Name: Melvin Jules Lyons
Education Background:
1995 - 1995 : University of Louisiana at Lafayette
Major Courses: Psychology, Finance (change)
1996-2000 : Amalaric Thrallmaster
Major Courses: Military, Hustler
Self-taught
Work Experience:
l Medical technician (part time)
l Security guard (part time)
l Prison janitor (2003-2003)
l Vampire juice box (2005-2008)
l Babysitter (1997-1997)
l Stripper (Hunk-O-Mania Male stripper/New Orleans)
Professional Skills
None
Self evaluation
None
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The man examined the job application. He looked at the applicant. "You've been to Locucts?"
"Yes…" Melvin nodded. "I went during school. Like I tried to get a job for a school assignment."
"Extra credit?" asked the employer. "I have work under my belt."
"Well…" Mr. Miller glanced at the application. "You were a stripper in New Orleans?"
He nodded. "How much would you say you made?" asked Mr. Miller. "Um… a couple 300 a night…" his shoulders were tense. "Look… I really need another job."
Mr. Miller stared at him. He came in a white shirt and baggy jeans. He had a tattoo of jagged wings on the left bicep. "What about your vampire knowledge?" Mr. Miller took off his glasses and wiped them with his shirt. "I understand that the realm is close to Virginia."
"Yes. I'm.. um… I'm black."
Mr. Miller quirked a brow. "Excuse me?"
"Like…" he started moving his hands in a circle. "My mama creole. That's why I went to work in Louisiana."
Mr. Miller nodded, "I don't think a juice box is a job…"
"Well… compared to stripping, it's basically the same thing."
"I lost a daughter to a vampire." They blinked at each other. "I'm sorry."
"She got pregnant and left the little shit outside the door. Since you studied at… the vampire college. Do you know anything about that?"
Melvin looked to the side. "Uh…"
"I like men with confidence." said Mr. Miller. "Im--I have anxiety."
"Does anxiety come to you often?"
"No. I… I don't know where it come from. It just--"
"Do you have gas when you have anxiety?"
"Are you going to give me a job!"
"You're a vampire. This is the state of Pennsylvania. Why would you come way up here?"
"I quit." he put his hands up. "I don't wan the job."
"Sir." Mr. Miller rubbed his forehead. "This is a job to take out trash. You just admitted, basically, you know about the black market."
"No!" he shook his head. "I know vampires."
"That's the same--"
"Don't call me that!"
"What--I didn't call you anything."
"I wanted this job but you just lost an employee. I have never been dis disrespected like this."
"Excuse me?"
"I… came here. To work for you… but you don't deserve me."
Mr. Miller stared and stared. "You excuse me. Swindle me--"
"I'm swindling?"
"This is racist!"
"I--"
"I'm going to the state work and home security about this. Because I'm just been assaulted." Melvin stood up and looked at the man in his blue eyes. "You need to work in this country. I came for a job and treat me like a common fucking criminal. I tell you what, I have never in my life been raped."
"Excuse me, Mr. Lyons."
"My name is Melvin Leroy."
"So you lied on the job application?"
"Yes but that is your job application!" he jabbed his finger towards him. "It is yours!"
"this is the paper you gave me!"
"I wante dthe job but you just had to have it your way, like a black man can't--"
"Enough!" shouted Mr. Miller. "I don't want you working here. Your behavior--"
"You just called me a nigger. I should sue!"
"I never said such a thing."
"I'm going to the worker's union. Martin Luther King wanted us to be peaceful. But I just cannot take anymore--"
"Get out!" Mr. Miller pointed to the door. "This could have been my livelyhood."
"This is about taking out the trash. We have people that take out the trash and quit because they wanted to get rid of cocaine!"
Melvin inhaled. "I am a black american man."
"I t doesn't matter!"
"I have a way to my goal. And my goal is to live."
"Get out!"
"I have… made it far. Really far. And I'm proud of me."
"What the fuck!"
"My soul was looking forward to this job. I was finna make a change. Shit was finna change with me on team but that's yo problem. YOU DON'T LIKE CHANGE!" Melvin put his zipper down and his thumbs in his pants. His breeches came down and his dick revealed. "Goddamn it!" Mr. Miller covered his eyes.
"I! Am! Proud!" she swung his arms out to the side. "Because I try my best!" tears covered his vision. "Everyday!"
"Security!" yelled Mr. Miller. "I will never change! It is I that moves forward, with no one pushing me. I AM SOMEBODY."
"GET THE FUCK OUT--"
Mr. Miller's back hit the heater behind his desk. He held his chest for a minute while Melvin gathered up his pants. "Give me your fucking soul. I might get fangs for this." He held his hand out. A tattoo on his palms shimmered as the man's soul floated into his hand. Melvin flexed his fingers, "That makes twelve."
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Syndrome: You got it?
Count: You mean the house?
Count: Pop buried the entire fucking thing in the bayou
Syndrome: How does one bury a house?
Syndrome: You don't remember anything about it?
Count: I hate my fucking brother
Count: I don't know how long I've been out either.
Syndrome: what about the safe house? And not the castle, crackhead.
Count: Fuck you with ambition…
Count: The safe house is still up… also
Count: you heard about the department?
Syndrome: That's my next plan. I'm in Pennsylvania.
Count: Why?
Syndrome: Applying to Jobs and taking the place apart.
Count: well don't forget the workers
Count: And don't forget fucking me! I'm your fucking cousin!
Syndrome: Huh?
Syndrome: Oh… yeah. So anyway
Count: Bitch ass nigga! bon à rien, Vous vous appelez famille ? À quoi me sers-tu ?
Syndrome: You'll be fine, crackhead.
Count: So, another question
Count: How's your son?
Syndrome: Dead and not dead.