoniously throwing himself on to the bed. For a moment, he gave himself time to relax. A minute to indulge in things he knew he shouldn’t have been doing. He thought about George, and about the warmth he provided. His surprising lack of death. Yes, Santonio’s drifting final thoughts about George, were that he was too good for this kind of life.