Constant Revolution

He extends his hand. The smell of powder and shot cling to his sleeve even in his formal attire. 

“Do you wish to dance?” he asks.

I look at him, his brilliant green eyes holding me in a lover’s embrace. His hair falls in curls and terraces framing his face.

“What is the point? You are leaving. Your precious revolution awaits. The people’s captain surely has no time for the courts and dignitaries of Versailles.”

He smiles and my resolve is consumed in the curve of his lips.

“Tomorrow I belong to France but tonight, in this moment, I am yours.” 

I take his hand and as if whisked away from those around us we are alone on the dance floor. 

I pull him close to me and feel the warmth of his body. I want him. More than anything this empty, pitiful world could offer. So pure, so perfect. I would hate myself for the rest of my nights if I did this. I could have him. And he would hate me for it in return. 

No tears, no tears. 

I absorb him into my skin. His touch, his smell. I was warned. It would come to me as to all of us. I fought it for so long but now it creeps into my mind. My fixation. My consumption. 

“I want this dance to never end,” I speak so softly I wonder if he even hears me. 

“Aurora,” he says my name and I know I never want to hear it spoken by any other ever again.

“You need to leave.” I say. “Now. Before I can’t let you go.”

He slowly pushes me away. I look into those eyes but the smile is gone. He steps back. 

No tears, no tears. 

He turns and walks away. Leaving me among the whirling bodies. He steps out of sight and in my heart I know I will never see him again.

There I stand in a room full of souls, so alone.

And on that floor I fall to pieces.

Omens

02:16 - Three crows on the wire. Yesterday there were only two. One more joined at 01:36. Strange... crows aren't nocturnal.

02:18 - Drunk man passed me by in the street. He wore a blue scarf. Blue is supposed to be a calming colour. Its cold. Yesterday Oscar Vadez wore a blue tie. Coincidence?

02:34 - Strange graffiti tag in the alley way. Never seen it before. Guess I'll go another way.

02:57 - Saw another dead rat lying in the gutter. That is the 33rd this week. 33 added together is 6. There are 7 days in a week. 6 plus 7 is 13. 13 is an important number. I've dated and plotted the location of the rat corpse on the map in addendum 23-F filed.

03:23 - Blue sedan parked in front of the club. The homeless guy wore a blue scarf. Might be better to take the back door today. I'll wait here another 15 minutes and observe.

03:40 - Seems all clear. Entered the club through the back door. Exactly 7 people on the dance floor and 23 at the bar. Both are prime numbers. Curious.

03:56 - Girl in a pink and black dress winked at me. Need to make sure she won't follow me later. Maybe Eddie knows something about her. I'll get the Family to keep an eye on her.

04:33 - Violetta almost killed one of our Family with Pesticide. Thankfully the Brother survived. I need to tell her to be more careful. They're fragile.

Viscera

I walk home. It takes hours. In the frigid air, I don’t shiver.

Still, I pull the hood low over my eyes and tuck my hands in to my sides, staring at my feet as I go. The clicking of my heels mimics the hollow echo in my chest. For a long time I travel trance-like, ignoring the sparse traffic, hypnotising myself with my even stride and stuck-record thoughts.

...shiny toy for a magpie...barren bones for a vulture...leftovers for a hesitant owl...

Something loud crashes away to my left, and the startling sound breaks the rhythm. A moment later my foot catches and I go down with a yelp and a thump, splayed gracelessly on the pavement. I hear ripping, and see that my skirt has torn through at the seam. Bugger.

I push myself up to a seated pose, leaving my legs bent awkwardly. I slam my hand into the pavement with all my annoyance. Nothing.

No pain. Not even a twinge.

The frustration builds and I let out an annoyed snarl. Gravel and dirt sticks to me skin, and I start to brush it off.

“Hey, you okay?”

A man, tall, a bit unsteady on his feet; drunk. His cold-weather blush makes me angry. Suddenly, a rapacious need to do something visceral clenches me. In a split second, I mask it with a shy smile. Maybe this time?

“Oh, um, I tripped. Silly me.” I reach up; he grips my hand and tugs, launching me up. Lighter than he thought? Good. I make sure to stumble against him as he helps me stand, and he reacts to me instantly. Disgusting, the stench that comes off him; having extra-sensitive senses is more of a curse than a tool sometimes. But, perversely, I relish the stomach-churning feeling of repulsion that comes over me. Although I know the feeling isn’t real, its imitation shell provides enough of a comfort to be a fitting substitute. Like orange juice out of a box: fake but good.

I cling unsteadily to his cursedly warm arm and pull on the blank look I do so well.

“Oh no, I think I’m lost!”

His chest swells with importance; here comes his hero moment. I can almost hear his thoughts. Stupid, clumsy girl. Must be a good lay. Easy to drop, too.

“Would it be too much trouble- maybe, you could walk me home?”

Hooked. Laughably easy. As I make up an address I wonder to myself what story he’ll tell tomorrow, about the pretty girl who was lying in the road, how he forgot most of what happened afterwards... Doesn’t matter really. God knows I don’t care.

So, I tuck my hand under his arm, oohing about the cold weather, and ah, don’t I just feel freezing and other nonsense like that. He puts a big, manly, protective arm around me. Ugh. Didn’t his mother ever warn him about strangers?

We walk until I spot a darker street without any pedestrians, more of an alley than anything else. I tug him in, making sure to hug the building and stay out of sight behind cars and dumpsters. Then, a likely spot. I extricate my arm just enough to lean my back against the wall, and pull him forward against me.

I muffle his startled ‘oh!’ with my lips. I pull his head down, closer, and wrap one leg around the back of his. A moment later he’s already making a drunken grunting noise, hands fluttering unashamedly all over me. Trying to let go, to flow with the moment, I close my eyes, and for a long while I don’t know who I’m imagining in his place.

Then, yes.

But this reeking lusty mortal is disappointing. No finesse. Even when I clench my eyes and pretend really, really hard, I only feel the faintest sparks of pleasure. Again, a failure!

Then my frustration with this condition, this numbness, boils over. I wrench his head to the side and bite.

It’s an imprecise lunge, and I hit him just under the jaw. But the blood gushes immediately into my mouth and he slumps a bit, eyes starting to glaze.

The heavenly bliss of feeding- it’s just not the same tonight. Maybe I’ve built up my expectations too high, maybe his tainted blood just doesn’t satisfy the same way. I growl, and suck even more deeply. The feeding haze comes over me, and I back in the trance, building up my pace rhythmically. I snap out when he starts to flail weakly against me, the desperation of a trapped animal as he –and I – realise he’s about to die.

