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| Welcome To The Night You find yourself in London on a dreary, foggy night like any other. But what lurks in the shadows is the stuff of fantasies and nightmares, far from mortal reality. This game uses the cursed and immortal vampiric condition as a backdrop to explore themes of morality, depravity, the human condition, salvation, and personal horror. We are a writing and roleplaying community dedicated to telling complex and engaging stories. Your fate is your own. Mingle among the ivory-tower elite in the Camarilla, join the fight of the discontented and chaotic Anarch rabble, or set out independently and attempt to survive in London's nighttime underworld. Anything is possible in our World of Darkness. Create Your Account! If you're already a member, please log in to your account to access all of our features: |
| Paul Rodriguez Cervantes; Malkavian WIP | |
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| Topic Started: Thursday, 18. August 2016, 21:27 (417 Views) | |
| Casith | Thursday, 18. August 2016, 21:27 Post #1 |
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WIP
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Player Handle: Casith or Ken Character Name: Paul Rodriguez Cervantes – Prefers Rodriguez. Dislikes shortened versions of names. Age: 31, Born October 13, 1985 Place of birth: Calgary, Alberta Age of Embrace: 31, Turned January 13, 2016 Clan: Malkavian Sect: Camarilla Species: Vampire Face Claim: Walton Goggins ![]() Derangements: Power-Object Fixation Paul has clung to his fiancé’s engagement ring since the day of the incident. He wears it on his pinky or on a chain around his neck, always touching skin. In addition to his other derangements, he will hold, pet, stroke, or cradle the object if under stress. It takes a great amount of willpower in order to avoid doing such actions. If lost, or taken, Paul’s stutter returns in full force, and a panic sets in that is reminiscent of when it was his turn to read aloud in class. He will freeze up, panic, and begin to search every nook, cranny, and pocket he can find to find it. He will find it much harder to use any vampiric disciplines without said Object. Schizophrenia Unable to deal with, or cope in any way with the sudden and violent loss of his beloved fiancé, Paul’s mind snapped. He repressed it almost entirely as a mortal, however when he was turned his mind was not able to fully understand, or deal with the incident. As such, when forced to deal with any sort of loss, be it the loss of an item of importance, the loss of understanding a line of thought, or the loss of control in a video game – or with drastic change, he can easily find himself receiving instructions from a painting on the wall as to how to find said item again. Or will perhaps share a conversation with the cat, who has claimed to be a philosopher. His mind will create hallucinations that will instruct him how to proceed without the lost thing, until his stress is reduced or forgotten, at which point he will come back to his senses and have to deal with the consequences. Paranoia Paul is a moody loner, whom paradoxically craves praise, and wants nothing more than to be accepted. When alone, or excluded, he starts to suspect. Do they want me here? No, they want to hurt me. Are these mortals poisoned? Are they talking about me? Is this invitation real? Stress caused by feeling like he has done something wrong, or that someone disapproves can quickly drive Paul to feel like the entire room is working against him. If left to his own devices, he will often come to an outlandish conclusion about someone, or something in the room that is meaning to cause him harm – and attempt to assuage, or remove it. Social Regression Paul seems to have regressed in many ways to a younger persona when presented with new situations. He’s smart, inquisitive, and articulate, but his actions would remind you of a shy child until he feels like he’s been accepted. Refusing eye contact, keeping his sentences short, not giving up much information, standing awkwardly, fidgeting, or simply wandering off to do his own thing; these actions suddenly vanish once he feels comfortable. They can return easily with the introduction of a strong personality, or shift in the feeling of the room. Flaws and Merits: Merit: Immaculate Aura – Through sheer chance, Paul’s aura never gives away his insanity. The aura doesn’t shift or swirl – even when confused, frenzied, or in a stress fueled fit. Flaw: Power Fetish – Paul believes that much of his supernatural power depends on carrying his fiancé’s ring. Without this item, it is much harder for him to activate discipline powers. Flaw: Compulsive Counter – Paul has a compulsion to pick up (if possible) and/or count collections of small, identical items. The more items, the easier it is to resist this compulsion. Appearance: Paul is just shy of six feet tall at somewhere between 5’10’ and 5’11”. His hair is brown, and cut into a short, business style. His eyes are a dark brown, and hold an inquisitive nature to them. He is athletic, with a slim, toned figure – someone who has done a lot of running, and a lot less lifting weights. Paul tends to dress in expensive clothing. Not suits, or high fashion – but high quality leather dusters, silk shirts, tailored pants, and genuine cowhide cowboy boots. He prefers dark colors – blacks, reds, blues, and purples – but for one exception – the blaring white Stetson sitting atop his head. Personality: Paul is a moody-loner, who craves acceptance and praise. He can easily be stressed in social situations, and his stress triggers only fuel the downward spiral when it happens. He does have a strong loyalty to those who allow him into their social circles. Earning praise can easily earn a fierce loyalty from Paul. He has not yet quiet figured out the correct way to act in social situations again since his change. He stutters when flustered, he wanders off from awkward situations without a word, he takes all the mints from the bowl and counts them out while laying them out on the table. When called out on it he will pout, and hush away… or insult you back, ignore you, or repeat everything you say. He also listens intently, shows genuine interest, wears his heart on his sleeve, and is loyal to a fault, when that loyalty has been earned. He will go to great lengths to keep friendships, and even greater lengths to keep in the good grace of mentors and others he looks up to. Camarilla: Paul is very new to the firsthand political landscape of the kindred. His creator is aligned with the Camarilla, and then so is Rodriguez. He has not met any other Malkavian (besides Dan), and then only a few other vampires since being turned to one himself. His firsthand experience is negligible, so for now he follows the views of his maker. Strange Dan: Paul looks up to Dan like a son to a father, like a student to a respected teacher. So new to this life, he stays firmly planted under his makers guidance. Curious, and smart, but obedient, he is fully aware that his actions will have repercussions for Dan, and attempts to structure what he does accordingly. (1/4) Edited by Casith, Friday, 21. October 2016, 21:45.
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| Casith | Friday, 19. August 2016, 20:44 Post #2 |
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As this is my first character, any feedback is appreciated. |
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- Casith "I'll wait for you 'till I turn blue There's nothin' more a man can do. Don't get your bollocks in a twist Settle down, don't take a fit. You drank with demons straight form hell They almost nearly won as well. You wiped the floor with victory Then puked until you fell asleep." -Flogging Molly | |
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| Leslie | Tuesday, 23. August 2016, 11:53 Post #3 |
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Flemish... furry... flirty... feline! (YODO) Perfection Purrs!
