Disclaimer: Not mine

Rating: PG13

Pairings: None, though I hint at everything.

Summary: Josef rants about various things during the holidays. May be a bit OOC, since this is my first fic. Reviews on OOC-ness are appreciated.

AS I SEE IT…
Chapter 1
Not Getting Any Older…

"Why do they do this to us?" I wondered aloud, not expecting or wanting an answer.

But, of course, when does that ever happen?

"Do what?"

I rolled my eyes, sinking deeper into the cushions of Mick's couch. "That." I pointed at the screen. "Why do they air this crap?" He looked at the TV.

"Oh, that."

"Yeah." I don't even know why we were watching the New Year's celebration in Times Square in the first place. Both of us had better things to do—well, at least, I know I did. Mick… I don't know about him. Sometimes I think he'd catch that human 'forgetfulness' syndrome if I didn't keep him on his toes. Those humans are a bad influence on him.

Though I must admit, the stupidity of New Year's celebrations amuse me. All humans do is try to fight time. They race the clock like it's chasing them with a machete, but when it says 'Hey, guess what? You're one year closer to death!' they jump up and down and watch a shiny disco ball drop in New York so they can kiss and make resolutions and whatnot. Then, once they sleep the champagne-induced hangover off and get over the fact that they kissed that ugly stalker creature while being caught up in the 'it's a whole new year' moment, they're right back on their anti-aging creams, diets, vitamin supplements and anti-bacterial soaps in hopes of prolonging their lives and looking younger while they do it.

Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that a lot like a cow putting on lipstick, stilettos, and expensive perfume? Or is this some natural instinct I haven't heard of yet? Certain butterflies that taste absolutely delicious to birds disguise themselves as monarch butterflies, which must taste like shit because birds avoid them.

Well, maybe that's not the same thing. Because I don't care what you say, artificial preservatives do not make certain women taste any better. Worse, actually, if you get right down to it. I lose count of the number of times I've bitten into a woman I thought was a natural beauty—and turned out to be a bleached-blond, shake-and-baked, twenty-five cent prostitute.

I swear Mick brought her over on purpose. He derives some sick pleasure from seeing me spit up vile blood when he feeds me something disgusting. And I must say, I've kind of lost my taste for tan women since that incident. I still need a way to get back at him.

Maybe if I drained his little pet's blood and switched it out with that disgusting expired blood he keeps at his place. Of course, I'd steal a sip or two. Even Mick's prostitute prank couldn't quell my taste for blondes.

A better idea! Maybe I could switch the blood with V8 juice. Then I'd be a bit less likely to end up like Coraline.

"Hey, Josef?"

I looked up. Must've zoned out again. But hey, I can't help that there's nothing but crap on television these days.

"Aren't you gonna watch the countdown?"

I sighed irritably. "If it amuses you, then why not?"

I watched the screen with mild interest. 5… 4… 3… 2… 1…

IT'S THE SAME AS LAST YEAR!!

Is it too much to ask for the Y2K bug to strike? Maybe a bit late, but better late than never!

"Josef?"

Someone's talkative tonight. "What?"

"Happy New Year."

I stared at him in disbelief. "Not you too!" I said with a groan. He just smiled as he took a sip of blood from my champagne glass.

"Just thought I'd say it."

Rolling my eyes, I snatched his glass and drained it in one gulp. "Mick?"

He arched an eyebrow to show he was listening.

"If you try to kiss me, I'll stake you."

Grinning, he handed me my glass. "Don't worry. I know you hate holidays."

Next time: Valentine's Day! Tune in!