The voices were worsened by his exhaustion, raking at his brain with horrid thoughts and familiar words. The groans of his wife, the cackles of his sire, after so long they seemed to run together. Or maybe, he was starting to forget who they were. Often times he attempted to recreate her face in his mind, he could remember her hair, her nose, mouth, the color of her eyes... but not her face, unable to piece everything together into a living person. He couldn't even remember the look she gave him when she said they were expecting, or when he so frightfully asked how their daughter had disappeared. All he had was her voice, haunting him with a manta of "where is she" as a crazed, masculine giggling crept up on them, tearing her voice apart just as they once did her body.<br/><br/>Loretta was the first person to see him, just as any other night. He failed to greet her on his way indoors, leaving the poor girl to trot after him like a hungry cat. She was mumbling something again, but it was incomprehensible, MacClery simply took it as worried chatter that only grew louder once he reached his personal bathroom, peeled off his stained overcoat, and wretched over the sink like he'd waited his whole life to. The bourbon was all that came up, but it felt like hot bile, leaving his throat raw. But, it would heal by morning, he simply slumped over there, leaning on his arms, hands pressed against the marble counter, looking himself over in the mirror. A pair of arms were around his waist, Loretta hugging him close, face pressed into his back. It was another gesture he tolerated, but refused to encourage.<br/><br/>"Dear... not tonight, I need a drink..." He saw her slowly shift in the mirror, arms loosening. It was like he could feel her disappointment, finding out she was not the one being fed tonight. MacClery slid out of her grip to move a few paces to the bedroom, freeing the neck of his collar, sitting himself on the bed to remove his shoes. While he was getting comfortable the girl had shuffled over, rubbing a spot on her neck in anticipation. Perhaps she was eager to please? Never arguing against his whims, or perhaps being able to feed her domitor was a thrilling alternative to the love and affection she so craved. Her dress was unbuttoned down to her bosom and slid off a single shoulder, sharp fangs pressed against her flesh and she offered a good wince as the kindred bit down, feeling the pop as her skin gave way to his advances. Despite the initial pain, she was petting him, running a hand over his head as if it would somehow soothe him, maternal and loving.<br/><br/>He was kind to her, in some respects. Though he left her to deal with her afflictions on her own, he took some pity on her body, her mind, and was sure to only drink his fill. She was always rendered weak-legged after, but as she was allowed to pull away and walk to the sink to clean herself up, he beckoned her back, pushing the sleeve of his shirt up his arm to expose a wrist. "Loretta dear, this should help stop the bleeding, don't you think?" MacClery had caved, and she hadn't the opportunity to feed from him for a few days now.. A few, meager sips wouldn't bother him. He pricked his wrist with a tooth and she all too hungrily grasped it and suckled at the puncture.<br/><br/>MacClery pushed the girl off him, she kept muttering something along the lines of "thank you, Andy" as he got up to start the record. The sweet sound of static scratching was immediate relief, and paired with the meal, put his mind at a quiet ease. When he turned, Loretta was already there, wet cloth raised to wipe the blood that had run down his chin, she herself was already rinsed clean.<br/><br/>What a poor girl, he thought. If she wasn't so weak, he'd have likely chosen her to be his childe. It was the only life left for her, and her constant care was one of the small blessings he had during his unlife. It was no more apparent than when he laid down to sleep that night despite her anxious gaze, both expecting the trials to come as dawn broke.