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This application is currently being reviewed by the moderation team. Please, open a thread in the Mod Concern forum for further discussion. Thanks. |
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English Dutch French German Demon: Leslie's ghoul cat! IA Business
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| Casith | Friday, 7. October 2016, 22:10 Post #4 |
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WIP
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Human Years October 13, 1985, 2:30 AM – Paul Rodriquez Cervantes is born to Mother Maggie Cervantes, and Father Carlos Cervantes, in Rocky View Hospital, Calgary, Alberta, Canada Being raised as a single child in the city, people make certain instant assumptions about you. Spoiled, self-absorbed, selfish. As a child, Paul was none of these things. His parents, Carlos and Maggie, always swore that Paul was a little angel. As a baby he almost never cried, and almost always slept through the night. As a toddler, he was curious, but obedient. The only thing his parents would say was "wrong" with the child was his stutter. At first they feared he may not speak at all, but soon came to realize the stutter was present from an incredibly young age. As he entered into school his ability to make friends was limited. Too shy and afraid to talk, a fear set in quickly after his first encounter with the class. Laughter stings as a child. He was smart though – top of his class year after year, and decent at sports. He read for fun (The Dresden Files, Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter), created elaborate stories about the Fae, and Dark Creatures of the world. He was, simply, a regular, if somewhat smart, little boy. This, however, didn’t matter much to his peers. They saw, at that young age, someone different. The stutter made him like those kids who wore glasses, had leg braces, or some other “weird” things. He was outcast. May 5, 1991 – Robert Warren Junior High School Soccer Fields Age: 6 Paul was nervous. He had played Soccer at school before – but had never tried out for an actual team. Sure, at those ages you were guaranteed a slot somewhere, but Paul didn’t know that. Would he make the team? Would he be accepted? Would he stutter? Paul hated his stutter. His parents always let him finish his sentence before responding, but other kids and parents often tried to finish what he was saying. They weren’t always right, and even if they were, it was just so… so RUDE. Maggie Cervantes looked back at her son in the rear-view mirror, and smiled to herself at the serious, completely grown up look of worry on his face. He looked so like his father – so handsome. Paul was a mix of Irish and Spanish (mainly), and had his father’s complexion. He never burned in the Sun, and even in the depths of winter had “a little color to his skin”, as Carlos always said. She wouldn’t let Paul keep his hair shaved, like his father, as he had a gorgeous head of brown hair. It was a dirty blonde when he was born, but had darkened considerably since then. He had dark brown eyes that seemed wiser and older than his six years – those were her eyes. Sometimes it shook her how similar their eyes were; identical really. They pulled into the parking lot of the Junior High. The soccer fields here were used for a lot of the tryouts. They had three soccer fields, two baseball diamonds, and a playground for the younger kids. There was also a park named Babbling Brooks just across the street – a man-made stream fed by a fountain that was manicured, and a “lovely” walking path for restless younger siblings (Paul couldn’t help but hear his mother’s voice saying lovely when he thought of Babbling Brooks). Paul’s mind was snapped from its apprehension from the sight of the fountain, and brook. He loved the way the fountain broiled and pitched the water, it was so chaotic, and always took his mind off of whatever it was stuck on. It was only a quick view as Maggie pulled away into the parking lot, and he was again reminded of the coming interaction. He jumped out of the car and, with his mother’s help, put on his tiny cleats and shin guards, and made his way out onto the field. There was a large group of children, both boys and girls played in the same league at this age. He felt consumed by absolute fear as so many eyes fell onto him. It was only for a moment, but it froze him like a dear in the headlights. Had he done something? Was there something on him? Of course nothing had happened, people just have a tendency to look to see when a new person, or persons, enter a group. Their attention was quickly moved back into their conversations about the latest cartoon, imaginary play world, or whatever it is six year olds talk about. Paul edged around the group, listening for a conversation he could perhaps insert himself into. A group of three were quoting the most recent Tiny Toon’s episode, and Paul sighed in relief. He quietly moved closer, and waited for the quote to finish, and quickly retorted with the next line (as best he could remember). It was amazing, Maggie thought to herself, how Paul’s stutter never affected him when he quoted someone. It’s as if only his original thoughts, and opinions, had troubles getting out. But it also had the effect of helping Paul break the ice and introduce himself before his stutter got the best of him, as it always did. Soon the tryouts began, and I say "tryouts" as it was really a measurement of actual ability to make teams that have somewhat equal abilities for the community. To Paul’s delight, most of the events were done in groups. The only singling out that would be happening today was to show off how fast he can run. He was the first to finish the sprints, and third for distance running. He didn’t have great ball control, but he was six years old, and didn’t really care. He was being quiet, sure, but at the very least he was enjoying the actual sport. At the end of the day the names of the teams were announced, and each player was brought up and given a jersey with their new number on it. “Rodriguez Cervantes” the Coach called, and Paul blushed. He didn’t like his middle name – Paul often made him stutter, but Rodriquez felt unfamiliar to his tongue. “It’s P...P…” his eyes bulged, and his tongue wouldn’t work. Everyone, looking at him, waited for what seemed to Paul to be hours. A full 15 second passed before his mouth wrapped around his own name, “PAUL!... C….Coach.” There was another long silence as he stood up. His new friends looked shocked, but a lot of the other kids had smiles. Not ones that made Paul feel good, like when you tell a joke. A giggle started, and then most of the kids were in stitches. Maggie frowned as her son hunched his shoulders, trying to hide his reddened face as he took his jersey, and sat back down. +++ Year in, and year out Paul found himself shunned, and on the outskirts of his peer group. His stutter, something that would stop him cold mid-sentence when he was young, was something he worked on his whole life. April 25, 1998 – Gym Class at Robert Warren Junior High Age: 11 It’s a hot spring day, and the coach has instructed everyone to split into teams for flag football. He feels himself get that nervous feeling in his gut – not that he will be picked last, just that he will be singled out again. They made Allen, the “funny-guy” of his class, captain again. He, like every other person who is ever put as Captain, first chose friends, then the “best” players. Paul knew he would be somewhere in the middle – but just hoped it wouldn’t be Allen who picked him. “I ch…ch..choose Stallin’ P…P… Paul.” he stuttered out mockingly, and a flush spread quickly across Pauls cheeks. Did he have to do it every time? The class – or a large chunk of it – chuckled as they always did. “That’s enough, Mr. Kerr” the coach said, though he barely looked up from his attendance sheet. “He doesn’t mind, do ya P…Paul?” He grinned (a shit-eating grin, thought Paul) and patted his shoulder as Paul walked by. He felt the anger swell up again, and bit his tongue to keep it down. “Don’t t…touch me.” He spat out – cringing as the stutter worked its way into his speech again. Al, and the rest of the team, burst out laughing. Paul wanted so bad to hit him then. To curl up his fists and plant them right into his smug little nose, bloody his face, and shut him up. Instead he imagined an incredibly elaborate tale in his head where Al said the right thing, and Paul was able to (without a stutter) put him in his place. Paul was on top, and Al was the fool who couldn’t speak. By the time class ended Al had forgotten the exchange. Paul held it, with a smoldering hate, close to him. He waited for his revenge – a long wait, but worth it. He was good at sports, like he always said, but Paul’s passion and hobbies all lay within the world of