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Rebirth Bleed - deadmau5Rose paced the empty room, the cobwebs in the corners cluttering up the dust in the air. The plantation manor had long since been abandoned, one of the few on the outskirts of the city the old families had simply left once slavery turned to a thing of the past. What little furniture remained was draped in white dust covers, and Rose found herself oddly amused by their misshapen lumpiness. Cartoon ghosts of forgotten couches and chairs. The room was dark, but the tall windows were bare of any coverings, allowing the moon to filter through the glass. She approached one of these windows and pressed her fingers to the panes, looking up at the silvery woman in the sky. Children of the Moon. The double doors behind her were thrown open, the sound echoing through the quiet room, but Rose remained motionless. She heard footsteps, multiple, and knew that was for her benefit. If they didn't want her to hear them, she wouldn't. There were several low whispers and a giggle here and there, and then total silence. A hand came to rest on her shoulder. "Are you ready, little fox?" Samson's voice sent vibrations through her body, and Rose finally turned away from the window to face the room. The others hung back in the shadows, she was sure she couldn't see them all, but the few that made themselves seen stared with open excitement. She took the time to make eye contact with each of them before looking up at her master. She nodded, once, feeling her heartbeat quicken and her breath hitch. Such simple little things, things that soon she would never do again. It was a strange realization. She had never said goodbye to herself. Elise had been furious when she left; it was getting harder and harder to feed her half-truths. She was too intuitive, and they never kept secrets from each other. But after tonight, she could finally tell her. After tonight, everything would be perfect. "You remember what I told you, yes? That not everyone makes it." A shudder shook Rose's petite frame and she looked down at the ground, but again she nodded. Samson had already showed her so much, opened her eyes, made things so much clearer. There was even more to learn, and he would teach her. He would unlock her mind. She was ready. "Ah, you're a brave girl. And your mind is strong." The hand on her shoulder moved to her chin, forcing her to look up at him. "That is why I chose you." Her chest swelled with pride and it leaked out into a smile. She opened her mouth to say something but before she could make a sound he moved, impossibly fast. Quicker than her brain could process, his hand was at the back of her head, grabbing a fistful of her hair and using it to pull her head to the side even as his other arm wrapped around her waist, roughly yanking her flush against him. Her neck was now exposed, and she restrained, and before she could react, before she even knew fully it was happening, his fangs slipped neatly into her carotid artery. Her face twisted in pain and she sucked in a breath between her clenched teeth, only to moments later release it as a soft moan. Her eyes fluttered shut as the Kiss took effect, her whole body coming alive with desire. She forgot about the onlookers, forgot about what came next, forgot about everything but the man who held her. He was so cold. She shivered and her hands moved to caress his back but they felt heavy, too heavy...she tried to open her eyes but they fought her. Oh no, she didn't want to fall asleep, she couldn't miss a single moment of this bliss. Her knees gave out but Simpson merely shifted his grip on her to easily support her weight. This is death, I suppose. She was content with this. She realized she couldn't feel her fingertips, or her hands at all, really...but then her thoughts turned fuzzy and before she could wonder about that they burned to the point that there weren't any thoughts left at all. Just darkness. Darkness and the chill he had spread throughout her. It was nice here, underwater. So quiet, there was such a peace. Nothing to think, Nothing to say as she had no mouth to use anyways. There was Nothing beyond what was, and Nothing was at all. What a relief. What a release. Calm. Silent. But then there was something. And time must have decided to return again, since the something was happening, and happenings were events, with pasts and presents. And time was needed to measure such things. Which must have meant that there were two somethings, time being one of them. But, she supposed, if we're counting things that exist, there must be three, since I am one of them. I'm thinking! Which means, in a way, everything I think must, to some extent, exist. The Nothing has passed, or perhaps I have passed through the Nothing... And as comforting and remarkable as the Nothing had been, it was far less superior to the incredible Something on her lips. It was warm, almost, perhaps just in comparison to how cold she was. Rediscovering temperature thrilled her and the Something continued to come, spreading through her, electrifying her senses one by one in the most extraordinary fashion. She couldn't keep up, she tried to revel in each experience - she was laying down! Her throat, it was swallowing! - but they were coming too thick and fast and dense, it was wonderful...it was more than she'd imagined...it was...it was... She was awake now, and still eagerly latched onto Samson's arm. It had only been a couple minutes, less than that, she understood time quite well now it seemed. They got along. Her eyes were open but she wasn't looking at the wall they gazed at. She was too busy seeing. There's so much... Was it her brain that had sped up? Or everything inside of it? She tried furiously to explain to herself what was happening, but her very thoughts, ideas, feelings, they were moving in the strangest ways. Overlapping and tangling, curving backwards on themselves. Samson ripped his arm away from her and she felt an inhuman snarl rip from her chest. She wasn't doneWasn't done? Wasn't done with what, exactly. Done? What a strange word. Samson was looking at her, there was something there in his eyes, admiration? Approval? She groaned and clutched her head, rolling into a ball and away from him. What had he done to her? Was this what unlocking the mind was? She could feel things, moving, breathing, inside of her. Something...that was not her... Don't be ridiculous. Of course it's you!