Somehow I just know that he’s low, but instead of stopping I speed up in anticipation of the last mouthful. My insides swell as the blood clamours for space, and I begin to feel that restless twitching of the coming euphoria.

The final gulp is different. It’s ambrosia and joy, mind-blowing, face-twisting joy. I grip him hard, slurping desperately at the empty vein, trying to prolong the sudden warmth that I feel inside. Then, finished, I push and kick the empty vessel away.

I don’t remember when we sat down, but I stretch my legs out and languish in the memory of feeling. I reluctantly shake myself when I feel the viscera on my face drying and the distant internal call of warning against the coming sun. I spend a moment thinking if I should dispose of the corpse – name unknown – but I can’t think of anything particularly clever. Too damn bad. I half-heartedly tip some rubbish over it; I’ve been slumming all night so the extra dirt makes little difference.

Home isn’t far, luckily. Faith had better not give me a ‘look’, I’m sure she’s done worse.

Besides, how should the stupid, clumsy girl know any better?

At the heart of it

What’s going on here? What’s actually happening? Can you feel it build up as if heading toward something? I see the way they behave. It isn’t right. Is it? Is there even something there? So confused and conflicted. I need to warn… someone. Anyone. It’s wrong. But with each passing night it feels more right. Staying where we are is safe. And yet going to what is new just feels… free. We’ve been on this side for a long time. Is leaving even an option? One way or another, we’re going to upset a lot of people. If only there was a way to do both. Stay and be free. Doesn’t work that way, does it?

Final Moments

So this is how it ends. Cut down by a little girl. Defeated by a pitiful childe, a failed experiment. 

No. 

Even as I know my end is coming I can not accept that. It was my own hubris that defeated me. My arrogance in believing that the truth of my work was salvation enough. Obsession defeated me, blinded me. How could such a creature lay me low and feed me to the wolves? 

I thought her pathetic, innocuous and powerless. Leafing through my library without an inkling of the knowledge she perused. And as the flames scoured my body she stood over me. It gleaming in her hand as the final vitality was hewn from my body. 

Does she know? 

Does it matter? 

My library despoiled not by flames but a final trickery from my old nemesis. Powerless she may not be, yet one thing doesn’t change. 

She is a stupid, stupid girl.

From the preaching of Father Carlito DeSorbo

Let me tell you a secret, my children. Love. Love is a human construct. Fraught with human emotion and foolish sentiment. We do not love. It is as foreign to us as the daylight sun. For the pursuit of love is a pointless endeavourer and the belief that one of us can experience love is but delusion. Granted, there are those emotions that masquerade as love. Desire, infatuation, duty even something as simple as banal curiosity. These are all but illusions to the echoes of our past.

Know this; we exist for but one purpose; to survive. Every motivation, every desire and every conscious thought is fed and fueled by this singular notion. To think as a human is to think as prey. And one should never do such a thing lest one becomes the prey. 

There must be no conscience. Do what you must to continue your existence. There must be no remorse. Kill with no discretion. Act without compunction. No life is above yours. This is what you must do to survive. We are hunters. We are killers. 

Now you tell me. Where within that, would you find love?

Back from the dead

You can never tell how much your past affects your life until it comes back at you like a bitch-mistress riding a harley leaving skid marks on your pure white jacket. For Johnny, this was one of those nights. I hadn't been sleeping so well. Being a monster brought back from the dead can do that to a fella. Still, I can't say it was all bad, at least now I had a family that knows what I'm going through - a bunch of mean-ass bastards who have been cursed with the fate of loneliness. The greatest irony is that all us bastards decide the best way to deal with it is to constantly remind ourselves that we're monsters by hanging out with each other. You can see it on everyones faces. Damned by god and man, we lie in these sewers, huddled in bunches with each other, looking to the blind man next to us hoping for answers. Fucking blind leading the blind.

Most of the bastards here have a mind like a canary locked inside a steel cage, and I'm damn glad of it too. You don't want to know what's going on in a monsters mind. If only Johnny were so protected, his mind like an angry 400 pound gorilla who has just had her babies taken from her. His dreams wash into mine, stained like an old photograph left in the sunlight.

I can see him as a child in Detroit - Smog Central, dressed up in browns and greens like a boy scout selling cookies, metal lunchbox in hand, dirt stains on his knees and a scratch mark on his arm dripping blood onto the floor. God, he really did look different then. The woman walks towards him, race-car red lips and ocean-green eyes.

"Get outside, you little monster! Can't you see you're dripping on the floor!"

She grabs him by the arm like a rider pulling a stubborn horse, slaps him across the face and feeds him to the howling wind - the metal lunchbox left behind like a dying man on a battlefield. Hate wells up inside Johnny as he rubs the ice-cold water on the wound. It stings, but not as much as the festering scar inside his heart. She will pay. Oh, yes, someday she will pay!

Late Night News

On the news tonight, a little boy scout is found dead in the forests outside Montreal.
Hi, I'm Ricky Torrence, reporting for CTV news. The police have not released any information on the details of the killing, but eye witnesses report a gruesome scene as local law enforcement called in the park rangers to quell a sudden uprising of nearby animals at the scene. Several shots were fired, but, fortunately, no injuries were sustained by either the police officers, park rangers, or local animals, several of whom were tranquilised in the incident. We have Cindy Tokinawa on the scene - tell me Cindy, what's it like in the forest?

Well, Ricky, there is a thin mist in the air making this the perfect scene for such a heinous act. The police have already rounded up all the remaining children, who were all part of a camping trip organised by the Consolata Wolf Cubs. The scout leader is still reported missing, and we're unsure if his disappearance has anything to do with the murder scene. I spoke to one of the rangers earlier who saw the victim, and he said it would be very difficult for the police to identify anything about the child, who was ravishly feasted upon by wild critters. A gruesome sight to be sure. We are, as of yet, unable to find who murdered the child, or the identity of the child, although the police have told us that they will give a statement in the morning.

Cindy, is that howling we are hearing in the background?

Yes, Ricky, the animals have been acting rather oddly this night, as if sensing a monster in their midst. They have all been very unsettled, some fleeing, others attacking nearby officers as well as those observers who are close by. The police asked that we move some distance away from the crime scene for our own protection and I certainly feel a lot safer away from the murder site. I see one of the forensic officers walking into the cornered off area now. I'll get back to you when we find out more. This is Cindy Tokinawa for CTV News.

Thanks Cindy, on other late night news, Peru has downed another aircraft today that they claim is part of a drug running cartel. More on this after a brief commercial break. Stay tuned folks.