computers. Games, lore, programming, hacking – it was more than a pass-time. Sometimes it felt like the rest of the day was getting in the way of his computer time, but his parents were adamant he “stay out” till a certain time so… sports. His interests in computers also had him in more than a few social clubs. Computer Club, Chess Club, and the Year Book Club. Yes it may have been petty, but when you are put in control over the entire book… well, let’s say Al had a rough end-of-the-year. The only pictures of Al that year were all unflattering to say the least. It was a minor victory. Paul didn’t care. +++ Around his family, and few close friends, the stutter was gone by the age of fifteen. In public, or worse, around the group that liked to tease him, it would flare up and lock his mouth in an aggravating, and embarrassing fashion. Once in High School, in an attempt to ditch the nick-names from his past (he was ready to kick anyone’s ass who introduced him as “P…P...Paul” ever again), he tried out for the Football team. The tryouts, not to his surprise, went well. So when he was given first string running back, it certainly crossed his mind that the teasing might stop. It took some time, but eventually it did. Paul felt accepted, and began to loosen up around his team mates. Well, most of them anyways. His stutter almost never caught him up by halfway through the first year, and his confidence was spiking. His list of friends grew and he even held a steady girlfriend now. He felt like a part of the group, even though he was the guy who had to be dragged to the party. He couldn’t help it – he felt like an outsider, and just oozed affection to anyone who made him feel otherwise. February 12, 2001 – Dr. E. P. Scarlett High School Library Age: 16 “D…Don’t worry, Amber. I’ve done this for the g..guys. We won’t get caught.” Paul said, rather smugly. He was currently sitting at a computer in the school library, and had just gotten access into their Math teachers’ account. “Come on, Paul. It’s not funny.” She urged him, quietly. Paul smirked, and changed her grade. She had failed the last test, a rather important one, and he simply bumped her up to a D. Nothing too big, but still, the look on her face was one of terror. “No, no, no, Paul Cervantes. Change it back!” She demanded. He grinned sheepishly and silently put the grade back… until she turned her head. She never did get caught, but she never trusted Paul again either. Lesson learned, and girlfriend lost. +++ It was all so easy to tear away, though. One heckle, one tease, one stinging laugh could lock Paul’s tongue, set his face to burning, and his blood to racing. He hated his stutter. When the teasing started again, just a simple little stutter in the locker room, before a game, Paul found himself drawing strength from it. He had found a way to instantly fill him with motivation. It was a dark, dirty, angry motivation, but a fuel either way. It was a fuel that he used to complete his goals on the field. It’s amazing how much pain you’ll push through to shut the other guy up with some grit, and a little talent. He was only later to realize his team knew this about him, and would get him worked up for this very reason. At his graduation – with honors – life seemed to go his way. A sports scholarship had been offered to him. He decided to study in Computer Science and Programming. Paul was busy in school. He had practice, games, studying, and assignments. Not to mention, now that he was out of high school, social interactions weren’t nearly so frightening. He had come out of his self-imposed shell of shyness, and thanks to speech therapy, was never stuttering. It was in school that Paul met his wife-to-be. She was a smart, beautiful, and demanding woman named Claire Dumont. She studied Psychology, and was working towards a job as a therapist. Her real hobby, though, was gaming – something that she and Paul clicked on, on every level. They dated, and by the end of his time at University, Paul had proposed to her. With a job lined up with a software company, and Claire still in school, the couple found a small apartment to rent. It was not an easy time for them. They had bills, rent, only one of them worked, and they also had a burning desire to eat three meals a day. The money sometimes seemed like it wouldn’t stretch far enough, and relying on parents did happen from time to time. Paul, however, wouldn’t trade this time for any else in the world. He was with Claire, so he was happy. February 11, 2009 Age: 24 Paul had been out of school for two years now, and Claire was coming up to Graduation this year. During those two years Paul had scrapped and saved enough for a trip. Claire had a week off coming up, and he had a surprise planned. Both Claire and Paul had always wanted to go and see the world; a fact they had learned on their very first date. Claire was interested in the history, and had researched castles, local legends, and even some ghost stories in the many places she had on her bucket list. Paul, on the other hand, was going for the “feel” he would get. The best he could explain was this: when you go to a place, you get a feeling about it. You feel like you know what might have happened, and when you learn what has, you figure “that seems right”. The feeling you get from visiting a place is unique, and it doesn’t come from knowing its history. Knowing its history is just a bonus. Claire was smart. She was smarter than Paul. She knew that he had been planning something for their week off, but did not expect the plane tickets. Even less so did she expect the reservations, and pre-booked tours’. Paul had rented a house in Caye Caulker – a small island in Belize. It was an island small enough that you could walk across it in twenty minutes, but it was a popular destination for swimmers and anyone looking for a relaxing time away. Away from responsibility, and the cold Calgary winter. They packed that night, and were in Belize the very next day, after a full day of travel. It was a long trip, as neither of them could get very much sleep on the flight, but they were both so excited it didn’t much matter. The doors to the plane opened, and Paul was almost literally smacked in the face by the humidity. He could feel it clinging to his skin, and a light sweat began to break out all over his body almost instantly. The airport was a small thing, and the passengers were let off right on the tar-mac, ushered into the building that, much to his dismay, didn’t have air conditioning. There were posters up everywhere warning of the many diseases, banned substances, and various other warnings in the news as of late. He scanned these things as he was waiting for his turn to be let through, the gaggle of people in line all showing the same impatient yet excited faces. Outside were maybe a dozen Taxi’s. Some holding signs, some not. Some with Taxi professionally written on the side of the car, others with nothing but a smile, and a friendly gesture. Paul was not so adventurous to accept a ride from one of the unmarked cars, and got into a cab with Claire in tow. The cab took them down a street he had never seen the likes of. On one side thick vegetation, and lush tropical fauna… on the other, a Caribbean Tire (something he got a good chuckle over), and car lot. The two extremes made him smile even more – it was something new. The entire trip was, in Paul’s mind, an integral part of the experience. It had taken a car, two planes, another car, and a boat to reach Caye Caulker. In addition, when they first arrived the rental manager was waiting for them and another group renting the house across from them, whom Paul and Claire would be sharing the pool with, in a golf cart that carried them to their home for the week. The house was newly furnished. It had working fridge, TV, AC, and dishwasher. Paul considered blasting the AC, but thought better of it after some deliberation. If he didn’t get used to the heat, he would be running back into the house the entire trip. Claire agreed, and instead opened the windows for a cross-breeze. They let the breeze off the Ocean keep them relatively cool while they unpacked. They were both hungry, and ready to start exploring, so headed out into the island as darkness began to set – a twilight sky above them. As the pair made their way down the street, an unpaved and uneven dirt road, they surveyed the surrounding community. The buildings were so different from what they were used to, and from each other. One a bright pink and blue hotel, another a more subtle earthy brown, with a large tree growing in the center of the courtyard to provide shade, one a bar was so open on both the road and beach side Paul wondered how they didn’t simply lose their stools from night to night by drunken patrons, or mischief makers. All of this was marked by large tropical trees, and sometimes, thick underbrush, and the