Isn't it wonderful?
Wonderful?
It was terrible. Rose started to sob and shake her head, pulling at her hair. "No, no, no..." she chanted over and over. She raked her nails down her face and chest, trying to rip it out of her. What is it? "Get out, get out!" She screamed, clawing at her arms now, her head again, thrashing madly in an attempt to rid herself of this thing in her head. Someone grabbed her arms, restraining her, which only made her shriek louder, unable even to form words now. And then it wasn't in her anymore. It was her. With a sudden surge of pure strength, Rose ripped free and launched herself towards the door, desperately trying to escape, from what, exactly, she tried not to think on. (But how couldn’t she?) She threw herself against the wooden double doors and they flew open, revealing a shocked girl that the Beast hardly had time to notice before it was on top of her. They both tumbled to the floor and the monster let out a savage howl before sinking its teeth into the throat of the terrified girl and biting, ripping, clawing... The girl let put a single, piercing scream before she suddenly lost the ability to, along with the majority of the left side of her neck. A sickening gurgle came from where the throat just was. The Beast spat out the hunk of flesh and sank its teeth in again. Bite, pull, snap, spit. Bite, pull, rip, spit... Strong arms wrapped around her entire upper body, pinning her arms to her side, and bodily lifted her from the inert form on the ground. "Hush now, little fox, it's alright. She is no threat, see?" Simply hearing Samson's voice made Rose slump in submission, the frenzy gone from her. Her head dropped, still reeling, still spinning, still tangled and twisted into knots. She heard a rattling breath and looked up, wide-eyed with surprise. "Rosie..." Elise lay on the floor of the hall, the dim light from the single bare light bulb hanging some feet away down the hall illuminating the scene just enough to make out her features. Her eyes bore into Rose's. "Why?" Samson's hold loosened somewhat, and she could feel the shock and confusion pouring off his skin. Rose slipped out of his hold and dropped to her knees on the floor, her face a mask of sheer horror. She looked down at her hands, nearly black with blood in the eerie greenish light. She could feel it on her face, soaking her chin, dripping down her throat to her chest. There was blood everywhere, chunks of flesh in her teeth and under her nails... She fell forward, barely reaching out her hands in time to support herself as she crawled to her sister's side. "Elise?" But she was already gone. Rose threw her head back and screamed in anguish, and she could feel the creatures in the other room screaming along with her. A keening threnody of despair.
Death Crossfire - StephenRose's boots should have thudded against the pavement but they were as silent as the grave she should be in. That Elise was in. Stop it. Stop.A slight breeze ruffled her hair and she smiled at the scent it brought with it. "They're scared," she purred to the huge man beside her. Samson made a noise of agreement, never breaking stride. As usual his chest was bare and his posture intimidating, with Rose beside him clad in all black with knives of various sizes strapped to her person, both openly carried and concealed. She whistled as they approached the warehouse, a cheery tune, and immediately guards peeled themselves from the shadows, guns drawn, demanding they announce themselves. No sooner had they taken two steps each than there were several faint popping sounds and each man collapsed with a hole in the center of his forehead. Rose blinked a couple times and giggled. Samson had no reaction. He continued forward, kicking the door completely off it's hinges when he reached it. There were shouts from within the building and Rose drew two small throwing knives from a sheath at her side. The door opened to a narrow hallway, just like Samson had said it would. The first man she hit in the throat, just over his collarbone. The second she only grazed the arm of. Samson held up his hand as she reached for another knife and she immediately deflected to his left, pressing her back to the wall outside next to where the door once stood. She grinned as he did the same on the opposite side of the entry and looked to the roof of the building opposite them. A small light flashed twice, and then there were more soft pops and thuds from the hallway. A faint hissing noise could be heard, and she reached into the pocket of her leather jacket for a pair of goggles, which she hastily jammed on. Green mist kissed at their feet and she counted under her breath. Agonizing screams echoed from the depths of the warehouse. She closed her eyes. 15, 16, 17...Samson screaming, clawing at his face, his eyes swollen shut, capillaries rupturing, lungs closing up, blood boiling... 