Sorrows

I wrap the slipping satin sheets around myself again. The city glow lights me from below as I stand at the tall window, anonymous and unseen.

I hear him bustling behind me, crackling plastic. He shifts the canvas with a thump.
I sigh, aware of my coldness, the cold arc of breath that doesn’t mist on the icy pane. Standing here, so high above the streets, their dirt, their people, I feel completely alone for a moment, balanced on a precipice that draws me forward over the edge. If the glass weren’t there I’d be falling.

He makes an annoyed sound, and I hear furious scratching, tearing, as he destroys the canvas. It isn’t the first to go. I may be here a while still, at this rate. I shift my weight and brush my hair from my face, even though I know it will cause him a twinge of annoyance.

“Do you love me?”

“Lo,” he warns, not in the mood for my goading games. I shrug.

“It’s okay if you don’t.” I make sure to sound resigned, make sure he knows it’s not okay. I can be petulant if I want.

Wisely, perhaps, he doesn’t answer. I could leave it there. But I just have to push this further. I just can’t help myself these days. There’s something about being dead that makes me feel very brave and reckless. Strange, because I have more to lose now than ever before.

I turn my head coquettishly towards him. “You know how I feel.” I grin, showing a fang. “But he’s very fond of me too, of course.” I don’t need to say who. He knows.

I hear something between a sigh and a snarl. So much self-control from him is unusual, and I suddenly realise it’s an outburst I’m after. The cold feels so much closer than usual tonight, squeezing my insides, burrowing in my chest, freezing the mortal feelings just a bit more with every hour.

I let go of the sheets with one hand and place it on the cold glass. Outside, as inside. That gesture completely breaks the profile line, and I hear him striding towards me. I pretend not to hear, and bite my lip. Just one drop trickles slowly out.

“What if he were to come to me in the night? Stroke my face? Maybe kiss me?”

He’s next to me now. I tilt my face away, eyes half-closed. His hand darts out, grabbing my jaw and twisting me around to face him. He grips hard. He’s smiling. He sees through the game. “What then?” he asks, casual.

“I don’t know. It depends if you love me.”

He grins, just a touch of wickedness. Slowly, excruciatingly, he leans forward and licks the blood off my chin, tracing the line back up to my lip. I tremble, desperate just to feel something. There’s a twinge of fear mixed with an inch of lust. That’s all. I squeeze out a tear in frustration. His face changes, perhaps afraid that he’s hurt me? Either way, he lets go slowly. His hand travels down over my neck, then behind my head and into my hair. There, it grips tight, gently but firmly pulling my head back.

I sigh to him, knowing that if he bites, at least I’ll be out of my misery for this night. But he just teases me with a nip.

“Are you going to stand still?”

I pout unhappily at him. “If you want.”

He releases my hair, and I shake myself. I get a serious look on my face.

“What’s the matter?”

“Oh, magpie... nothing.”

It’s true: it’s the nothingness that’s getting to me. I’m not even sure if I can feel anything, or if it’s just a hollowing echo of a remembered emotion. Maybe vampires need to practice at feeling, and they start to lose hold of those threads if they ignore them for too long. Maybe that’s why Mister Oscar is always so sad. He gets a lot of practice at that.

I should really stop thinking about him. I’m supposed to be enjoying myself here, the cheeky little rebel playing at princess with her rogue. But now I just want to be home and safe and wrapped in a hundred blankets – to keep the last vestiges of warmth in. Probably too late, but it’s a nice idea.

Tomorrow night these doubts will be gone, so I indulge them while I can. I know that when I wake tomorrow I’ll be rough and wild and careless again. By then I’ll forget that I’m alienating everyone. Especially Mister Oscar. I just don’t know how to behave around him, he puts me off my guard and inspires my bratty side with his domineering ‘daddy’ act. I don’t want to give him the pleasure of knowing he’s beat me. Though I don’t know why I get that impression. Maybe it’s all his talk of darling Rebecca, someone I never met who I have to live up to, or surpass. He’ll always see me through the lens of her.

Visit

Jeepers, this is far too many books. Even though some are packed in boxes in the corners, ready to be moved, the shelves are groaning. Maybe they made him crazy. Maybe there's one with a picture of that device he used to- well, you know.

He keeps frowning at me. No matter what I do or say, the frown just gets deeper. What a creep. Just huffed to himself when I gave him some of my blood (MY blood, damn it!). Bet there are plenty of people out there who would pay a much higher price than a sneer for it. He didn't seem to care, but I think it's just a front. Sneaky bastard. He better not do anything funny with it. Though it shouldn't matter, in a few nights he'll be dead, or I will.

Glad the magpie's off to run some errands (or whatever, I didn't ask). He'd just laugh at me trying to be all intellectual. All serious and stuff, pretending I'm listening. I play the good student pretty well, freezing my face into a mask of curious interest. He doesn't notice that my eyes glaze over almost immediately. This is the third night I've sat here being lectured to and oh god I never want to go through this again. Maybe Mister Oscar won't be such an awful teacher. Or maybe I'm just done with this Thaumaturgy bullshit. If he'd actually say something useful, actually give some information, it might be tolerable. But he just spews his incomprehensible crap and uses a bunch of words I don't know all one after the other. Sigh. Every once in a while, between swearing at Oscar and lamenting something or other, he gives me an exercise to do, and always tells me I'm doing it wrong. Occasionally I get, "That wasn't quite as bad as the last time". It feels like I'm doing it right, but I dunno.

Every minute I waste listening to his ramblings is one minute that's going to make this whole operation sweeter.

Beginning to think I may need some more help with this. Johnny would freak out at the idea. Jeremy would think it's a big plot to kill him. Plus I don't think either of them would like Byron, he's just not their type. My magpie will come in handy if I'm in real danger, besides his kind don't like my (and Prester's) kind. Maybe some of the Tzimisce will help, if they're so keen to get rid of him? Faith will play along, but how the hell should I get her here? Tom might have some sort of underground ways. Will have to ask around. But not Oscar; I'm doing this on my own terms.

Rambling, books, frowns. Bastard.

At least with all these goddamn books, he'll burn quicker.

Dear Mister Oscar,

I’m going to go do something stupid again and I just want to say I’m sorry for a lot of things. First of all, I’m sorry you got stuck with me, I know I’m not the type of person you like but I’m trying my hardest. I’m sorry I’m not Rebecca because I know you loved her and you miss her. And I’m sorry I make you worry about me.

But most of all, I’m sorry that you don’t trust me. I know I must have done something wrong. You’re not very emotional or open but I feel like I’ve disappointed you somehow. I want to make it right.

