Foodie

"You're so young," he said (a bit uncomfortably). "We could use someone ... to do day tasks and, I shudder to say this, but ... you need to serve to survive." The kid gulped. "I get it," he whispered, then took a couple of deep breaths and steadied himself. "Still worth it." The vampire clapped, relieved. "Well, that's marvelous, because - again - I applaud you for being one of the few who've even come close to the truth!" The kid smiled. "Could you ... would you mind ... telling me why? Why turn and stay like this? You had a rich, full life and the promise of heaven ..." "I know," the vampire said. "You're not wrong. It's the pain of old age, you see - the pieces of you that either throb or seize up or drop off almost daily; it's inhumane, so ... being inhuman felt easier. It was that and the food. My senses are incomparable to what they were before; I don't have to eat a meal to smell its ingredients or experience its flavors and textures at the back of my throat. I weakened and embraced a kind of everlasting culinary debauchery." "I'll eat it," the kid said. "Whatever you make. I'm down with it." The smile was genuine and warm and a sigh came next. "That would be a delight," Vincent Price said (his amber eyes flashing). "Up until now, it's just been Bela cooing over the scent of the goulash." The kid started. "Wait ... wait, who is cooing over ..." And Price laughed with a twinkle in his eyes (the way he always had).