A Good Example of What we Want to See Here

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A Good Example of What we Want to See Here

Post by Admin on Sun May 14, 2017 9:32 pm

The following was written by a staff member (Jordan) from the point of view of his PC (Archibald Grimaldi, a 425 year old living revenant)... This is exactly the types of things I like to see in flavor posts, a snapshot of your character in private that does nothing to overtly expose the character's "master plan" or "dark secrets", while also allowing a look into the character mindset day to day... You can find the original near the very firsts posts on this board titled "Sympathy for Atlas"...

Fish

Jordan Kael wrote:Chateau d'Yquem 1976. I drank two bottles tonight. I need to find a third, but I don't think there's time. I have an appointment. I have a very stressful job, and I've found a specialist in relieving stress to help me. I've got to get ready, we can't meet here. It has to be somewhere special to the occasion. I grab another bottle of wine and call my chauffer to have him meet me at my car.

We arrive at the perfect spot. Out of the city, away from all the noise and people, the perfect place to get rid of all the worries of the world. I step out of the car, taking a moment to breathe in the cleaner air and look at the beautiful sky. It's important to take the time to appreciate the little things in life. They say life is short and if you aren't careful it can pass you by. They're wrong. Life is long. It's you who passes the little things by.

I hope it rains.

I tell my chauffer to collect my guest, and, as he drives away, I walk into the secluded house. Quiet. That's how I like it. Nice and calm. I take my "blood pressure medicine" and the effects should take hold right on time. I can tell already, tonight is going to feel like such a relief. It's going to be great.

My man returns. He lets my guest out of the car and informs them that he will return at the appointed time. My guest protests, but is reminded of the amount of money to be earned. I watch from the upstairs window as he drives away. Reluctantly, my guest turns and walks into the house.

Upon entering, I invite them to come upstairs. Gingerly, she makes her way through the empty house up to the room where she finds me. This is the first time I've seen her. She does not dress well. Perhaps these clothes were attractive at one time, but they have fallen to disrepair. Faded and torn, barely holding together, her garments struggle to maintain any sort of decency against their wearer's will. No doubt, had she had it her way, she'd be running unfettered like some child of paradise.

This woman has clearly never been to paradise. Skin the color of ashen coffee, paled by malnutrition and habitual toxins. Her skin hangs loose on her from dramatic weight loss, likely for the same reasons. Her nails bear only the chipped and burned remains of a once elaborate and immaculate painting. Her mouth agape shows the signs of erosion indicative of her intoxicant of choice. You could count the teeth left in her mouth on a single hand. You could, I doubt she could. Hair thinner than mine did it's best attempt to frame her once lovely face. I imagine it'd fallen out in clumps, or been torn out, by the look of it. Her eyes, accompanied by so many bags you'd think they'd been out shopping, empty, bloodshot and staring at the scene before them in disbelief. I knew exactly what they were staring at.

There I sat next to the bed, in a plush red chair with a bottle of chilled wine on the end table, sipping from the glass. I wore only an open black and red patterned robe, orthopedic slippers, and a smile on my face. I was so looking forward to this.

She looked me over. She started with the hair, as they often do. Thin strands of shock white, that I never know what to do with, lilting about in the breeze through the window. She did not let her gaze linger, as it moved down my weathered and haggard face, when it met my dark and penetrating eyes. They hate to look me in the eyes for long. That's when they know something's wrong. Only in my eyes can you see how old I truly am.

As she moves on to my torso, she gazes upon a body from the finest stock, hale and hearty at it's peak, carved from marble. Of course that's not what she sees. No, she only sees it's sad and withered remains, beaten down by the rigors of old age. Once beautiful and taut, my skin is left wrinkled, thin and soft like oiled, leather parchment. Her eyes stop their journey down when they reach a friend of mine who was doing a trick that, up until a decade or so ago, it had not done for a very long, long time. At this time, I stood up and approached her.

Feeling frightened, she nervously asks, "what do you want from me?"

"For start, there's only one thing I want from you," I reply.

Terrified, she questions, "what?"

"Silence," I Command.

As she shuts her mouth, the pungent odor fades and I finish my drink.

"That's better. Now, let's get down to business. I have a lot on my shoulders, so I'm going to tell you a little story, but first, your next task," I indicate downward, and issue another Command, "Suck."

She then drops to her knees and begins an act at which she has had much experience. Now the healing can begin.

"I have a very important job, you see. There are thousands that depend on me. If I should fail at my job, the world would be overturned. I am- ohh- I am a babysitter for ancient monsters. The fact that you haven't stopped, shows either your professionalism or the power of the gifts they have entrusted in my family. Take no offense, but I doubt it's your stunning sense of professionalism. No, I have more faith in the powers granted by the blood of these monstrous children. It runs through my veins you see? No where near as potent, but strong enough to make short work of your broken will."

Tears start to fall from her eyes as she continues due to a compulsion she can't explain.