So I’m doing this stupid thing for you. Just to show you that I mean it when I say I’m grateful to you, I’m loyal, and I care about you.

But I’m doing it on my terms.

If I don’t come back, well, that’s okay. Just a failed experiment and all.

If I do, then maybe things can be different. As long as I’m here, you don’t have to be all alone. I’m glad that you’re staying, if you didn’t then I wouldn’t either.

Lola.

Being Stupid

Don't believe in fear

Don't believe in Faith

Don't believe in anything

That you can't break

Letter Intercepted

Elisa,

These nights have been trying. I find myself for the first time feeling isolated and ostracized by those around me. There was a time where this would never have concerned me as I have always preferred acting alone. But with Rebecca gone and Faith behaving more erratically I feel as if my support structures have been swept out from under me. My obsession with bringing Prester to book and the grief of losing Rebecca has robbed me of my objectivity. To make matters worse, this swirling emotional maelstrom that I have found myself in has caused me to manifest other unhealthy infatuations. I have had ample opportunity to act against Prester but for reasons I can not entirely explain I have held back. I need the council of a good friend in these dark times. 

I know you and your brood have made significant inroads into California. If things have settled appropriately, I have written to Vienna to allow the council to release you from your current commitments to assist with the Prester issue.  

As if matters weren’t bad enough in Montreal, I fear history may yet again repeat itself and the city is once again lost to our own political infighting. If that is the case, I’m going to need allies close to me that I can trust. 

Le Saluda Atentamente,

Oscar

Bloodflowers blooming

The bloodflowers are blooming,

He saw,
the end of nights is looming.
A conspiracy of circumstance.

Whats the matter Jeremy?
Why so bleak?
Your face is pale,
Your veins are showing,
Death colours your cheek.

Did the madness get you down?
Are those not friendly voices that speak?
Look out behind you!
In the shadow, something moved!
Is this not the unlife you seek?

Stop being such a pussy!
Your mind is like water, spilling over its cup.
Grab your gun,
Its time to fuck shit up!

The end of nights is looming,
He said,
The bloodlfowers are blooming.
A conspiracy of circumstance.

It's all in the Evidence

If you want to open the hole

Just put your head down and go

Step beside the piece 

Of circumstance

Faith,

Look, I can't say I like this set-up, but I'm not going to say I hate it either. Sooner or later I'm going to need your help and I'd rather not do a whole lot of begging and pleading and explaining then. Just do whatever you have to do and don't babysit me and we'll be just fine. Also I don't want some sort of butler or anything. I know you're getting used to not being a ghoul and stuff, but just let me do my own thing once in a while.

And I must say it's nice to have someone who seems to be on my side (for whatever reasons) in this whole mess. Sure Johnny is all protective and Jeremy, well, I guess maybe he's cool when he's not going all paranoid (sorry about their behaviour, I just can't control them!). But that's our little club, and they kinda have to be on my side of things. Mister Oscar just doesn't trust me which is fucking ridiculous! And all those Camarilla bastards keep sending us on suicide missions and they just get more reckless each time we get lucky and come out alive. We're tools for them, maybe assets or some kinds of political pawns. But they don't really care.

So, um, yeah.

I tend to do some stupid stuff sometimes. If something happens to me it's not your fault okay? Mister Oscar seems to think you're some kinda bodyguard for me. Just tell him I ran away and got into my own mess (probably true) and you weren't involved. Say whatever, like that I told you to go away or dominated you or something, I don't care. Don't want to have to deal with other people getting in trouble for my screw-ups. I'm kinda used to getting out of scrapes, you see.

Er, yeah. okay. I'm just gonna go into my room, and, stuff.

Uh, bye.

Lola.

...when circumstances make death imminent...

There's a thin paper wall in front of me. So thin that it feels like the slightest breeze will tear it to shreds. Behind I can see shapes writhing. Backs and legs and shoulders. Fingernails and teeth. A mass of flesh. An orgy of conspiracies. Shadowed heads look up from the huddle, sharp beaks threatening to pierce the skin separating us. But they never do. They always turn back to their secrets. I can't touch the paper. Its too far, I can't reach it!

Fucking circumstances. There are no circumstances! It wasn't circumstance that raped Faith's memories. It wasn't circumstance that delayed the shipment of explosives. It wasn't a fucking circumstance that blew up the bell tower!

Why do they keep saying that word. Its haunting me! Voices in the dark whisper it. Everyone but me knows the truth and they mock me! They mock me with their little jokes. I'm just a clown to them. Crazy Jeremy, let's play a trick on him. Let's see him squirm. Trick or fucking treat! Fuckers!

The first time it surfaced in my mind like a jellyfish through black harbour waters. Then Faith said it. Then Eddie. Then that Russian cock-sucker Yuri!

What are you afraid of Jeremy? You've got a gun, have some fun!

We're a community of circumstances. Motherfucking circumstances!

Magpie,

I have most of what I need.

Soon we will take a walk again, just you and me and a bird, maybe. Let me know if I need to run. And if you want to get your hands dirty.

Another thing. You are terrifying and exhilarating and I am starting to obsess about you. I love that the thought of you horrifies the others.

They're trying to tie me down with responsibilities. For now, I'm not cutting any ropes, I'm too vulnerable. Many hours we shall wait.

But it will never be too late. We're immortal, after all. Beginning to understand what that means.

xxx

L.

We’re making a mistake. 

Victims of circumstance. Thoughts give us away. A beacon to those who look. 

Fuck you, Lola! 

And like that, our thoughts are gone.

Congratulations, you’re a mother-fucker.

The girl with flowers in her hair, she is the beauty, he is the beast. Or is it the other way around.

Stop being afraid, grab your gun. It’s time to shoot someone.

A woman in a white dress picking her fangs with a pair of spectacles. A man in darkness laughing at the world above. The man in the church stroking his shadow.

He's not one of us but you can trust the old man.

She comes. A mother with stone children.

We all know who is the Big Bad Guy. Beware the Big Bad Guy. It’s the Big Bad Guy who’s going to try to kill us all. That is the Enemy. The true Foe.

The city will run red. 

Salvation will come out of the Sun.

Pay attention. It comes just before this: That which we call a Rose.

Just before that is all you really need to know. Well, maybe more.

Thoughts

"For what it's worth, the truth might hurt you...

When shadows fall I will desert you."

Revenge will be sweet.

Dear Camarilla friends,

Their time will come. Just like that no-good bootlegger got his dues, so will they all. Mark my words, I will make them pay. Whoever told that no-good assamite about us is as good as dead, and I sure hope all those traitorous bastards hide good and well, because I'm coming for them, each and every single one of them and I want to see the terror in their eyes when they realise there is no escape from their fate. There is no way out.