occasional sea breeze. The couple’s first stop was a grocery store, one of only two on the island. A rain had started, and in moments it was pouring in sheets. A couple of the locals were using the overhang to escape the downpour, and Paul asked about the local liquor laws. He was on vacation, and wanted a beer. “No one cares, brutha’. Just don’t let people trick ya into anythin’. If you need any Ganja, you ask me… some of the others on the island will sell ya out for a free pass by the cop.” The man’s smile was large, and spread easily to his eyes. “The Cop? Singular?” Paul asked, more than a little incredulous. The local let out a good laugh, “Aye, brutha’. It’s a small island – we only have one cop.” He grinned a wide, toothy grin at Paul, who looked flabbergasted. “Not even a couple guys rotating?” “Welcome to Caye Caulker – Go Slow – we have two cemeteries, and no hospitals.” Another rich, full laugh, accompanied by both Paul and Claire, followed the statement – true as it was. Paul made his way into the Grocery store, and off of a recommendation from the locals, bought a Belikin for Claire and himself. The slogan made him smile – No Working During Drinking Hours. The locals all tried to either sell him some weed, or get him to promise to use their service if they wanted to go snorkeling the next day. He politely refused, and wisely steered the conversation to local attractions, rather than “business”. Paul was getting hungry, and he could tell Claire was too. The rain had slowed but not stopped, so the pair took their chances, said their goodbyes, and went out into the rain down the street. Paul’s sandals were submerged a few times and he was soaked, but it didn’t really matter. The rain was warm, the wind was down, and he was in a good mood with the beer already starting to work on his empty stomach. The smell of a barbeque caught his attention before he saw it. Just a small chalk-board that read: $10 – Snapper $15 – Shrimp Stuffed Snapper $12 – Shrimp Kebabs All Meals come with Coconut Rice $2 Beer $3 Rum Punch “Super cheap” he thought to himself. The Belize dollar was worth fifty cents American, so the meals were roughly half the price of what you actually saw. A tiny lady, maybe only one-hundred pounds, with dark hair and sultry eyes smiled as she looked up from the grill. The “restaurant” was her back yard, a simple tarp and overhang off the house keeping the few patrons dry. A man about Pauls’ age sat behind the smallest bar he had ever seen. It was perhaps only 4 feet long, and had only 3 shelves, but it’s all they needed. The tables were the cheap camping kind, where the legs fold up, and the entire table then folds in half. The chairs were plastic patio furniture. The floor was grass and sand. It was, in Paul’s eyes, the best place they could have picked. Where else would you eat in a stranger’s back yard like this, he thought. A Bob Marley tune drifted lazily over the entire scene, and the smell of the cooking fish made his stomach rumble with anticipation. Looking at Claire, he gestured to a quick, enthusiastic nod. They both ordered the snapper, and were sipping their beers, waiting for their meals as the other patrons slowly finished up and left. It was getting late, and the menu board was brought in as they ordered the last of the fish for the night. As their food was delivered, they were left alone with one other patron – a local from the looks, with a shaved bald head, and a dark black skin. “How you folks enjoying your stay?” His voice was smooth, deep, and steady. His accent was not the same as the rest of the locals – another tourist then. Paul couldn’t pinpoint where the man was from. “We just got here, but it seems wonderful.” Clair proffered up, giving a radiant smile towards the man. “Not a typical destination for kids your age, hmm?” His voice was almost melodic to Paul, but held a dangerous note to it. Like when you are trying to keep a worked up dog calm. “My fiancee’s grandfather was born in Belize – and the resorts cost so much more. Besides, you don’t meet locals at resorts. Not the way they really are.” Paul cleared his throat. Claire had a tendency to speak her mind freely. Sometimes it got them in trouble. “Well be careful. This place will suck the money right out of you just as fast as any resort.” The man’s gaze fell upon Paul as he spoke, and Paul felt gooseflesh crawl up his skin. To say Paul felt uneasy after that remark would be an understatement. Even after the man paid, and left, Paul couldn’t help but keep peeking around. He could feel someone staring at him, he thought. His first taste of the snapper stole away any thought of the man, and by the time he finished his meal (and two more beers) he wrote it off to nerves, and the long day. The walk back to the house wasn’t a long one, maybe fifteen minutes at a stroll, but it was dark. The little island had only a few road-lights, and the shadows they cast seemed deep, and endless. Paul could hear the insects and animals just off the road, but it sounded alien. Again he felt the tingling sensation on the back of his neck. Someone was watching him; he could just about swear it. As he turned he caught the shape of a man just off the road, following them quietly. His blood instantly froze, and he pulled Claire close to him. She smiled, and pushed him away, “It’s too warm.” His voice was small, but urgent. “I think that guy from the barbecue is following us.” Clair’s face fell, but she didn’t turn to look. It was a short walk back to the gates, but the entire time felt like a bad horror movie. The gate, a rickety old metal thing, was closed when they arrived. The screeching noise it made as it opened sent a chill up Paul’s spine. He turned when inside and breathed a sigh of relief. The figure was still across the street, but was hurrying past them. It wasn’t the man from the barbecue; it was just his nerves again. Still… the hair on his neck didn’t go down. Clair berated him for scaring her, a light-hearted affair that ended in giggles and holding hands. They climbed the stairs to the shared deck/pool area, and entered the rented home. Neither noticed the broken glass beside the door, or heard the rustling of feet as they came up the porch steps. As Paul hit the lights he was met with a forceful smack to the face with a bat, or crowbar, he couldn’t rightly tell. His entire world went funny colors with a bright pop, and he fell like a sack to the ground. Pain shot through his face and jaw, and he couldn’t breathe through his nose at all. Vaguely he heard a scream, and another sick thump and crack. He felt a weight land on top of him, followed by a series of impact tremors. A few of them sent shocks of pain up his body as the club landed on his thigh, and knee, making him cry out in pain. He heard and felt bones break. His arm protected his face from another blow, causing his bone to shoot right through the skin. The rest were absorbed by Claires back, head, neck… “Go! Run, we gotta get outta here!” A panicked voice urged. “They’re down – stop hitting them.” Another said forcefully – angrily perhaps. “Shut the fuck up, and run, you idiots.” The first said again. The third voice just kept muttering, “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.” Over and over. Paul reached for Claire’s hand, feeling her trembling and twitching. The sound of a group, Paul couldn’t tell how many as he drifted in and out for a few fleeting moments, running away left him alone with Clair once more. Her breathing was shallow, and sounded labored, and wet. He tried to sit, and a swimming sensation quickly overtook him. His stomach turned hard, and he vomited – “snapper” he thought vaguely, “and coconut rice.” He couldn’t focus his eyes, and thought he might have passed out once or twice before anyone came. A black man, with a shaved head looked down at Paul before flicking off the lights, plunging the room into almost complete darkness. The man reached out to touch Clair, and after a few moments lifted her from Paul. Paul wasn’t able to see what happened, though looking back it is obvious that Claire was probably already dead. He felt his feet being lifted and his body being dragged unceremoniously into the room. His head throbbed, but he was starting to think a little more clearly. This man was one of them, and was making sure he couldn’t talk. Fear grasped Paul once more, and when the man dropped his feet, and came to grab him by the torso, Paul unleashed his attack. With his fingers curled into claws he lashed out at the would-be attackers face. He felt his nails rake against flesh, catching and tearing at something soft. He got his foot up and kicked out at the man, feeling a solid connection and hearing the thud and surprised call of pain as he turned to his belly and began to crawl to the door/try to get up at the same time. He felt two hands on his shoulders pull him back, and suddenly he