"Have you ever read a book, my dear? You nod, but I doubt the truth in it. There is a popular work of fiction called 'Dracula' from many a year ago. It was the beginning of the romance that has formed between popular culture and the monsters known as vampires. That's what I'm dealing with, you see, vampires. Monsters of the night that play their own games with those stuck with mortality. Some want to be lords, some want to pretend to be one again, and some just want it all to burn away. All of them, however, want to drain the life out of you. They don't care how it happens, and they don't care about who gets hurt nor the havoc they cause. Why should they? They're gods above us. So they think at least, but don't you dare try to say you might know more about something than them. Oh no, that's a sure fire way to get killed. The idea that someone who is not so different from how they used to be oh so long ago might actually have a better idea than them? HOW DARE YOU?! Insignificant vermin!! Death is too kind for you! They're all stupid, fucking bastards. Full of themselves to a point of extreme hubris, they don't believe anything could topple them other than another god like them."

The tension building in my body relaxes dramatically, as my mind moves to greener pastures.

"Of course, they're not all bad. There is one amongst them in which I can find no fault. Professional, powerful, fair and demanding, my dear Priscus can be held beyond reproach. However, your ears are not worthy enough to hear his praises."

With thoughts falling on the Priscus I nearly lose control. Time for a change of pace. I grab her throat and stand her up. My strength shocks her.

"Get on the bed."

She starts to panic, eyes darting from side to side. Disobedience. She opens her mouth to object. SMACK! With a sound sickening to some, her jaw is shattered and she spins onto the bed. For a moment, I'm concerned I hit too hard and snapped her neck, but, as I tear the useless remnants of clothing off of her, she stirs and pathetically tries to struggle.

"Your resistance will not be tolerated," I inform her before shattering her tibias with my fists. She tries to open her mouth to scream in pain, but the combination of her pulverized mandible and my infliction upon her will stop that. As I enter, I feel more comfortable resuming my tale.

"That's better, isn't it? I'm glad you came by. As I was saying, I have a very important job, and as you no doubt should have gathered by now, it has to deal with the monsters, the vampires. You see, there are two large groups, factions, amongst them. Oh sure, there's some others falling into their own little groups, but odds are you're going to find one from one of these two clubs, should you have the misfortune to find one. One club, called the Camarilla, demands secrecy from the mortal world. The Inquisition of long ago put a bad flavor in their mouth, as you no doubt have right now. They fear you, the mortals, exactly as much as they wish to rule you and serve the monstrous gods greater than them. The ones I serve, the Sabbat, hate them with an, at times, unreasoning passion. As petulant as they are correct, they deny everything the Camarilla demands when they gather and peacock before each other. Why should we hide from the mortals? What have we to fear? We, who have toppled our own monstrous gods? And through this reasoning the justify to themselves a need to sow disorder and bedlam. However, behind closed doors they too can acknowledge a need for secrecy, although, such a job as maintaining this secret is beneath them. What sort of creature is this vile job suited to? None such that exist!"

As my anger starts to rise, my rhythmic pounding intensifies and I can feel her pelvis start to give way from the force.

"So, AND SO, in all of my many master's infinite wisdom, they deign fit to create their own blend of monster and mortal, one superior to their simple ghouls, their simpering Renfields. A creature born to a near immortality, should they mind their place and play their cards right, one who would know their secret and be a part of it as well. A vested interest in maintaining our secret lie that we all know and never mention. They will be intimately critical to the survival of all who share the blood of the night, however, while they will never truly be a part of the world of mortals, they can never be like us. Since they can never be like us, they can never be treated like an equal or worse a superior in any sense. Let them live their lives for us, calling in favors manipulating the mortals that we pretend to care nothing for. They have no choice but to manipulate them. What are they to do? Form a life with them? What sort of life would that be? To see any they love wither and fade in the blink of an eye as their own path to decay is slowed to nearly a halt? How many loves must they lose this way? Five? A dozen? A hundred? I can't remember. I can't remember their faces anymore. Their names. Who can be expected to cling to their humanity through all this? After surviving their grandchildren's grandchildren? No, humanity is lost to them. They will have to find other paths to comfort them throughout the length of time. Bury yourself in your work, become one with it. You have to stop being a person and become a purpose, held together by duty and honor. This is what time does to a man, and this is what that man does to you, mortal. Know that this is how it has been for centuries, and that there is . . . no . . . Release!"

Release. With her job done, and the tirade over, the burden on my shoulders is lightened once again. The stress of more lifetimes than I care to count lifted, if temporarily. I look down at our two bodies, withered through age or chemicals, there is no question which fared better. Mine was sweaty and shuddering as I regain my breath. Her body was crushed and twisted, drenched in sweat, blood, tears and the ichors of my hate. Did it still move? I do hear the occasional strained and gurgled breath, and, as the bonds of my will begin to slip, a heaving sob begins. Not wanting to ruin the moment, I collect myself and leave.

With a limp down the stairs, I make my way to my car, parked outside. My chauffer, ever the professional, awaits me patiently. Seeing my discomfort, he approaches to aid my walk. He inquires into the quality of my evening and session.

"It was exceedingly satisfying. The perfect way to relieve tension and break-in a new city. I think we're going to be all right here. Now, please, take me home. Oh, and two things: have someone take care of the waste, and call my personal doctor. I think I may have dislocated my hip."

Feel dirty yet?
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