Don't you worry, when me and Tom find them in their rat-infested holes, we will drag their bloody corpses down the streets tied behind our bike like the Romans did. Then just as unlife is about to leave them, and the beast takes over, we'll feed them on the corpse-blood of maggots and insects, letting their own beasts tear their mind apart. You dare mess with us! We will show you what monsters we really are! We're not playing games here. The masquerade is the fight for our very survival, and these "Sabbat" wanna put us all on the line with their propoganda and ego-driven sadism. Damn em all. Let's burn the image of sunlight and fire into their minds, make em think twice before they call themselves monsters and think us weak. Don't let the fear rule you! Harness your nature! Let fear be your ally, not your enemy!

And here's what I have to say to the Sabbat: You will get the monster you created! You can't create a monster, then whine when it stomps on a few buildings!

With the greatest affection,
John Riviera

Partisan Thoughts

The schedule is blown to shit. Better handle these things carefully or I’m heading the same way. Fucking former Eastern Block dealers. No sense of service delivery. Would rather try play grab-ass with me than hand over the goods. If I didn’t need him I’d put a round through that good eye of his. Shit. Getting close to sundown. Should abort, but no, the mission comes first. I’m just going to have to work faster. And if it means braving nightfall then that’s an acceptable risk. I will not go back with an abort. I will not give her the satisfaction. 

I can’t wait to be out of this fucking town, if we ever actually leave. Goddam freak show. Even Mexico was better than this. Fuck. Suns almost down. Well, I know what I have to do. I have my orders. And if I die doing this, well, I guess that’s an acceptable loss.

My darling...

"Lately it has been getting more and more difficult to distinguish friend from foe", I say as I light a cigarette. "Those motherfuckers have infiltrated us deeper than we expected! I came close to final death when that tower went up... too close!"

Violetta stares at me, fear radiating from her eyes. I lean forward. "I'm not going to let them get you, my darling, I'll keep you safe." I whisper to her, trying to sound reassuring.

Truth be told, I don't know if I can keep her safe. I think I'm in way over my head. Not only am I trying to save my dear prince's rightful throne, but now I also have a neonate to take care of! Our fates are bound, sire and childe, just like Eddie and I. No fucking around here, if one of us screws up, we all die. Fuck, this is all going down the shitter faster than I expected.

I used to think I knew who were my enemies and who were my friends. The Sabbat are bad, the Camarilla are good. Simple as that. Was I wrong! Those Ventrue scare me more than anyone!

"There are only those who want to kill us now, and those who want to kill us later. If you remember anything my darling, remember this... Trust no one!" She still looks spooked. My rambling isn't calming her down. "We have to stick together, you and I. We are bound." I suck deeply at the filter. Smoking has no effect on me anymore unfortunately, but hey, old habits die hard. "I'll take care of you little one, don't worry."

Retribution

I'm pissed off, I'm sore everywhere, and I shouldn't be staring at my front door like a paranoid Malk, waiting for who-knows-what traitor to come in and finish me off. I want to go stay with Mister Oscar for a few nights, but don't exactly feel safe there either. Stupid Faith. Even if she's not responsible she's still a prissy bitch. Damn I hope it's her just so I can take a swipe at her. Oh and god help her if she hurts Mister Oscar (not that she can really, he's like awesomely super-powerful) because then I will let the Nozzies and the Malks mess her around, and then I'll have my turn.

Things are getting serious and I'm not liking being scared. At least I have my beautiful Byron, my magpie, to make me feel better. He's not scared of anything. He wouldn't be jumping at the noises in the hallway like I am now. Now I know Mister Oscar's been telling me about all the dangers and whatever, but for the first time I feel like the warnings are real. Man, I wish I could just go get drunk! I don't like the idea that I'm growing up all of a sudden - it hurts, and I don't just mean the ragged cut marks all over me.

Damn it all. I call a cab, take a drive, make sure the driver doesn't remember me.

Stand in front of the door. Ring the bell. For once I don't even have to fake the wide eyes, the trembling lip, the vulnerable way that I clutch my jacket to my chest.

It's getting lighter out. Navy-blue sky. I hope he doesn't send me away...

Door opens. Lucky, it's him. I stifle a sob of relief.

"Can I stay here today, Mister Oscar? With you?"

Evaluation

So wow. Those Tzimisce can throw one hell of a party! What a break from all these fuddy-duddy Camarilla guys, I mean, seriously! Now I'm just wondering how much of this "evil Sabbat" thing is just propaganda. I totally think they're just misunderstood, after all who spends their whole time just killing stuff and running around like maniacs (except Jeremy, but he has a condition lol)? Then again what do I know, Camarilla is all about their secrets and stuff. Boring!

Mister Oscar has been talking about this whole Tremere business recently and I dunno, it sounds a bit lame to me (besides I thought I was a Tremere already, wtf?!?!). Tho I guess it could be fun joining a secret society thing and see what they're all up to. I bet it's just sitting around reading dusty books! Come on if you're a vampire at least enjoy it folks! :P Maybe I can make my own wing of top secret fashion accessories - for the modern blood magic vampire! LOL! Some of those oldies really need an update lol!!!

A moment in time

He smiles. All teeth and no lips.

“We’re being used,” he says. Shoving his long, spindly hands into his coat pockets.

“You say that as if it’s a new development, Max.” I reply, broken glass popping under my boots as we sift through the abandoned church. Max’s smile broadens into a grin of impossible proportions.

“Of course that isn’t new, Rebecca. I just wanted to emphasize the relevance of our situation.” He bows, crouches and effortlessly leaps to one of the intact rafters overhead. I look up and see his eyes glisten red in the faded moonlight.

“Walt’s coming back,” he calls. “And he’s got a little present for you, it seems.”

A few feet ahead Walter’s form bleeds out of the shadows. That strange movement. Whenever he moves his body it always seems to waver as if on the brink of evaporating into shadows. In his hand he holds a long shaft of wood, possibly the leg of a chair. The splintered end caked in blood.

“For me. You shouldn’t have.” I say in a flat tone.

He nods, hands it to me and steps to my side.

“Not feeling chatty tonight, Walt?” whispers Max from the open rooftop.

“Reticence. It’s a good flaw,” he mumbles.

I hear the soft gurgling and slurring sound from above which I have come to now recognize as Max’s laughter.

I regard the piece of wood. Makeshift but effective. I turn to the sharpened end deftly avoiding my white leather coat. You have absolutely no idea the dry-cleaning bills I have incurred getting blood out of this thing. Not very practical for field work but it was a gift from… well, someone special. I allow myself a brief moment of longing before focusing once again on the blood.

