The warehouse was rather secluded, for being located in Venice. It was much of a hideout; an old factory that had been located here and had shut down years ago that everyone tried to ignored. It didn’t look pretty. Peeling paint, a metal box, concrete floors inside. Nobody came in, nobody went out. At least, that’s what most people concluded because business was conducted at night with stealth like precision. It was vital that nobody knew what was going on here, and so silence consumed the air when the sun set even though the warehouse was a bustle of activity.
Inside, a bunch of foldable cloth stalls were stacked in lines that could easily be hidden if need be. Within the stalls there was room enough for a couple of cushions and blankets; nothing else. There was an outhouse, located towards the back entrance of the warehouse, and it was filthy. You wouldn’t want to go in there if you were wise; chances are, it was full of diseases. This was the permanent residence of Paris-Germano, who was currently pushing drugs and offering illegal prostitutions brothel. In Italy, prostitution was legal; but when a pimp was making money off of countless ‘whores’, that’s where the law drew the line.
Most of his workers didn’t even sleep here. He’d invite them to help produce drugs here, but other than that, only a few of the Vampire’s favorites were allowed to stay. The rest Paris would put up in hotels and allow them to do their work their. Nobody was too suspicious of his inner workings, and that was good.
This evening the Vampire was half dressed, shirtless and sockless but wearing some dress pants, lounging around on a cheap looking mattress he had set up in a stall in the back room. He didn’t have much here; there was no furniture, heating, air conditioning…the best part was the building didn’t have windows so he didn’t have to worry about the sun coming up. Besides, Paris had very loyal workers to guard him from people who might try to come in when he was unconscious and vulnerable during the day.
A boy was sitting on the other end of the mattress; blond and too thin with track marks up and down his arms. He was eighteen, or so he claimed. Paris didn’t really care what his age was- he looked young enough, and he was beautiful. This one was named Drake, and when the immortal had arrived home a few days ago visibly upset, the child had taken care of him. Now, the two were both sitting, coming down from a high that they had induced by a variety of drugs. They didn’t touch or even look at each other; just sat, counting the minutes down until they would have to get their next fix.
Inside, a bunch of foldable cloth stalls were stacked in lines that could easily be hidden if need be. Within the stalls there was room enough for a couple of cushions and blankets; nothing else. There was an outhouse, located towards the back entrance of the warehouse, and it was filthy. You wouldn’t want to go in there if you were wise; chances are, it was full of diseases. This was the permanent residence of Paris-Germano, who was currently pushing drugs and offering illegal prostitutions brothel. In Italy, prostitution was legal; but when a pimp was making money off of countless ‘whores’, that’s where the law drew the line.
Most of his workers didn’t even sleep here. He’d invite them to help produce drugs here, but other than that, only a few of the Vampire’s favorites were allowed to stay. The rest Paris would put up in hotels and allow them to do their work their. Nobody was too suspicious of his inner workings, and that was good.
This evening the Vampire was half dressed, shirtless and sockless but wearing some dress pants, lounging around on a cheap looking mattress he had set up in a stall in the back room. He didn’t have much here; there was no furniture, heating, air conditioning…the best part was the building didn’t have windows so he didn’t have to worry about the sun coming up. Besides, Paris had very loyal workers to guard him from people who might try to come in when he was unconscious and vulnerable during the day.
A boy was sitting on the other end of the mattress; blond and too thin with track marks up and down his arms. He was eighteen, or so he claimed. Paris didn’t really care what his age was- he looked young enough, and he was beautiful. This one was named Drake, and when the immortal had arrived home a few days ago visibly upset, the child had taken care of him. Now, the two were both sitting, coming down from a high that they had induced by a variety of drugs. They didn’t touch or even look at each other; just sat, counting the minutes down until they would have to get their next fix.