Proposition

Hey, Luca. I wanna make a deal with you, I figure you can help me out with something important.

See, I'm thinking of branching out on the business side. But, I really hate repeating myself and I don't think I could be bothered to deal with the hassles of running more than one night club at once. So I figured, seeing as you could use a place of your own to conduct war-meetings and whatever other kind of Anarch stuff, you could, well, manage it? I'm buying a new place just down the road and if you want I'll give you total control over it. You can do whatever you want there, make it Anarchs-only even if you really want, keep it vamps only or mortal or a mix, give it whatever name, illegal stuff or drugs or whatever, I don't care.

What I want out of this is 40% profits, you advertise some of my events, and if anyone asks for me you send them up the road to Purgatory. Useful for me, 'cause I can send the riff-raff down to you (some people just don't fit in here, you know?). Like I say, I won't interfere - I don't want to, so if it comes to me having to get involved I'll be pissed off. But I figure you can handle pretty much anything. Oh, and don't interfere with my side of the business either - I'll invite whoever the hell I want to Purgatory. You'd have to deal with Jem too.

So, do we have a deal? There's a bunch of stupid lawyer papers to sign too. Faith can probably figure that stuff out. Speaking of which...

...oh, never mind.

Minute

That someone in my head said to me, 'I can tell
Deep in your heart you’ll find what you need'.
Wasted time building castles with sand
And every night I’ll watch them fall and slip through my hands.
And just when I think I’m on top I wonder how I’ll get back down.
When your heart skips a beat, silence be afraid,
I’m loving the heat, honey, I got the rest of time
and I feel oh-so-good like I should, and I know
time is frozen.
What I say and what I mean are two very different things.
I can't help it,
I'm a romantic fool.
It's a habit of mine
To watch the sun go down.
I’ll play from dusk till dawn.
I don’t wanna go to bed now!
Fuel can take a minute to light...
Maybe, baby, maybe, maybe we could go into the sun
Every little maybe makes me feel I’ve won.

Gift

Tomorrow morning, an hour before sunrise, climb up somewhere high (a skyscraper, a hill, a crane, whatever) and look East. I have a present for you.

xxx
Lola

Jeremy - sorry, I know you're a little crazy but you mean well. I know I should take you more seriously. Let me know if you need a hand. Think you might find this 'ironic' (is that the right word?). Promise I'm not trying to kill you!

Luca - new guy, let's just say that Lola says 'welcome'. You'll get used to it.

Oscar - I know you'll be frowning but deep deep down you're enjoying it - right? Promise I won't tell!

Faith - bet you miss it sometimes. If you squint a bit you can pretend it's the real thing.

Tom - you'll like this for entirely the wrong reason; no, you will love this!

Magpie - something beautiful and scary for you - what's new?

Consideration

Little Lola ain't scared to die,
She's scared to live alone.
Because, you see, what fun is it
To rule beside an empty throne?

Done

I trusted both of you.

I was loyal to both of you.

I loved both of you.

I let both of you mark me.

And now I have to carry the scars, inside and out.

Both of you are- were selfish.

Possessive.

Arrogant.

And neither of you could even say those three fucking stupid little words. Such brave, strong, confident men. So sensitive, so caring. My fucking heroes? More like petulant five-year-olds sulking over their poor miserable lives. You've left me with nothing. How thoughtful. What a great way to prove you loved me.

Just pathetic.

I am so fucking glad to be rid of you two!

Now, stop crying about it, silly girl.

Project

This place is just filthy. Filth attracts scum. It's no wonder this place is running into the ground.

In either case, it looks like Jeremy's fucked off with his mad posse. Is it my fault the staff naturally look to me for guidance? Not that I know their names (seriously, they're cattle!), but barman-dude and bouncer-guy have been asking what's going on and far be it for me to let the poor humans try to figure stuff out on their own. Hey, even if Jeremy's away for one night, it's long enough for me to condition these brainless mortals to do what I want.

Now, surely crazy-boy won't mind if I do a little redecorating? I'm thinking velvet couches, private booths, silverware, chandeliers, candlesticks, silk drapes, elevated iron walkways... a stage, for god's sake! Some proper music, some decent entertainment... and a special private room in the back for our kind. Now, that's hospitality. Let those insane fuckers do what they like in the backroom with all those TVs and shit (memo: soundproof it!). The rest of us cultured folk can be magnificent out here, in the proper surroundings... And of course, this place needs some standards. Not just any slob can wander in. Only beautiful, delectable patrons please! After all, a girl needs to feed.

Now, who to invite for the reopening? The Toreadors, of course, because they'll actually appreciate it. guess I have to invite the lame-ass rest of the Camarilla, though I'm betting 90% of them won't come. Oscar won't, but maybe Eliza? She's not quite as much of a prude. And hey, those snake guys are welcome too, they're decent.

And of course my magpie must see it. I'll tell him to surprise me.

Ooh, what fun!

Games

Magpie, are you collecting shiny toys?

And when will you put me back on the shelf, bored with my games, spoilt for choice?

Magpie, I love you I love you I love you I'm obsessed with you I can't think of a single other thing, awake or asleep. It hurts, it burns to be away from you, but when I'm with you all I can think is that soon, soon, it will be over and I'll have to leave you and be alone again. At least now I have your mark on me, so I can carry you with me always. Every time you draw it again it sinks in deeper below my skin, into my blood and my mind as I sob with pain.

But I'm just a silly girl. I can see that you're infatuated now, but I'm so so scared it will wear off. You've been this way so much longer than me. I hate it when you're away and I don't know what you're doing, who you're seeing. I want you to myself. I'll kill anyone who touches you. I'll do anything to make sure you're mine. I promise, no more games.

I'm yours.

Please love me, too? Forever?

Promise

Magpie,

I want to make you angry. And I want to give you a present. Make a mess, and make some art out of it for me.

I always feel better after I get angry.

xxx

L.

Pain

He asked if I had made my decision, and I said no. Clearly, I was lying. He took too long, and he trusted too little, even when I tried and tried to be on his side. But I won't tell him that. I'll hold his hand and I'll say, softly, maybe we could still turn this around. He'll look down at me, and say, oh Lola, but really he'll be thinking, Rebecca, maybe I can have you back, after all. Strange, come to think of it, how we'll both be cheating each other.

I know now what I want. Not the stability, gentleness, concern of Oscar, but the terrifying obsession and pain and wrenching yearning of my magpie. There, I can feel something.

And now he's marked me with pain. I am his. I told him to make it hurt, and he didn't disappoint. He was meticulous, and it took a long time. The intensity of his concentration was frightening, but he knew he couldn't get this wrong; he only had one try. When I finally saw it - so magnificent I didn't feel worthy of it - I felt cleansed, ecstatic, my mind clear.

Oh magpie...

I love the pain you put me through.

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?

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.

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.

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.

Thoughts

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

When shadows fall I will desert you."

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!!!

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

!!?!?

Oh my fuck!!!

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

How the fuck did that happen?!?!?