was sailing through the air. His body hit the couch with a thud, and Paul felt the legs give out, causing another cracking bang as the couch hit the floor. His head swam dangerously, and bright lights filled his vision, popping, threatening to blot out everything else. As Paul shook the stars from his vision, the man circled and looked down at him. A beam of moonlight washed across the assailants face. There was a cold, calculating look in the man’s eye. “It has been a long time since a mortal has put up such a strong fight.” His voice was an even tone, still holding that rich, deep sound from the bar that felt a million miles away, and a thousand years ago. His voice barely worked, and he had to clear his throat multiple times before he could speak. “I won’t tell anyone… just please call for help… my fiancé…” “Is dead. Trust me when I say it’s better than how she would have lived otherwise.” Pauls eyes began to water, and his chest suddenly felt heavy, and hollow. Dead? “Please… Please, she means everything to me.” “I’d be more worried about what is going to happen to you.” Paul shook his head. He heard the threat, and he understood it. He didn’t care. “She can’t be dead… no… she can’t be.” Paul felt hurt. His body ached, his head swam and pounded, his heart felt as though it was just ripped from his chest, and he began to cry. Nothing made sense, and nothing he thought of helped in any way. He just wept. The man smiled at him then. It was an odd thing to see – not malicious, or hating. Not hungry, or predatory. Understanding crossed the man’s face, and he smiled down at Paul. “She can be, son… and she is. Don’t you worry, though – you will not be joining her this night.” With that the attacker opened his mouth revealing two sharp fangs. In the moonlight it looked impressive and terrifying, almost like something out of a movie. But this wasn’t a movie. The true world was revealed to him that night. The Vitae of his new master – “master” was a term which naturally came to him – saved him from certainly serious injuries and possibly death that night. The blood was a blessing, and an odd curse. Every time he drank from his master his mind would swim dangerously, and his thoughts would splinter and wander. It was like a bad mushroom trip at times, and a damned euphoria every time. Paul served as a Ghoul – a human who regularly drinks the blood of a vampire – and servant of his new Master. His old life was broken, and he pained him greatly to think about it. He held the engagement ring of his fiancée and rocked back and forth for hours before sleep each night. The blood would let his mind move on, and he craved it each time. His master would eventually teach him of the Masquerade, of the importance of keeping his new masters identity a secret. He told him of the Camarilla, and the Sabbat, and the Jyhad. It would all made perfect sense to Paul. He was, after all, a smart, clever, and fast- to learn boy. But on that night, his leg shattered, his mind teetering on the brink, and his heart in tatters, Strange Dan, his master, saved him. “Come with me.. I will take you to see things you never even knew existed.” “Y..Y..Yes, m..master.” Paul stuttered out – his voice catching impossibly on his tongue, his lips reddened with blood. He smiles brightly – placing the ring on his pinky finger. It pained him greatly, but Dan lifted him right off the couch, and out into the Night. Even with the Blood in him, he passed out from the pain. (2/4) Edited by Casith, Friday, 7. October 2016, 22:19.
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- Casith "I'll wait for you 'till I turn blue There's nothin' more a man can do. Don't get your bollocks in a twist Settle down, don't take a fit. You drank with demons straight form hell They almost nearly won as well. You wiped the floor with victory Then puked until you fell asleep." -Flogging Molly | |
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| Casith | Friday, 7. October 2016, 22:15 Post #5 |
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WIP
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Ghoul Years: With his Master, Paul travelled to many cities over the next seven years. He would often stay at the haven of his Sire – leaving only to do his masters bidding. He would do the things required to be done in the day. Paul became a proxy of his master, and a truly trusted servant. He spent the years learning to speak, read, and write in various languages (French, German, C++, Spanish), and learning the structure and history of the Vampires, where he could. The different clans, the different powers, the political struggles; how it could all have been happening under his nose astonished him, and he thirsted for more. Like visiting places of old, reading about history now gave him feelings. He felt that when he read about a battle he could feel the fear, the anxiety, the rush, the adrenaline, the death, and the utter insanity of it all. Sure he had troubles remembering what the actual information was, he couldn’t think the way he used to, but he remembered the Feeling it gave him. At least, he thinks he does. Journal Entry August 12, 2011 Dublin, Ireland I can’t believe it! I was alone… In Trinity College… IN THE LONG ROOM. So much history! And so much of it will never be found, sitting right there in front of everyone’s eyes. Dan insists that I familiarize myself with the local history of everywhere we visit. History, language, lore, legends… it’s interesting, but the days can wear on. It has been nearly a month since he last let me drink – but I can still feel it sharpening my attention, my senses, my… everything. I can also feel it… how do I put this into words? Fraying at my mind? My thoughts are so disjointed it’s hard to get from point A to point B. But it also shows me things I wouldn’t normally see. It’s hard to explain. It’s almost as if dream logic has seeped into real life, at times. Most frustratingly – it also brings back my stutter. That last part seems to delight Dan to no end – I think it’s watching me struggle to put thought into word that puts joy on his face. It does put a damper on my studies, however. Once, as I was studying to learn French, I found myself matching words in French to words in German, so that I could learn two languages at once. You see what I mean? Learn two languages at once? Preposterous! My master has promised that soon my studies will turn to, what he calls, “our history”. I’m so excited! He always grins whenever I show that excitement. It reminds me of my Dad, when he would grin at the stupid things I would say as a kid. I do not think I will ask why he has me studying so much again though. He has given many answers thus far. “Because I wish it” once, “because knowledge is power” is his favorite answer. His last answer is what spooked me most though. “Because it will be easier to remember if you learn it now.” What does that mean? +++ April 03, 2013 Night Club New York, NY Paul felt so out of place here it was causing him to sweat. Crowded, loud, and cramped – everything dark, with the music loud enough to drown out thoughts. It was a simple enough task that was given to him, and he wanted so badly to please Dan, but now that he was here, he felt frozen. **A few hours earlier** Calling the blood a drug was an insult. Drugs could never give the feeling this did. Strength, speed, health… life. This blood was life. Even as it tore away, little strip by little strip, his grip on reality. As Paul clung to his master’s arm, sucking and licking at the wound presented to him, his mind reeled with thoughts. Memories of his Claire swam deliciously in his mind, minus the pain that happened when he thought of her without the blood. Paul heard himself whimpering softly as Dan withdrew his arm. Dan, looking down at Paul like a puppy, patted him softly on the head, ruffling his hair, “Moderation. Always, moderation. Unless you are moderating moderation.” Paul nodded dumbly. It made sense, sort of. His mind was able to accept it as truth, right now. It reeled, and he was unable to follow a thread of thought to a conclusion. Dan would present him with a task soon. He always did after a feeding. It was a test, thought Paul; which quickly had him thinking, instead, of why pencils are that yellow-orange color, which led quickly to thoughts of bugs. It was maddening, but his body sang with power, and he felt at peace, all at once. “Now… tonight I have a simple task. You have been studying too long. Go out and mingle. Pick someone up at a Club and bring them home to me.” Dan went about cleaning the blood from his arm with a tub of warm water he had Paul get ready before his feeding. “Yes, master.” Paul responded, an obvious note of dread and disappointment in his voice. “Trust me, like the studying of language, tradition, and politics, this will be good for you.” Dan’s voice always had a quality to it that