Soiled bedding, unclean beasts, and sweat were a reprieve against the residue left behind by the throng of humans that had scoured the zoo during the day. The excessively pungent odor that hung around the nearest waste disposal could be most commonly associated with beggars. The sanitary one intermixed with a lingering hint of sweets was that of a child who had loitered in awe by the lion’s exhibit – of which drifted back into the mass when he was no doubt drawn away by a fretful mother when he grew too bold. Harsh smells, sweet smells, odors that she rather not contemplate the origin of. All of which could be unbearable to her senses.
Nay, if her nose had been the decision-maker, Anselina would never enter such a place of human gathering. Oh, she did not find them foul – well, not most of them. But for one who had spent a great deal of one’s almost fifteen hundred years away from mass populations… one could not fully adjust to the smells that went along with the crowded living. But if her nose ruled her, Anselina would never have entered the zoo, let alone live in Demaitre (though, to be fair, there had been a much smaller populace when she arrived).
No, curiosity proved to be the driving force. While the lands she had wandered were home to many of the animals present, she seldom had a chance to be up-close and personal. And then there were others that her mind, even in this day and age, could not fantom. She had long ago come to peace with the idea that two individuals could communicate through a small device verbally anywhere in the world; to the sound of large automobiles buzzing down the streets. It was much more difficult to believe that impossibly tall creatures with long necks existed. Even more so preposterous when one tried to explain to her the significance of its “yellow” and “spotted” coat. Which upon further frustrating discussion seemed rather absurd for an herbivore since its coat was “eye catching.” How did they survive predators? And other names: lions, zebras – which were horses and not horses at the same time --, and bears in close proximity. Fabulous wonders.
Yes, curiosity drove her.
To listen to their movements, hear the way they breathe, to let her mind venture out and try to gather a general idea of their shape. Touch would have been far more helpful. But every time she had ever tried the animal either shed from it, or a rather flustered mortal would rush to her aide. She didn’t want to touch that animal. It was dangerous; a predator. A hand through a bar was an offering of a late night snack. A strange concept. After all, humans were her source of feeding, and there he had been, in much closer range than “a hand through a bar,” yet had nothing to fear. That man would never know that out of personal effort on her part. However, the concept was well worth the personal amusement.
So, as she did about once every two weeks, Anselina stood near one of the exhibits. Her more flamboyant choice of wardrobe spurned for a simply layered skirt, shirt, and headdress; a fashion still a bit behind in times, but more accepted by mortals. The scent and presence of the caged creature leaned towards what she recognized as a tiger. The large cat, she could gather, was in the farthest corner of this part of his habitat that he could get while still watching her. A snarl of warning escaped his mouth on occasion, mingled with a flicker of fear. Not the first time this had happened with such an animal. Recognition on his part of another, and perhaps greater, predator as well as a claiming of his territory.
It was still within the attraction’s working hours, but few humans seemed to consider it a favorite nightly pastime. A thankful thing, as such an occurrence was bound to look slightly uncanny. But she could sympathize with the beast, restricted to this small home as she was to Demaitre. The difference? His bonds were physical. Unlike others in her coven, Anselina did not roam much. Her lack of sight could become a hindrance. It was usually best to remain in Demaitre, a city she had learnt well. Yes, in many ways, she could sympathize with a caged predator.
The stench of caged life had always irritated his nose; such a reaction had only become intensified since the time of his undeath, and as he prowled among the predators, he could feel the gaze of every one of them on his hunched back, staring at him through the bars and envying his freedom. But was it truly freedom? Could he truly consider this life of his as being one of liberty?
No, he was chained and bound, just as much as they, trapped in his unnatural shell and held down with his purpose of eliminating the scourge of the mortal world: the vampires.
He paused to meet the soulful eyes of a noble chimpanzee as it sat upon a twisted branch and picked errantly at a knothole in it, waiting for a meal that would never come. A plastic dish containing diced up fruits sat within arm’s reach, but the beast ignored it, preferring to hunt for the live insects that, by all rights, should have been living in the piece of wood he sat upon.
“Poor brute,” he sighed, shaking his head sympathetically. “Neither you or I can ever eat what we need most, but at least I have the choice,” he murmured. The ape temporarily abandoned his fruitless hunt, and made his way toward the bars, one hand outreached. Jeff knelt to take that hand, and lend his brother beast some consolation…
There was a loud and triumphant screech, followed by a startled shout, as a chimp made off with Jeff’s glasses, and retreated to the furthest corner of his habitat. Jeff, kneeling in his trademark camouflage trench-coat, stared after the creature in dismay, although in the dim light he could only make sense of a blurry shadow dancing against the bigger, lighter blur of the back wall of the enclosure.
“You little monster! I try to give you comfort, and you…you…” the young man sputtered, standing and stomping his foot with frustration.
“You deserve it,” quipped a passerby on her way out of the zoo. “You’re not supposed to go that close to the cage.”
Jeff glared in her approximate direction before ducking back under the guard bar that, ideally, was supposed to keep visitors at least six feet away from the bars of the exhibit. He wasn’t sure how he’d explain to a zoo employee how the chimp got his glasses without adding that he’d violated the unspoken rule of staying behind the bar, but he’d have to think of something.
He was virtually blind without those glasses, and he didn't have a spare pair.