31, 32...Insides on fire, eyes bursting leaving two bloody holes in his face, skin blistering... 75, 76, 77, 78...His bloated body, toxin and poison puffing him up until the skin rips, his tongue hanging like a piece of meat... "Rosella." Her Sire placed a hand on each cheek and she opened her eyes, staring into his dark, unfathomable eyes. Of course it wouldn't affect him. Wouldn't affect either of them. "Are you here?" She nodded firmly and gave him a bright smile. The two minutes were up. Every human in the building would be dead, excepting the most important. Rose followed him down the narrow hall and discarded the goggles, eyes focused on the camera ahead and not the thin tendrils of green still eking out of the vents above. She smirked into the lens as they passed. There weren't as many bodies as they were anticipating, but still enough to have to step carefully to avoid tripping over the still-warm flesh. When they reached the main room, she let out a low whistle. There were several huge shipping containers lined up against one side of the room, obviously in the process of getting unloaded. Several crates lay on the floor in disarray where they had been dropped when the gas hit, while others were lined up neatly to be unpacked and sorted. Rose crossed to the nearest one and grabbed a crowbar from a workbench as she passed, using it to pry the top off. "Samson," she called him over from where he was investigating what looked like a busted brick of cocaine on the floor several yards away. When he looked up she withdrew a very large gun from the crate and raised an eyebrow. "It's a Beretta, right?"Samson moved very quickly, but she was used to it by now. In the half second it took for him to reach her side she had already held it out to him to examine. "Beretta AS70 LMG. Russian gun. Brand new." Rose watched his reaction carefully. "Better than what we have?" He tore his eyes from the weapon to give her a deadly smile. "It is what we have. This is my city now." A thrill went through her, tingling down her spine and she knew what he was going to do so she beat him to it. With all the force and fury of a hurricane, she threw herself into him, her lips crashing into his own. Waves on the beach. He didn't stagger, didn't seem the slightest bit off balance with her assault. He held her to him with one hand and she heard the gun clatter back into the crate before the other twined itself into her hair. The kiss was a brief as it was passionate, as she knew it would be, and without a word he ended it and slipped a knife out of a sheath around her thigh before disappearing into the shadows on the other side of the huge room. Eliminating the competition. She felt herself sag once she felt his presence move into further depths of the warehouse, hunting his prey. Kristoff was a fool for encroaching onto Samson's territory and now he had to pay. He had to. Her Sire's face swam before her eyes, distorted and rippling as red tears pooled in her eyes and leaked down her face. She wiped at them furiously, straightened her shoulders, started back the way they had come, and abruptly tripped over a corpse. They deserved it. They did. They did. She tore her eyes away from the man's purple face, blood still wet on his cheeks, his ears, below his nose... She blinked, waiting for it to go away but it didn't. "Dead." Her voice was flat. "They're all dead. They're all dead." She blinked again and looked out over the room. "They're all dead." She pulled her knees up to her chest and counted the bodies in her head. "They're all dead." She whispered now, chanting it over and over as if she could find comfort in stating the truth. She didn't, but she couldn't stop. She could only see 17 bodies from where she was sitting. She knew there were more. "They're all dead." "Yes, they are." Samson said softly from behind her. He scooped her up like a child and cradled her in his arms. She used the new angle to keep counting. 34. 34 in the big room. "They're all dead," she whispered, laying her head against his chest. "34. All dead.""38," he corrected her. There was a splash of blood across his cheekbone. Rose wondered if she'd ever see the knife he took again. "Plus 17 in the hall makes 56." A wave of relief soaked her and she relaxed. 56. She knew now. It was okay. Samson carried her back to the hall and set her down once they passed all the dead. Rose tucked herself beneath his arm and beamed up at him as they strolled back out into the night. "Can we eat something special tonight? To celebrate?"
His rumbling laugh vibrated through her. "I already picked out someone for you, he's waiting at the mansion most anxiously." He raised his right hand above him in a fist and then extended a finger, swirling it in a circle above his head. The light on the opposite roof flashed twice more. "The family is waiting. Come."