Paul wish he had; one of purpose, and confidence. **Back at the Club** Paul moved further away from the dance floor. His nerves jangled with each beat of the baseline, and the blood in his veins seemed to delight in drawing his attention away at every shiny object. Quickly finding a seat, a place where he could try to collect his thoughts, Paul found himself palming almost the entire bowl of pretzels at the table. He counted under his breath, placing them neatly in a row in front of him. He didn’t notice as the noise of the club seemed to recede as he did so, and as his mind eased some of its tension. Not until a soft, feminine voice fell upon his ears did the trance break. “Let me guess, you’re the D.D., and not much of a dancer?” Paul looked up to see a thin girl, not much past twenty, in a short skirt and tight shirt. Her hair was cut short, a pixie cut Paul thought to himself. She was smiling at his collection of pretzels, which Paul hurriedly put back into the bowl. “Typical. I bet they’re dancing, drinking, and having the time of their lives. Not even leaving one person to talk to. My names Sara, what’s yours?” Paul smiled at Sara, taking her outstretched hand in his and shaking it. “P…P…” he cleared his throat, blushing thoroughly. His eyes closed, and he forced himself to breath normally. When he opened his eyes, she was still smiling, still waiting patiently. It panged his heart, as it reminded him of his mother. “…Paul…. Paul Cervantes.” “Well hello there, Paul Cervantes.” She giggled, the kind of giggle that would make any man light up inside, and slid into the seat across from him. Paul couldn’t help but admire Sara. She was beautiful, charming, and patient. She asked him question after question. “Where are you from?” “You’re how old? No! You don’t look any older than 22.” “I’ve always wanted to go to Ireland! What was it like?” The night wore on, and Paul found himself much more comfortable in Sara’s presence. Dan was right, he had felt tense, and needed time away from studies. He loved his master, but Paul had talked only to him for months. “Do you want to get some coffee? It’s so loud in here…” His voice was smooth, and charming, like his master. The blood in his veins sang, and his tongue flowed easily, as he slowly twirled the ring around his pinky. Down the street, alone in a small café, the two wrapped their hands around the hot cups, looking awkwardly around. “Can I ask you something, Paul?” Sara broke the silence. Paul nodded, looking back to her slim form. “Why do you wear that ring on your pinky?” His thumb had been spinning it on his pinky without him realizing it. His gaze dropped, and a shadow crossed his face. His mind filled with stories that he could tell her. It was far easier, though, with the way his mind raced this way and that, to relay the actual story. Minus a few important details of course. She was clutching his hand across the table by the end, her eyes empathetic. “It sounds as though you loved her dearly.” “I did.” Paul cleared his throat, his voice coming a little louder, “I… I do. But she will always be with me.” Again his gaze found Sara’s eyes, and before he knew it, she was sliding into the seat beside him. She held him, and he wept. He didn’t feel hurt, or sad. But he wept. Pauls head swam the entire walk home. Sara carried on a light conversation, being careful to steer clear of the previous subject. It hurt to be reminded of Claire, yet felt good to have talked to someone about her. “You’re staying here? I thought you said you were in town on business?” Sara gaped at the house. It was a large house, complete with swimming pool, and garden. Paul kept the grounds clean, and cleaned the house, and envied it more than a little. “It belongs to my…” Paul cleared his throat. His stutter didn’t catch him, only his near slip. “…boss. He’s got more than enough spare rooms, and his place is super nice.” “Yeah, it seems like it…” Sara hesitated, looking around. From within the house a light slowly turned from dim to bright. Dan walked into sight, holding a small glass of whiskey. Paul could smell it from here. “Are you going to invite the lovely lady in, Paul, or simply marvel on the doorstep?” He chuckled that rich, deep chuckle. The one from Belize. Paul shuddered softly. He recognized it as a sign of hunger from Dan. “You must be Daniel. Paul has told me so much about you. I’m Sara.” Sara glowed, vibrant and full of life. “Has he?” He looked quizzically at Paul, then back to Sara, “May I offer you a drink while you tell me all these things Paul has told you about me?” Paul watched as Sara was caught in the proverbial spiders web. She sat, she drank, she chatted with Dan. Paul, as was normal, started to silently make his way from the room. His part in the play was complete. Or so he thought. He heard Dan finish the punchline to a joke, one that wasn’t very funny. “…Aaahh, a talking apple!” and heard Sara start to laugh. Her laughter became hysterical, and she began to fight for breath through her guffaws. “Paul! Where are you, my son?” Dan called out. Paul felt his heart soar. “Here, master!” He called out, quickly returning to Dan’s side. “You must witness what is to happen next. It is important for you to know.” Dan’s voice had slipped into a whisper, as if scared to break the hysterical laughter erupting from Sara. Paul watched Dan bare his fangs, and moved over Sara. He heard a gasp as he started to drink from her. Her eyes rolled back, and a contented smile spread across her lips as she slowly became limp. Dan’s body shuddered hard as he withdrew from her. His mouth was stained with blood, and when his gaze fell back onto Paul, he felt the feral urge to run from the predator before him. He didn’t of course. To run, especially just then, would mean Dan had to chase him. “Yes… yes, that is right. I would chase you. But do not fear, Paul. I do not crave your blood.” Dan whispered out. Paul stood frozen to the spot. He hadn’t said anything, but Dan had read him like an open book. “Put Sara in a cab home, and return to your studies.” By the time Paul returned back from the cab Dan was gone. Not uncommon, Paul went about getting food, and returning to his studies. It would be two weeks before Dan would present himself to Paul again. +++ December 01, 2015 Dan’s Haven Montreal, Quebec Canada “Why do you listen to me so, Paul?” Paul’s master had been known by many names. Strange Dan was Paul’s favorite. He was strange – but it was a smart kind of quirk his vampire master had. “I…d..don’t know, Master. I just love y,,you. And I want to make you happy.” Paul never lied to his master. It was like his father – Dan just somehow knew when Paul lied. Even little, white lies, or an attempt to leave a tidbit out of conversation. Dan knew. “Do I not remind you of her?” Paul frowned, his face twisted a little. “You used to – but now I think of you, when I think of you.” Dan laughed at that. And laughed. The laugh turned to a cackle, and before long his master was having to wipe tears from his eyes. “Think of me when you think of me. Brilliant, my boy.” Paul grinned widely at the compliment. Inside he beamed with pride, and happiness. Acceptance was a drug his master fed him, along with the blood. It had been years since his past life had come up with Dan – and Paul found himself absentmindedly touching Claire’s ring. “Master?” Pauls voice was timid, quiet. He didn’t answer Paul, but inclined his head, so Paul continued, “That night… why did you save me?” Dan’s smile didn’t fade, but it changed. It hardened as he slid into memory. “I don’t know if I can explain it. I came there to feed on you, and your Claire. Instead you attacked me. You, who was bleeding out on the floor, covered in puke, and broken in more ways than one. Yet you fought me, with all of your might.” Dan stopped and thought, “I saw you that day. You were broken so beautifully, and completely. Your heart, your mind, your body. I wanted to fix you, so I can break you again.” Paul, whose smile was slowly growing the entire time, suddenly frowned, “Break me again, master?” Dan’s smile shifted again. It looked frantic, and hungry, “Oh yes… that is a day I look forward to. But for now, I have a question of you.” “Yes, master?” “If you could go back and trade places with your Claire, would you?” Dan eyed Paul closely, gauging his response. Paul was confounded. His mind raced in two completely different directions. One screamed out easily, “Yes! To bring back Claire, to have her story not be ended. I would give up anything for that.” The other pressed at him in a more primal way, “NO! I want life! I crave to continue.” Paul’s mind hurt, and his face furrowed as his brain fought with itself. “That feeling, Paul. Remember to embrace it, not fight it. You will do fine.” Dan grinned, and left Paul to contemplate the cryptic message. (3/4) Edited by Casith, Friday, 7. October 2016, 22:20.