Recent, a couple of nights at the most. I measure the length, surmise the impact. Single thrust, high force and a direct hit. Time for some answers.

First the victim. I touch my tongue to darkened stain. The acrid copper taste unfolds the tale of the poor bastard that got stuck. Strange. Older than the previous ones. Much stronger. The game has shifted but why? The Sabbat have always had their share of in fighting. They’ve always been quick to toss shovel-heads against each other to show dominance. An almost perverse sense of population control. But this one, this one was but short of an elder. Someone’s upping the ante.

Now the attacker. I’m not expecting anything. Another blank like the time before. I close my eyes and concentrate on the wooden stake searching the item for a lingering image. Some clue as to who drove the weapon home. My eyes immediately flick open.

“There must be some kind of way out of here,” I hear Walter say to Max. Max starts snaking his head around madly.

“Something’s wrong,” he hisses.

The shock of what I’ve seen leaves me reeling. It can’t be right. But it must be. I quickly come to my senses.

“We’re leaving. Now,” I shout. “The jobs off. Everything is off. Run!”

Too late. I see a mass of shadows congeal around Max and engulf him. Walter has his shotgun out but the floor beneath his feet gives way.

Eyes. I see just a pair of eyes. And a voice. I hear that voice.

“I’ll be taking that.”

I feel the stake leave my hands and I feel it once again as it tears through my white coat.

Violetta addresses the heroin room

To all those who serve and love my Master,

As you might have noticed our master has come to visit us less and less in the last couple of nights. This is not because he loves us less. Indeed his boundless love for his followers has done nothing but grow stronger. It is because there are people out there who wish him harm! Yes, there are fiends out there, fuckwits who want to take our dear sweet master away from us, to rob us of his dark love. We cannot let this happen!

Our master, in his divine wisdom, has instructed us to keep watch. Watch who comes in and out of the club, survey the bus lines and keep and eye open for any suspicious activity. If you see anyone who doesn't belong, DO NOT engage. No matter how tempting it is to pump some lead into those motherfuckers. This is direct order from the master. Those who disobey him will be punished!

We will work in shifts. One group will be on TV duty, and the other will do surveillance. Those that watch, report anything strange to me immediately. I will then tell the master.

Our master needs us in these trying nights. And we need to show him how much we love him, he needs to taste our love in our blood. For our master!

Violetta

Last night was awesome!

Dear gang,

Last night was so cool! When can we do it again? It was so funny! Dozens of stupid sabbat playing in their stupid warehouse with their stupid jumping over their stupid fire... it was soooo stupid! But then BOOOM! No more floor! I bet one of them was still in mid air when the floor went poof... all like "Weeee... look at me... I'm jumping over a stupid fire.... ooo bugger where'd that floor go? Splat" Ha ha ha. And his friend was probably playing with a lighter in the corner, passing his hand over the flame like a party trick when WHOOFFF his whole body is set alight by the napalm!

Did you guys see that one vamp who ran out with his head on fire! And then Jeremy shot him in the balls! Ha ha! Fun with a gun! Hooray! And did you see when that supermodel wannabe torrie got her arm blown off and blood was spraying everywhere! Totally killer! Ha ha, and did you check me out when I bit that stupid gangrel in the ass! He was so totally thinking he'd get away - the whole time I was thinking "Fortitude my ass.... ow... my ass!!!" Ha ha. Little bit hard to get away with no legs, dum-dum! And that guy... at least I think it was a guy... who was flailing around on fire and ran straight into the wall! BOOOOIIINNNNGGG! Ha ha ha...

What a party! Pity the fire destroyed most of the bodies... it'd have been cool if we could, you know, do the whole old days thing and hang their heads along a flagpole in city central.

Thanks for inviting me, guys, I had such fun! I'll try bring snacks next time.

Sincerely,
John Riviera

Lost

Hi,

Has anyone seen my bird? Spotty is a dark-feathered raven, with several grey feathers and an odd lump beneath his left wing. I think something might have happened to him... these cars that wizz above my haven make it rather unsafe for my poor flock of birds... just last week a car smashed into one of my poor fellows - nearly broke off it's whole wing. I really hope he didn't get hurt - but if you do spot him around could you please return him to one of the nearby parks? I'll tell the other birds to keep an eye out for him.

I'm sure it'll be nothing a little bit of blood can't fix.

I hope you are all doing well.

Sincerely,
John Riviera

A cautionary invective

Dear listener, or reader should I say, as that would be more appropriate unless of course someone is reading this aloud to you then in fact you are a listener in which case my previous assertion applies. 

Hello. 

I do hope you are enjoying this fictitious and utterly fabricated account alluding to a secret vampire society which in fact does no exist. I feel it is incumbent on my self to point out that this is not real and it is well within your interests to treat it as such, that being, not real. For in fact, if it was real, your very lives would be in danger, which they are not, for it isn’t, but if was, would be, to be sure. We hope you enjoy these conjured falsehoods aimed for recreational use only and manufactured from the most preposterous and outlandish musings. 

This is not real, you have been warned. To be sure.

FUCK BOLLOCKS TITTIES PUBES

All right you lot, listen up. Gots something you probably want to see. Did a little scratch around Presters old digs shortly after I applied me own special brand of renovations. Turns out the bugger kept a journal. Heh! Moron elders feeling the need to write everything down, getting all lubed up on their own waffle. Aw fuck, now I’m doing it too. Shit on the pope!

Anyway, seems he had some serious plans about automating the ‘embrace’ process. You kids were Batch: A. Lots of wot he wrote is up in smoke. Sadly, I don’t think he is.

Look, Grimalkin wants me to send the journal to Oscar coz it’s his kind of thing and Luther says we should give it to the prince as a sign of good will (she’s still smarting over our tardy drop off of Cletus). Bollocks to that, I say! You lot got caught tits high in this so to you go the spoils. I’ll let you’s lot decide what to do with it. Now, not to sound all melodramatic and shit, but this looks like Presters life work. If he’s still kicking I bet he’s gonna have some serious interest in the three of you. I'll pass this on but watch your backs.

P.S. FUCK PRICK TWAT FUCK... I love this web thing. It's like a public toilet where half the world gets to shit at.

Powers

This whole vampire thing is supremely cool!!!

Like the kinds of powers you have are just crazy. Like this dominate thing. Not that I need it lol! But it comes in handy when I have to make that crazy conspiracy dude just shut up or something.