Replaced Retrograde - James Blake (Lorde Cover)New Orleans and the surrounding area, down to Thibodaux all the way to Baton Rouge, was Samson's. Since the elimination of Kristoff's largest supply source, and the man himself, the lesser gangs and rival "salesmen" either crumbled under his heavy hand, or aligned themselves with him. The sheer extent of his power and influence was frankly astounding, especially considering it had taken under three decades to achieve and not one person aside from the Cousins and their ghouls knew who, exactly, was the Man in Charge. Samson knew what was his, and he took it. His sights were continually set higher, and higher, though Rose could tell he did not consider himself ambitious. He believed himself entitled. And she believed in him. He was her rock, her lover, her companion. He taught her of the Cobweb of whispers and the sweet madness of his vitae. The lies and complexity of the Camarilla and the truth behind the other clans. He taught her to shoot a handgun, and a shotgun, and an assault rifle, and a sniper rifle. How to throw knives, locate arteries and pressure points, twirl butterfly knives, kill a man with her bare hands. And she excelled at it all, driven by the overwhelming desire to make him proud. They went out hunting together. Prey these days was easy, noses in those bright screens and not even looking into the shadows. Ears filled with little plastic things pumping music into their heads, oblivious to the screams, the sounds of struggle, the footsteps drawing nearer. They were as tasteless as they were boring, and Rose, like Samson, was left unsatisfied. They went to a punk rock show, or what was calling itself a punk rock show. Music had peaked at Woodstock, and no one could tell Rose any different. Samson hung back along the sidelines while Rose mingled with the crowd, alternately dancing and thrashing and showcasing her uncomfortably broad smile at strangers. They left early, hanging around the side of the building where they could keep an eye on the crowd as they left. Rose had her eye on a tall, skinny, strung out young man with track marks the same color as the bags under his eyes. Drugs made them paranoid, and paranoid was fun. And she hadn't tasted heroin in years. She spotted him stopping near the mouth of the alley they lurked in but before she could take a step towards him and his liberty spikes, Samson's hand came to rest heavily on her shoulder. "This way, little fox," he sounded amused, but Rose's pout indicated she was far from. With more agility than a man his size should have, he swung himself up onto a fire escape beside them and soundlessly darted up the stairs and onto the roof of the neighboring building, Rose hot on his heels. He was stronger and quicker, but she was nearly as fast these days and much more agile. They were flat out running across the roof, the exhilaration and excitement bubbling inside of her as they silently flew through the night. The edge of the roof was drawing nearer, but Rose didn't slow. She passed Samson and let out a breathy laugh before placing both hands flat on the raised ledge and launching herself over, nothing but empty air beneath her as her handspring sent her tumbling. The next rooftop was about ten feet closer to the ground but close enough that her leap was plenty far. She rolled as she landed and was on her feet sprinting again before realizing Samson was no longer behind her. Confused, the little Malkavian stopped and spun around, eyes skimming the higher rooftop for his familiar silhouette. She could just make out the top of his head, peering over the side of the ledge to the street below. With a frown, Rose followed suit. A girl was walking below, a bright shock of dyed pink hair the only distinguishable characteristic from this viewpoint. She stopped suddenly and looked around, before glancing upwards. Rose barely had enough time to draw back into the shadows before she was spotted, and a little smile pulled at her lips. She felt more than heard Samson land beside her and his voice was just a breath at her ear. "Her."Rose told herself she enjoyed the hunt, and so she enjoyed the hunt. She was a monster; after all she had killed her sister and continued her existence through stolen life essence. With the innate balance of a feline, she slipped silently along the lip of the rooftop, drawing the shadows around her so her prey's furtive glances upwards yielded no reason for suspicion. The building she walked atop was only about four stories high, and when she reached the edge she carefully climbed down, using the uneven bricks and window ledges as footholds. She landed on a broken beer bottle, and the crunch and tinkle of the glass beneath her feet echoed down the narrow alley. Rose held very still and counted to 10, then slowly turned her head towards the street just in time to see the pink-haired girl and the dark blur that all but tackled her into the alley. Hell's bells. Rose groaned and in two steps was just behind Samson's shoulder as he pressed the side of the girl's face into the filthy wall she was pinned to. It was an uncomfortably tight fit, the three of them were practically on top of each other. Rather than scream, the girl just sighed heavily. Rose's eyes darted to Samson and then back to the girl. "Uh..."The second the sound left her lips the girl twisted in Samson's hold and kicked out, making contact but doing absolutely no damage. Like a krill attacking a blue whale, of a feather colliding into a brick wall. Samson chuckled and released her, testing her. Playing with her. Rose started to wonder why she was here. She watched them dance for a bit. The girl