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- Casith "I'll wait for you 'till I turn blue There's nothin' more a man can do. Don't get your bollocks in a twist Settle down, don't take a fit. You drank with demons straight form hell They almost nearly won as well. You wiped the floor with victory Then puked until you fell asleep." -Flogging Molly | |
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| Casith | Friday, 7. October 2016, 22:17 Post #6 |
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WIP
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Fledgling: January 13, 2016 Montreal, Quebec Canada It was a bitter cold night, and Paul had already found a meal for his master. It was one of the regular guys Paul gamed online with – a pastime that Dan did not understand, but encouraged. Paul sent him home with a note telling him how much of a lightweight he was. He wouldn’t remember – they never did, if you did it right. Paul’s studies had slowed as of late. Dan had Paul teaching him how to use the computer – which would leave Dan angry, and Paul quietly withdrawn. He knew Dan appreciated the lessons – but Paul didn’t like it when Dan was angry. “I have gift for you.” Dan’s rich, deep voice caressed his ears. There was a note there he didn’t recognize. “Is it a computer game?” Paul perked right up. Video games were his favorite pastime, when he was aloud a few hours to himself. Dan chuckled, and shook his head. “No, not a game, childe.” Paul perked up at this word. Childe, he heard it echo again and again quickly in his mind. Dan had never called him childe. Paul stood and walked dazedly towards his master. This was big. Even bigger then when he was allowed to drink from Dan. “Are you afraid, Paul?” “No, Master” his tongue didn’t even come closer to stopping him. “Good.” Dan bit into Paul’s neck, and quickly drained him of his blood. It was painful at first, then relaxing, then weary, then blackness. His vision blurred and tunneled. He could hear his master as though through a long tunnel, or through water. “Drink” is what he said, and so Paul drank. He could feel the blood changing him as he drank. It filled him, oozed into him, found its way throughout his whole body. He felt death touch him. His heart stopped beating in his chest. His lungs ceased drawing in air. His eyes rolled back, and he fell still, blood staining his mouth. Thirst woke him. A maddening, all encompassing, insurmountably strong thirst. He could smell blood in the room, and tried to pounce towards it. He needed the blood, it called to him. He felt his body strain against a dozen thick straps holding him to the steel frame of the bed. There were two per arm, one at the wrist, one at the elbow, one at the ankle, another at the knees, and another at the waist, and chest. One larger strap covered both his arms and chest in one, and another went over both of his legs. He strained, struggled, squirmed, and screamed as he tried to escape. There was no thought, not really. His mind acted on pure instinct, and right now his instinct was to feed. To find the source of that smell, and consume until there was nothing left. An animal was let loose inside of him, and behind his eyes, in his mind, he watched in terror as it attempted to rip itself free. Dan sat beside the bed, drinking from a stein full of blood. He had procured four bags of blood from a local blood drive, and had them set neatly on a surgical pan on the bedside table. He watched his progeny suffer for long hours, throwing himself against the bonds. Only when Dan had finished sipping languidly on his own blood did he rise. He took a bag and held it out for his childe. The bag was torn with teeth and fang, blood spilling out into his mouth, over his face, neck and hair, dousing the sheet beneath him. The second bag was taken with the same intense ferocity. By the third he was no longer wasting so much, drinking carefully. His mind was returning to him. The haze lifting, the beast receding, the thirst… still present. It was there, waiting, never fully sated, never fully indulged. As was the beast. It waited to be let out once more, to hunt, to kill, and to drink without consequence. “I see you have come back to your sense, childe.” Dan breathed out. “What a beautiful transformation it was. You see now? I broke you once more.” He grinned, his teeth glinting. “Are you going to relax now, Rodriguez? Or shall I keep you tied down?” The name clicked into place naturally. Rodriguez. It felt right. Paul was dead now. He was the weak mortal who lost Claire. He was the Ghoul who faithfully served his Master. He would never rise again. Rodriguez would be his new beginning. Dan undid the straps holding Rodriguez down, instructing him to eat the other bag of blood. Rodriguez did so enthusiastically, tearing into it like a child would into chocolate. Once finished, Rodriguez took a moment to look around at his surroundings. They were in a basement, or somewhere else that might have concrete walls. The room was large, but mostly bare. In the corner that they were in there was a bed, with bedside table and lamp. Beside the bed was the single chair that Dan had been sitting in. The rest of the room was dark, so dark that Rodriguez shouldn’t have been able to see. Of course, that was before. Now the shadows were not endless, or dangerous. They hid little from him. A spiral staircase leading up from the middle of the room was the only other thing besides smooth concrete. It felt peaceful to be here. Questions pressed at his mind, sensations he never felt before danced across his senses, and the blood… the blood sang in his veins. He clutched his head and shook it, his thoughts were not straight. “Quiet, quiet, quiet! I want the noise to stop!” He called out, then suddenly stopped, the sound of his own voice startling him. “It won’t” replied Dan, who was walking slowly around the room, running his finger along the concrete. “Why not!” He called out, curious, and infuriated. “You do not hear the sound with your ears… the static is in your mind now, childe.” “The static? It’s not static, its…” Rodriguez couldn’t find a word to fit his tongue. “The noise…the groove… jiminy fucking cricket… whatever you want to call it, you have it now. Forever.” Dan smiled, peaking around the iron staircase to peer at Rodriguez. “You’re welcome.” He felt lost, helpless, and his mind wouldn’t work. Why couldn’t he finish a thought? Grasping the ring to his chest, Rodriguez rocked back and forth, eyes wide and buggy. “Forever.” He repeated over, and over, until the word lost meaning to him. “You do break so beautifully, childe. Come, let us remake you once more.” +++ April 25, 2016 Montreal, Quebec Canada Rodriguez had nearly lost himself at the boardwalk. A girl had giggled at him as he walked by wearing one of those tall hats you sometimes win at boardwalk games. He stewed over that, wondering what he had done, forgetting completely the silliness of the hat. In a matter of minutes he had worked himself into believing the girl knew his true nature. He had run screaming from the girl, quiet suddenly, as if she were out to kill him. Two blocks away he stopped in his tracks, and grasped at his head. Why was he running? Wasn’t he the monster she should be scared of. He grimaced in pain. “Stop it, Rodriguez!” Dan snapped. His lessons with his childe had been progressing infuriatingly slow. The childe just could not grasp the concept of letting go of his grasp. “You try to fight it, and it causes you pain. Simply let your mind go where it will.” “I just don’t understand.” He complained, “We are predators, we are strong, yet we must hide. We must feed, we must eat, yet we must not kill. We are deadly, but…” his face contorted into pain once more, “…but… shit, what was I saying? FUCK, I can’t THINK.” “You are trying to think your way through it. Stop. You can’t. Your mind doesn’t work anymore. It’s a ride, and all you’ve done so far is try to swim upstream, dig?” Dan smiled, as if he had just shared a great truth with Rodriguez. For the slightest moment, he understood. If he only just acted like a vampire… then, as his logical mind started