But unfortunately I have like a major conflict and it's not gonna help to use my powers. I mean I think these Camarilla guys are pretty decent (except for the ugly ones, gross!) and Mister Oscar gave me a fun toy to play with and I think I like him, he's a cool guy but man he needs to lighten up a bit. Yeah, yeah, so his little child is gone, get over it I'm here now! Though I won't say it to his face. He did get me this cool apartment and all which I have all to myself because god knows where those other two stay (I think we're supposed to be some kind of gang, at least I'm the pretty one!). Speaking of which, that Faith(?) blondie has to go, it's just not fair if she shows me up all the time (though I'm sooooo much cooler!!1). Will speak to Mister Oscar about it some time.

The there's Byron. He's sooooooo totally hot!!!1 Like totally. But apparently he's on the other side or something, which we don't care about but if the rest find out we're majorly in trouble. But I'm still gonna visit him, I don't care. I mean he's still my friend even if he's just a little creepy. Need to do some research on what kind of V he is (erm not so good at learning stuff). Can't ask Mister Oscar cause he'll be pissed off again (how should I know he's some kind of secret!?!). Maybe I'll ask that Tom dude, he seems alright if you don't look at him straight.

Lol sucks for him I'm gonna be young and beautiful for ever!!! :D

Address in the heroin room

My brothers and sisters, my friends, hear me now. Our nights have been a great success. We've cleansed the streets with fire, we've shown those who conspire against us that the flame of righteousness is on our side, we've burnt our signal into the sky and hailed the moon with our war cry! We've accomplished much. But they're strong and they'll be back for us. They'll send their assassins slit our throats and cut out our hearts.

My friends, we need to be carefull. We need to listen to those who speak to us from shadows and the wisdom of the winds. I've installed 18 televisions in this room so me may see the truth and the lies that are broadcast to us everyday. 7 tuned to dead channels, for 7 is the number of God and we may see his equations in the static. 6 tuned to channels that show the sins of the flesh, sins of the mind and the sins of greed, for 6 is the number of the beast and its pull should not wholly be denied. 5 to monitor the news and the events that happen, for 5 is the number of man and blind he is to the part he plays in the plot against us.

The drugs and my words will let you see the truth. Don't be fooled by the lies that are told to you. They'll try to fuck with your mind, to make you blind to the shadows that follow you. Don't listen to them! Be cautious of the water you drink. Fear those who take familiar skins to lure you into telling them my secrets. Tell no one of my words, or I will fuck you over!

Be loyal and make blood sacrifices to me and one day I will reward you with discipleship as I have my dear Violetta. She is my apostle and will serve as my voice in my absence.

Now my friends, let us celebrate our success!

Surprise!

Ok, Ok... this is a bit fucked up right now. What I thought could be an easy way to score some extra prescription drugs ended with me, this goth chick and the fucking yeti himself (I shit you not!) strapped to a gurney and getting some type of bloodtransfusion or something. And now apparetly we're vampires. Yeah, I know how that sounds. I was also waiting for the camera man to pop out and scream 'SURPRISE! You're on TV'. But no, no TV crew, no obnoxious presenter, just a whole bunch of assholes who take Anne Rice a tad too fucking seriously.

Though, come to think of it, maybe they'll still pop out. Maybe this is all a long winded setup to the greatest prank ever pulled. I bet it is! Its getting a bit long and the humor is wearing thin, but boy will I be glad when they finally reveal the truth. I bet Larry King will ask us for an interview. Man, imagine that, me meeting Larry fucking King! He'll laugh, and I'll tell him how I suspected something from the start, and he'll say 'Yeah, right, thats what they all say', and i'll tell him how those FUCKING doctors always pull strange shit with you and promise that this or that will make it all better, but it never does, an all you see is the same old shit repeated over and over and over again while all you want to do is to stop having to flick the fucking zippo open three times before sparking a cigarette.

God I need a cigarette! No, scratch that, what I really need now is to get ratfaced!

Oh, speaking of ratfaces, you won't believe how many of those ACTUALLY walk around out here. They live in the sewers and feed on... oh I don't know, repair men maybe? Anyways, they're fucking EVERYWHERE! And apparently they know how to hack into your computer and read your email and which porn you look at. I heard they can also tell which fucking cereal you like just by looking at you.

No wait, thats Tabitha, the Sheriff. She can break you. In the head. Don't mess with her.

But all that is moot anyways, because I can't eat cereal anymore. Only the red stuff.

!!?!?

Oh my fuck!!!

I'm a fucking vampire!!!!!1

How the fuck did that happen?!?!?

A slight lithium buzz...

The TV is still on. Pictures of the gutted corpse of an Oklahoma federal building with the CNN logo slapped on it. Body count is at 150 and rising. Another disaster in an already impossibly long string of tragedies. Burning oil fields in the gulf, mountains of skulls in Rwanda, Bosnian widows weeping for lost husbands and now this fucker bombing some building for who knows what deluded reason. Timothy fucking McVeigh. Just what we need. 90’s insanity personified.

I hit the mute button and turn on the radio. Eddie Vedder’s voice greets me with his Gen X war cry. Not necessarily a mood lifter, but definitely a vast improvement over the newscaster’s ramble.

I reach for the cigarettes first. A wet cough escapes my lungs as I fumble for the crushed box of camels. Three sparks before I let the flame ignite my cig.

“We’re going to hell in a hand basket…” I mumble to myself through a veil of smoke.

“What’s that, baby?” The corpse beside me reanimates. Make-up smeared eyes peeking through bleach blond, pink dyed hair. Pale breasts clinging to an anorexic ribcage ravaged by reckless chemical experimentation. She was prettier last night.

“Never mind…” I answer.

“Whatever.” she says annoyed. “Half the time I have no fucking clue what you’re saying anyways!” She makes a point of turning onto her other side wrapping the blanket around her with an audible ‘Wooosh’.

I rummage though stacks of papers, looking for my pills. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother taking them. The doctors say they’ll help me, but so far everything’s just gotten worse. Granted, the drug use isn’t really helping, but at least that provides some form of short-term relief while I’m high. These pills don’t even do that.

I find the pills next to a stack of information science and mathematics textbooks… relics of another life at college, memoirs of abandoned ambitions. Three taps on the lid before I can remove it. A gulp of Jack Daniels helps me swallow. I prepare for the lithium buzz.

My stomach makes tortured rumbling noises and I decide that its time to get some breakfast. Maybe I’ll get a greasy cheeseburger and eat it on the beachfront. I contemplate whether to wake sleeping beauty or not, but eventually decide to leave her be. Let sleeping dogs lie. Even demons are scared of her when she has a hangover.