could have easily held her own against the average attacker, but they were anything but. "Sam, enough with the show," she whined. "This is boring."It wasn't, not at all actually. Watching Samson in action was incredible, he was all muscle and speed and strength. But something about the exchange was making her head hurt, making her sick right down to her stomach. The urge to run away was overpowering, a metal hook in her sternum yanking her away from the pair of them. She didn't want to see, didn't want what would happen next to happen... In one fluid move, Samson had the girl completely pinned to the ground and he looked up at Rose. Her instincts screamed against it but she was helpless under his gaze. She joined him. "Make her feelings small," his grumbling bass of a voice tickled her ear, a million tiny fish swimming in her eardrums. Rose looked deep into the girl's eyes. She was sturdily built, she could tell that now, but her facial features were small and dainty, like a fairy. And from her hazel eyes, pure venom seeped into Rose's soul. "She doesn't have small feelings," Rose shook her head, unsure if even her clan's gift could manipulate this girl's emotions. She felt deeply, and that was a fundamental part of who she was. Rose clenched her jaw, wondering why in god's name she didn't scream or even try to escape or something. "You're safe with us," she purred, and the timbre of her voice resonated in the strangest way, like an echo but only in the listener's head after they heard it. She wrapped the echo of her words around the–it wasn't hatred it was fear–directed at her and Samson and tightened, compressing the emotion into nothingness. At her success she felt a swell of pride and turned her smile to Samson, but he wasn't looking at her. "Let's go," was all he said. He rose from the ground and swung the girl over one shoulder as if she weighed nothing. No, no, no, no...The girl casually asked where they were going as Samson strode back onto the street and he, just as casually, answered with a single word. "Home."No no noRose couldn't move from where she stood, couldn't bring herself to follow with the sense of dread and sheer terror, snakes that writhed in her stomach. And she was hungry. She didn't go back to the old plantation until nearly dawn, and the second she saw the overgrown building she knew. NononononoThe cousins were in a state. Madness hung like a visual plague over the east wing, a tangible hazy fog that changed colors if you looked too close, or felt too hard. Rose walked through the front door and straight up the grand, crumbling staircase, past the giggles and whoops and whispers. The Cobweb was practically humming. It was a celebration. She sat on their bed in their room with the drapes open. He would have to come close the drapes, and he did, as he did every morning. "Rosella," he said after the windows were carefully covered. She didn't acknowledge him, and she felt more than heard his sigh. "There is something I need you to do," he sank onto the bed beside her and the difference in weight caused her to lean into him. It made her chest hurt. No. No, he won't. "I've seen something." He took her hand in both of his own, and she found herself entranced by the juxtaposition of their skin. "You have something somewhere else. St. Louis, if I'm correct. Something that you need." Rose still said nothing. "There is nothing more I can teach you."He had to tie her to the bed in the last few minutes they had before the sun rose to keep her from leaving right then.
Thomas Kill of the Night - Gin WigmoreThe rules in this city were different. Rose didn't like it. She sulked in the corner of the fancy art gallery Court was held in and hoped no one noticed. Without Samson she felt odd. Like part of her was gone. The rational part. Words like rational always confused her. Evidence of the rest trying to Think In Lines. This leads to this leads to this. But it didn't, not always. Did it? She was contemplating this when an interesting conversation caught at her ears, a different tone than the ones ebbing around the glitzy gathering. Lots of Toreador here. Lots of Ventrue. Lots of boring nonsense swirling around her. And not a single clanmate. She could feel it. She was alone in the city. With most of Samson's vitae out of her system at this point, it was a bit easier to consider he had lied to her. Betrayed her. Oh there it was again, that Other Conversation. Her heightened senses easily picked out the voices, one male, one female, and the topic was strangely parallel to her own thoughts. "Don't you trust me? Don't you want me? Just one little taste and I'll be yours, forever...and you'll be mine..."Reflexively, Rose drew the shadows close around her as she stole down the hall and towards the voices. They were arguing now as she reached the door they hid behind, and she barely had time to move to the side before it flew open and a beautiful blonde dressed to the nines emerged, all sultry hips and full lips. "You know where to find me when you change your mind," she laughed and swept back the way Rose had come, completely oblivious of her presence. She waited until the sound of her heels rejoined the rest in the gallery and then peeked into the room. It was a modest office, nothing spectacular, and the Harpy sat behind he desk with his face in his hands, a man utterly defeated. "Well," she drew out the word, her drawl making it seem even longer. "She's a cunt." Thomas Benson lifted his head in shock, and she noticed his eyes were rimmed with blood. "Ain'tcha a Ventrue? Oh I knew you guys had feelings, and I'm not talkin' about the stick up your collective – er, I'm Rose."