to try to take over once more, a wave of images and sensations crashed upon him again. He watched as a young boy holding a balloon walked by. In his minds eye he popped the balloon, and it splattered blood over them both. The mother screamed for help, but was answered by a consuming shadow. Rodriguez tried to console the child, but balked as the child looked up at him without eyes. He shook his head hard, shaking the images out, and cried out once more. “Your mind is in knots. And you, like a numbskull, are trying to unravel it. Every time you do, you make it worse.” Curling into a ball on the beach, Rodriguez stared out over the water, garnering some attention from passersby. The image of a man at the end of a climbing rope came to his mind. Hanging helplessly, dangling over a black abyss. The man was Paul – well kempt, sane…. Helpless. At the top, clinging to the rope with all of his might was Rodriguez. Wild eyed, gleaming, and cackling, he peaked down over the edge and waved to Paul. “Let go.” Came the voice of Dan, causing him to appear behind Rodriguez in this vision. “Just let go. It’s so much easier.” Rodriguez let go of the rope. Paul’s eyes went wide with fear as gravity did its job, pulling him down into the blackness, into the abyss. The rope slithered between Rodriguez’s feet, and disappeared. Rodriguez took in a long, slow, calming breath. His eyes opened, and Dan was nodding enthusiastically at him. “You see? Feels good, doesn’t it?” He locked eyes with Dan, and nodded, a slow smile creeping across his face. The two broke out into a short lived laugh. Dan touched his chest as he started to feel hysteria but a moment away. His touch calmed Rodriguez. “Moderation, childe. Remember.” Dan nodded, and took in a deep, slow, calming breath. His eyes, however, held the hysteria in them. Rodriguez understood. +++ September 30, 2016 Montreal, Quebec Canada “I’m afraid my decision is final, Daniel. We just have too many of our kind here, and you are amongst the newest to arrive in my city.” Her name was Bianca – and she was a Ventrue. He was young, but Rodriguez did already have opportunity to brush elbows with some from the other clans. Ventrue and Toreador seemed, to him, to be the crowd that had the most purpose, and drive. He could trust them to follow the laws laid out (mostly), and knew they were “planners and schemers”. That’s all this was too, a plan, or a scheme. He hadn’t met a lot of vampires yet, though. They seemed to shun Daniel, and so him as well. He had met one, a Nosferatu by the name of Gordon Stoikov. His face looked like a gruesome Picasso, and his skin seems to be covered in a thin layer of slime. Rodriguez could tell that Gordon was used to his looks scaring away even other kindred. He, on the other hand, wasn’t sure what to think. They had made a stilted friendship, both accepting the others “eccentricities” in order to get the work of their makers done. It helped sharing the load with another of his (relative) age. Nosferatu that don’t want to be found won’t be though, and so the stiltedness of the friendship. Always there when you don’t need him, not always there when you do. “I trust, Lady Bianca, that this is not a hostile act?” Dan’s voice was tight, and strained. It pulled Rodriguez out of his daydream. “Not at all, Daniel. But facts are facts – there are too many of us, and it draws attention.” Her falsely sweet voice returned. “This area sees many mortals leave each day. Perhaps you can try to follow them out west. Simply leave my city.” Dan grumbled under his breath, but nodded to Bianca, “As you wish. We will be gone by the end of the month.” Bianca smiled sweetly, “Wonderful! May I offer you a drink before you leave?” Her tone was decisive, and final. The conversation, even if Dan had something else to say, was over. “Thank you, highness, but we wouldn’t want to put you out.” This elicited a laugh from Bianca, as Dan stalked to the door, Rodriguez in tow. “Very well then, farewell Daniel. Please send in Frederick next.” She sighed softly, actual regret coming across, “I will be saddened to see him go.” Her tone was pouting, as if losing a favored plaything. Rodriguez followed Dan to the door, chancing a glance back at Bianca. She was crafty. She was using the “crisis” to rid the city of most of her rivals, and only a few friends. Dan had said he’d seen as much coming, but just smiled whenever he asked how. He’d thought the act would come closer to the New Year, and was thrown off guard how quickly her decision had come. Dan opened the door, and cheerily from behind them Bianca called out, “Oh, and Happy Halloween Daniel.” She tittered sweetly to herself, Dan grinded his teeth as he stepped out. Rodriguez chanced an inquisitive look back at Bianca, who tipped her fingertips in a tiny goodbye wave to him, a large frown upon her face. Rodriguez blew her a kiss. The inspiration struck him, and he didn’t fight it. It was something Dan had had to almost literally pound into his head. He saw how it caught her off guard. He heard himself titter in a similar fashion to Bianca before being grabbed by Dan, who growled, “Stop playing, and let’s go.” Rodriguez had a love/hate relationship with the Camarilla. It worked much like the old feudal system. One person on top with the power tells the next person down what to do, until it hits him at the bottom. It was better than the Anarchs, or Sabbat, though (he hadn’t learned much of them yet, but trusted his Sire’s judgement on the matter). It meant he had to follow the system, which he hated. But also meant others had to follow the system, which meant he could exploit it. He just wasn’t sure how to… yet. In truth, feeding in the area had become dangerous. Poaching was common, and the police were worried about the “rash of disappearances”. Bianca had people in the media, and police; she had them spin stories of runaways, and people leaving to find work. Dan had planned on moving on, but seemed to be angry at being asked to leave. “Well isn’t that just fucking great!? This is the last time I trust a Ventrue. God-damned, power hungry, suck-up, schemey, slimey…” Dan continued until Rodriguez cleared his throat. “What was I saying? It doesn’t matter. Where shall we go then, Rodriguez?” It seemed Dan had forgotten the interaction already. “I don’t know, master. Where can we go?” “Anywhere. I’ve jumped around the world so long… where haven’t you seen?” Rodriguez shrugged. His life previous hadn’t had much time for travelling. It panged him to think how he had planned to see the world with Claire, and he clutched the ring to his chest. He had been all over North America with Dan when he was a Ghoul, but had never travelled further than Mexico. “Everywhere, master.” Dan rolled his eyes, and turned to Rodriguez. Grasping his shoulders painfully, he yelled (scaring others on the street corner) “WHERE, BOY!” He jumped, and his mind froze up. LONDON flashed across his mind, and so he blurted it out. Why? Rodriguez wouldn’t be able to tell you why if his life depended on it. But after he said it, it felt right. “London, hmm? Okay, we’ll go to London.” Dan replied, his tone back to normal. “Just like that?” Rodriguez asked in shock. “Just like what?” Dan shot back, looking at his childe quizzically. “Just like… what?” He replied back – he was quickly feeling lost. Dan laughed, put an arm around Rodriguez, and began walking down the street towards their haven. +++ What the future holds for Rodriguez, this new fledgling to the Malkavian clan, only time and fate will tell. But he steps forward with curiosity, and perhaps a touch of naivety, out into the world each night, ready to experience more. End. (4/4) Edited by Casith, Friday, 7. October 2016, 22:20.
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- Casith "I'll wait for you 'till I turn blue There's nothin' more a man can do. Don't get your bollocks in a twist Settle down, don't take a fit. You drank with demons straight form hell They almost nearly won as well. You wiped the floor with victory Then puked until you fell asleep." -Flogging Molly | |
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2:02 AM Jul 11