I pull on a dirty flannel shirt, smelling slightly of rancid marijuana mixed with heroin smoke. Something pokes me through the front pocket. A business card. I look at it, trying to jumpstart my memory. Eventually slivers of remembered conversations surface through the fog of my mind. Sharing a joint with Goth girl behind a dark club.

She looked young, barely 16, but she assured me she was 20. Yeah right! But fuck if I cared. Let her do whatever she wanted to do, it’s a free country.

She saw me sparking the lighter three times before lighting the spliff.

“Why do you do that?” She asked.

“Its just something I have to do. Pay it no mind” I answer.

“Do you have, like, somekinda issue?”

“You could say that.” I tried to sound disinterested and annoyed simultaneously, hoping she’d drop the subject. It didn’t work.

“I have this friend who is bipolar. She’s like all depro one day and then so happy it makes me sick the next. Scary shit. Is that what you have?” She asks as she stubs out her cigarette on the sole of her fashionably scuffed Doc Martins.

“I’m not depressed.” I mumbled. “Far from it. I couldn’t give a shit. Nah, I have other… “ I pause to take a drag, “issues.”

“Ever seen a shrink?” she asked.

“Plenty. But all they do is give you drugs. Not that I’m complaining about that.” I gave her a look that said, “This conversation is over!” She seemed to understand.

We make small talk over another two joints. Me leaning against a piss drenched wall, and her sitting on a dumpster, boot clad feet swinging playfully.

She jumped down from her trash filled pedestal.

“Well, I have to run. Thanks for the weed.”

I nodded at her. She started walking away, but then paused as if she remembered something. She turned back towards me, fumbling in her handbag for something.

“Here, take this.” She handed me a card. “It the number of the doctor my friend sees. He’s a bit unconventional, but apparently brilliant.”

“Thanks… I think.” I said.

“Oh, before I forget. He only works at night.” She gave a sly smile and headed back off towards the beating heart of the club.

Lost

God damn, don't these people have a shower or something?

After the weirdest night of my entire life, I'm stuck in a room with the ugliest mothers in the world (fact). Not to mention the Bear-man and the crazy schizo killer. I kid you not. I have the strangest feeling that I've just been abducted, but nobody's talking about ransoms yet so let's just wait and see. Not too worried - these dudes seem pretty incompetent.

We're just back from some sort of creepy meeting with a bunch of goth kids and dress-up nutcases. With all their talk of blood and politics and wheeling-and-dealing, I'm beginning to suspect that these guys are the mob. For real. (Stacy you will not believe this!!! :P Will get some pics if I can...)

So now we're sitting waiting for this big explanation about what's going on and I'm getting hungry and if schizo man flicks his lighter one more time I'm gonna smack him. Tried to have a conversation with that Long Tom guy, but he speaks all European (no subtitles lol!!).

Stranger

I woke up to the sensation of crushed silk heaped around me, soft pillows under my head and feet. I stretched luxuriantly, one hand grazing the rich mahogany headboard above me, the other curling around the edge of the plush bed. I pulled until my shoulders clicked in their joints. It was a silly habit, but it was my nightly routine and besides, it felt good.

Around me, the cool night air swirled, a hint of vanilla if I chose to take the effort to breathe. For a moment I bundled the silk sheets together and gripped them between arms and legs, trying to steal a last vestige of sleep. But there was none left.

With a defeated sigh I slipped out of bed, dragging the sheet with me and slinging it over my naked body. It trailed behind me, meters of rich crimson material; I liked the dramatic effect it had. I twirled a bit, wrapping the loose sheet around my legs, then tired of the silly game and dropped the thing altogether. I ambled over to the brooding closet.

What to wear! The closet was filled to swelling with all sorts of clothes, made only of the finest materials by the most renowned tailors; black, red, white and purple predominated. It took a while to choose something that fitted my mood; I decided tonight was a night for feeling cheeky and frisky. I found a stiff black corset with white ribbon, and a tiny white skirt to go with it; no panties tonight. No stockings either. I slipped on the clothes, divided my hair in two and tied it up in girly pink ribbons. Then I poked at my uninspiring, 16-year-old breasts, pushed up as high as they could go in the tight top, barely bulging at all! I vowed again to eat more steak and cheese, to grow some real cleavage from all the hormones they put into food nowadays.

I went back to the closet. I chose a pretty pink cashmere sweater, very sensible, and an unflattering knee-length skirt, and put them on over my outfit. I knew Daddy wouldn’t like it, so I figured I’ll save him some grey hairs and save myself the annoying pretense of trying to please him.

I trotted up the stairs from the cool cellar up into the balmier air of the ground floor. Daddy was sitting at the table already, working on whatever important business he had; I never bothered asking. I walked up behind him, placed my hands on his shoulders and gave him a big, loving-daughter kiss on the cheek. He chuckled and put his arm around me.

He wasn’t my real father, naturally. But he liked to think he was, or at least took great satisfaction in my calling him Daddy. Maybe he had ‘issues’, but whatever, it kept him malleable. He paid my way and mostly didn’t interfere. And anyway, I never said I didn’t have ‘issues’.

I leaned over the table and pulled out two one hundred dollar bills from his wallet, making sure he saw it. He glanced up at me from below his brows, disapproving.

“Kitten,” he warned sternly.

I clutched the money to my chest, stuck out my lower lip just a little and smiled hopefully. “But Daddy, it’s almost time for my allowance! How can I have fun with my friends if I can’t pay for the same things?”

This was all just a spiel. His stern look would give way, he’d say “just this once” and clap me on the rump, sending me off on another debaucherous romp through town.

“Ah, just this once, then,” he laughs. “Make sure you’re home early!”

I rolled my eyes privately and chirped, “Yes daddy!”

And then I was out, discarding the frumpy sweater and skirt casually onto the street, slinking along and ignoring the hooligans idling on the corner. By now, they were cautious of the ‘vixen bitch with one hell of a bite’ (long story...).

Tonight I’d go right, and cruise some of the neon-light goth-metal clubs. I was feeling a bit peckish, but not so much that I wouldn’t be discerning. Loser just tasted a bit stale, like the blood didn’t get around enough or something.

One of the usual haunts looked busy, so I strolled in. Some idiot tried to feel me up as I squeezed past, and I memorized his face so that I’d know whose wallet to steal when he was passed out drunk later. I checked his hand – married. Hmm, I might throw some incriminating polaroids into the bargain...

At the bar, I took my usual place, crossing my legs to reveal the milk-white thigh all the way down. It shouldn’t be long before –

That guy. What a creep. Something about him just didn’t feel kosher, but I was intrigued. He was a bit old, even for me, but I sidled over and demanded he buy me a drink.

Worst fucking idea ever.