She awkwardly stuck out her hand and smiled that unsettling smile. He was much smaller than Samson. He rose to his feet and simply looked at her hand. "Yikes, and forgetting your manners?""Damn manners. Damn politeness and politics and women." "Ah-" "Is it truly so wrong, so evil to crave genuine relationships? Gods I sound like a boy. This is existence is so monotonous, so futile and vapid and dull. Like the rest she sought to exploit me. Damn it all!"The Ventrue slammed his hands onto the desk and Rose, while taken aback, was positively thrilled with the turn her evening had taken. "Yes!" She agreed emphatically, slapping her own hands down as well. "Damn, damn, damn!" He was weaker than Samson too. Much more emotionally volatile. That made her giggle. The Malkavian more stable than the Ventrue. Perhaps age had something to do with it. Perhaps generation too. Perhaps nothing. Perhaps the stereotypes of each clan were not so accurate as they'd have her believe. That felt right. Thomas seemed to come back to himself with her declaration and he regarded her warily before sighing and drawing himself up to his full height and looking her dead in the eye. She wondered if he knew how dangerous that was to do, wondered it as he straightened his jacket. Something he saw there, in those eerie, deep blue eyes, made him hesitate, but then he said in a strong voice, "You don't remember any of this. You walked into m office on accident and I will escort you out."Rose played along, letting her jaw go slack and her eyes glaze over just to ham it up, before bursting into a fit of giggles. "And you can't do that here! Bless your heart, you ain't a very good Venny are you?" Thomas did a very good job concealing his surprise. "Don't you worry your pretty lil head, darlin'. I ain't gonna go tellin' nobody."The redheaded madwoman lowered herself into the seat in front of the desk, crossing her legs. The sheer black chiffon of her black dress fluttered with the movement before settling around her ankles like a silken waterfall. She was poised, perhaps too poised, but obviously comfortable and enjoying herself with that disconcerting smile. "Let's talk in your language, Harpy. Harp harp, a boon would perhaps make me forget to mention this illegality to her Highness." She covered her mouth with a girlish giggle, her eyes crinkling. "Let's say a bond? I won't be unfair. We'll both drink."Thomas remained standing, he had not moved a muscle since his failed attempt to manipulate her mind. Despite this, Rose simply chatted away as if they were two old pals. His sharp green eyes, brilliant and bright, stared daggers into her own dark, glittering blue. A lifetime passed. Rose started to hum and tapped her fingers against the armrest of the chair, a very pointed pattern to their movement. The Ventrue sighed and opened a desk drawer to his right, producing a letter opener. "What choice do I have."
No One Blame Me - The Pretty RecklessThe city was burning. She didn't make it to Court that night, hadn't taken her Primogen seriously when he said the Sabbat were as strong as they were. No one had. "In the city," he had told her only nights before. "They're in the city." She should have listened. Why didn't she listen? Rose bolted down the street towards the safehouse. Thomas would be there, she prayed to the God that cursed her. He'd be looking for her. She could get them out. The warehouse that hid his—their—haven was on fire and she blinked. It didn't go away. She was running faster now, faster than she could keep up with, feet ahead of her mind. Or was her mind ahead of her feet? Either way, she ran as if the flames licking one side of the building didn't set her insides howling to flee. The back entrance was untouched and she was through it in a heartbeat, screaming their names. "Elise! Thomas!" The heat of the fire was getting worse the closer she got to the saferoom, though no flames were visible just yet. Were the doors fireproof? Would her little Elise be safe? There was an ominous crack and the bottom of her stomach dropped out as she rounded the corner. A fiery beam fell directly in front of the two industrial doors she had been headed towards and fear consumed her. Thoughts of little Elise, so young, such a miracle for her to have found, fled. Her forward momentum forced her to take several more steps forward even as the beam crashed into the ground and burst. The Beast shrieked as flames and sparks flew towards her and she pivoted in a complete one-eighty, all semblance of rational thought gone. She half ran, half crawled like an animal back the way she had come, back outside, where people were screaming, demons were howling, and her life burned to nothingness. It was only once she was in the train car, full of bales of hay, hurtling away from the city she had started to love, that she could weep. Thomas was gone. Their bond shattered, she could feel the hole in her head where he should have been. Elise, little Elise, she had killed her again. Let her little body asphyxiate and flesh boil from her bones. She had found her on the street, rescued her once again from her abusive father, and they were together. It was going to be okay this time. She had known it. She had seen it. Samson said, he said there was something here... Rose stared out at the sky as the train hurtled through the night. The stars mocked her, galaxies away and oblivious. Childe of the Moon. She sobbed and pulled her legs to her chest, rocking back and forth. She could never save Elise. She would be bleeding and ashes forever. Rotted and burned and dead. She would never have Samson. She would never be enough for him, and no one could fill the hole he ripped inside of her when he made that Childe. She had nothing but the dirtied clothes she wore and the money in her offshore account, the one Samson had set up decades ago. She had no one.
Growth Heathens - 21 Pilots"Now, Charles, we talked about this darlin'," Rose's voice was soft but loving, a mother reprimanding her child. "If you want to keep selling your product, you will give me 20% of everything. Or else, ya know, you'll have to find somewhere else to sell. Some place wheelchair accessible." She paused and raised an eyebrow, then huffed and crossed her arms. "Because your legs will be broken, Charles Charlie, keep up." The room wasn't very well lit. The dingy hostel she was using as her home these nights was lacking in both light fixtures and light bulbs in said fixtures. The result was a small Tinkerbell night light in the corner and a reading lamp on the floor turned to point directly at the sweating Charles's face. "I told you, lady, you can go ahead 'n kiss my arse. You're nobody, and you're gonna do fuck all to me." Maybe she should switch the nightlight. She wondered vaguely about where to get a more malicious looking plug-in. This was a small town, a coast town, Hythe. It was frustrating but Rose knew she had to start small, especially after such spectacular failures in America. Especially now she was in a new country. A new continent. She made a lazily signal towards one of the large men flanking her. In two steps and less seconds than that, Charles was going purple in the face as her friend flexed his impressive biceps around his throat. "I'm going to get my money, Charles. Consider it insurance. I help you out," she signaled again and the large man released the rotund chav from the headlock and stepped back beside her. "And you thank me for it. Ben and Eddie are just some of my friends here to help me establish a little order. A little direction. We'd never let anythin' happen to an associate, a friend of ours." Rose perched on the edge of the bed, not getting too comfortable as the linens seemed to not have been washed anytime in the last decade, judging by their levels of crustiness. She picked at her fingernails. Peeling back the flesh around her nail bed just enough to make it bleed then letting it heal again. A strange tick, and one that seemed to make Charles very uncomfortable. "People who are rude, well, them we ain't so fond of. I mean, we're helpin' you here." It was hard to take her seriously when she spoke so cheerily, it almost seemed like one big joke. But the lack of oxygen to Charles's brain several moments before had been very real, as unexpected as it was, and he began to look very interested in leaving the room. The little cogs in his brain finally got around to telling him he was, in fact, in a very dangerous situation. "You want...twenty percent?" He spoke very slowly, similar to how someone might talk down a bear or quiet a baby. "And you're saying you'll help me out with, what, maintaining order?" "Keeping us all safe and cooperative. No more having someone back out of a deal. No more getting robbed. We'll all be sweet and civil. Don't that just sound like peaches and cream, sha?" Charles began to lose his nerve. The entire situation was less threatening and more genuinely terrifying and unnerving. Something in the way she spoke. Something in Ben's stance, deep in his eyes. A madness. "Twenty percent is...a lot." He managed weakly, and Rose tossed her head back and laughed a full-out, cackling belly laugh. "Yes!" She exclaimed, looking more than a little unhinged as her eyes met his once more. The red fire of her hair seemed to twist and writhe with life. "Yes, I suppose it is, but that's the deal," she chirped. "Pleasure doing business. My boys will be 'round next week." Rose rose from the bed and crossed the room, passing by the rickety chair that threatened to collapse under Charles weight, and placed her hand on the doorknob. Pale, perfectly manicured fingers with dried blood around the cuticles. She paused, staring at them for a moment, back to the men and brows furrowed. "Oh!" She spun around and clapped her hands together once. "I nearly forgot. Tell anyone about this and I'll know. And the deal's off then."She nodded and bared her teeth in what was intended to be a smile. "Have a great night!"She left the room and padded down the hall in her faded, dirty old white Chuck Taylors, pulling her hair back into a loose ponytail as she went. "I'll be back, Giles,” she said to the old man in the front lobby behind the desk. His name probably wasn't Giles, but she liked it and he answered to it so she didn't care. Several burns, bullet wounds, a couple lost fingers at one point and more than one near-ashed experience after St. Louis was had toughed her up more than the near half century she spent with Samson or the silly months she spent dallying with delusions. She had flitted from city to city, barely staying long enough to meet each Prince, her visits shortened by her failed attempts at seizing control. There were older Kindred at the top already. She was a Nobody, a Nothing, a Lunatic. She hadn't been thinking, hadn't strategized. Driven to thoughtless action by the turmoil in her head... The supposed Curse hardly seemed to affect her these days, why, she was finally thinking clearly for the first time in her life. She took a deep breath of night air, and her wizened lungs protested at their use. She was filled with purpose. With need. They say her clan is cursed with madness, but people judge what they do not understand. She herself was just beginning to truly understand. They had the gift of Sight. Samson would see soon, if he had not already Seen. He was stupid to give her up, to replace her. He would see. The night was singing to her, the stars gently humming of London. London, the true conquest. 'You're ready," they crooned. She could see the streets, the puddles, the grey. She could see him, Samson, striding across the street towards her, his little pink fairy dismayed behind him. He will cut off her head, she realized with glee. Right there, in front of her. It will go tumbling through the air and it will be like she never existed. Put some color in the city. Then we'll rule together. We'll be together and she will be ashes. Soon he'll see, he'll regret it. He'll love me again. Her hurried pace slowed to a bouncing jaunt and she started to hum a cheery little fishing tune she learned a long time ago. Yes, things were certainly looking up, and she was happy that the tangled mess of thoughts her head used to be was starting to become easier to read. Read. She giggled and slipped a hand under her leather jacket to rub the smooth metal rivets of the bag she had hidden beneath, strapped to her side. Ben's father was a leather worker, and using what skills he had picked up from the man he managed to craft her a very versatile little pouch for the book. They had decorated it together, her and Ben and Eddie. Such a sweet thing to do. It had taken him months to complete. And now she could more effectively chart the strange things, could document more and hopefully find the meaning. Find the patterns. Find the truth. All the answers to everything and anything at all were there in her head, if she listened loud and long enough. Sometimes they were quiet, or too loud, or told too early or too late or in another language or a thousand things but they were there. She just had to figure it out. And that was the most reassuring terror Rose knew.
Derangements
Obsessive Compulsive Disorder Obsessions are repeated thoughts, urges, or mental images that cause anxiety. Compulsions are repetitive behaviors in response to an obsessive thought. Rosella suffers from a form of OCD referred to as "Pure-O," in which compulsions are mostly cognitive and therefore rarely observable. The obsessions themselves tend to be horrifying, intrusive, violent thoughts. It should be understood that these thoughts are not induced or wanted. Examples of these thoughts would be imagining the throat being slit of the person speaking to her, feeling the strong urge to push someone in front of a train or bus, the fear that at any moment she may lose control and kill everyone around her, seeing acid melt the faces off strangers as she passes, etc. Rose's compulsions to cope with these thoughts and urges are mostly excessive rumination, microanalyzation of her own thoughts, extreme introversion, avoidance, distancing herself from people, and above all hiding this part of herself from those she encounters. She also keeps a detailed journal that outlines each disturbing thought she has, the date and time, as well as sketches and notes as to what it might mean. This is different from schizophrenia. She knows these things aren't happening, she is just forced to vividly imagine them or is overcome with a strong urge to cause them to happen. This derangement has over time desensitized her to violence and she is hardly shocked by the images any longer, though they are still uncomfortable they are just her normal. She is convinced there is some pattern to the thoughts and images, some secret or premonition hidden within them. | Obsessions | Compulsions | Violence Blood Death Suicide Homicide Her Sire
| Avoidance Rumination Repeating thoughts/phrases, mostly internally Counting Keeping a record of harm thoughts/Journalling |
Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder Rose's PTSD is tied to the death of her sister and common triggers include excessive amounts of blood, little girls with blonde hair, and frenzy/awareness of her Beast. When feeding or close to frenzy, especially if feeding from the neck or exposed to excessive amounts to blood, Rosella is prone to abrupt flashbacks to the death of her sister and other violent acts she has witnessed/caused in the past. She also has been known to sort of replay certain traumatic past events with her late sister. "Saving" her from their abusive stepfather and "rescuing" her (more honestly, kidnapping blonde-haired children that bear any resemblance) is a popular one. Elise Faceclaim(s)
Notes
Rosella mostly goes by Rose, Rosie is a little too friendly for the average Joe.
She’s Creole, and very proud. She speaks English, French, and Creole (also called Louisiana French) fluently, and Spanish, Haitian, and Haitian Creole relatively well. An important note on Louisiana French: if your character speaks French, likely they will be able to pick out some words. It is a mixture of French and many different Native American and African languages.
She suffers from Harm OCD and PTSD, caused by murdering her sister.
Her personality is vivacious and enigmatic, with the strong opinions and the big heart of someone who means well, but can’t quite get the point across right. In social situations she inadvertently insults as much as she compliments, very much like a child would.
She is proficient with most firearms and knives, prefers the latter, and is known to have violent outbursts. Ridiculously strong for her size.
She can ride a motorcycle but cannot drive. She is wholly unaware of current mortal politics and is generally lost when it comes to most anything outside of her obsessions. She has a very odd knack for attracting trouble.
Despite her age, Rose is a low generation (6) and her Sire is an Elder. He has many Childer, none of which are aware of each other. Rose has begun to figure this out. Samson’s derangement is Megalomania coupled with delusions of grandeur.
Soundtrack Blood On My Hands - Danielle Parente Alt J - Interlude I Hit and Run - LoLo Mirrors - PVRIS Medieval Warfare - Grimes Fuck With Myself - Banks Brain Damage - Pink Floyd I Started a Joke - Bee Gees (cover)
Also this playlist. Good for any Malkavian girl, but tailored for Rose.
Ghouls Ben Faceclaim
- Stands over 6 feet tall
- Doesn't speak, whether he can't or chooses not to is up for debate.
- Covered in tattoos, preferred attire is jeans and his trusty leather jacket.
- Countless scars on chest and arms.
- Is very in tune with Rose's body language, to the point of near telepathy.
- Has been with Rose longer
Eddie Faceclaim
- 5'7
- Ex-Marine
- Quick to violence
- Much more brawn than brain
- Crazy good sharpshooter and is trained in Krav Maga and Tai Kwan Do
- Jeans and tee kinda guy, though the shirt is usually a size small to accentuate his muscular physique.
- His two passions, after Rose, are vodka and the gym.
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