mayfield_rpg | 02 - Sink into your Embrace

[Action A - 2240 Stevens Road - Friday, April 6th, morning]

[What was this in the mail? Packages? Three of them? One big, one small, and one envelope, all addressed to her? But she knew better than to open any of them in the open. Not with the sun shining. So she had taken them inside, and because she was impatient, brought them down to the light-sheltered basement so she could open them now.

To make a long story short, she now had a bloody nose, an assortment of bee stings, and a makeshift paper sign on the now-locked basement reading "DO NOT ENTER - CONTAINS BEES". Also, that remaining envelope. Sitting on the living room couch, she held it between her thumb and forefinger and fought with herself to hold off on the opening. There was nowhere dark enough. Nowhere secure enough. Not in this house. And the daytime made her sluggish, anyway.

The sun really needed to hurry and set.]

[Action B - general vicinity of 2240 Stevens Road, early evening]

[When the sun had finally dipped far enough under the horizon, Natalie ripped open the envelope from the town. In it was a slip of paper with a single dot of blood upon it. She was confused for only a moment, for suddenly she remembered the knives and the bleeding and the wounds and that single drop of Father's vitae passing her lips. She was experiencing it all over again. Dying again. Rising again.

There's a hideous scream from inside the house. And then not long after that, out staggers Natalie, bloodied from the wrists down, eyes rapidly sinking and darkening and full of hunger. Pedestrians at this time of night, beware.]

[Action C - 1490 Kramden, evening]

[There's an insistent banging on the front door. Ilsa had made promises, and Natalie fully intended to collect on them.]

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It's encouraging to hear you admit it... [Some of the hostility leaves her expression.]

I don't have much experience in feeding on anything that's not a human. I've heard that drinking werewolf blood drives you into an unnatural rage, but it's really potent stuff. Incubus blood? Even diluted? Well. It's nice....

[...did she suddenly smell less... damp and awful? If she did, Natalie herself hadn't noticed.]

Some people have a... different perception of what 'cubi are like, just because a few of the renegades weren't considerate or careful. Mama's world is where we live, and have to deal with hiding more than just Daddy, so it wasn't something I'm used to sharing.

[ Ilsa shrugs again. ] The main thing that I know comes from Daddy's side is the pain-sharing. I can pull the pain from wounds, taking on part of the injury myself, and transmute the energy to healing. I get my empathic abilities from both sides, and the ability to see mage-work from Mama's bloodline. There's a few other accessories here and there, but some I haven't grown into yet.

The exact mechanics of incubi and succubi are speculation, on my part. I've never knowingly encountered them. As abnormal as I am, I know that my world is much too narrow...

[She shifts on the couch, going crosslegged, so she can watch Ilsa as she explains. This wonderful woman was telling her so much. This could be so useful..]

Those are interesting powers. Healing is something hard to come by, in my experience. I can use the blood in my system to mend my own wounds... but no one really ought to be having any of it. [She chuckles darkly.] ...what do the vampires do, where you come from? This stupid place has vampire cats and vampires that drink coffee and apparently ones that spawn new ones with just a nip... what're yours like?

[ Ilsa nods at Natalie's statement of keeping her blood to herself, and leans back on the couch, facing her. ]

Well, the ones that fit in society usually work third shift somewhere, and have a blood bank subscription. Most of the ones I've met are only a few generations old, so not a lot of independently wealthy debauched nobility, which is how they're presented in fiction in my world. The rogues are the ones that don't care where or how they hunt, but I haven't had to deal with one on my watch, just the aftermath when the other vampires took a rogue down.

My great-great-great-great-uncle was born Domingo Andreas Jesus Gutierrez, in Cuba. When he was transformed, he ran to Miami, to avoid hurting the family. So, several identities later, he's David Jimenes, late-night disc jockey for the Latin station back home.

[Natalie's expression softens in an odd way when she listens to Ilsa's story. She can't quite decide if it's nice, or if it's even the truth, or even possible.]

So the "supernatural" and the mundane mingle, where you come from. Has it always been like this?

[She frowns and looks away.]

We maintain a "Masquerade", and hide ourselves from the public. We live and work in the shadows. Some very old, very powerful ones pull the strings in high places. Quite a lot of more of us scrabble from night to night, trying to carve out a niche in our society. We keep each other in check. There are rules. There are expectations. There are punishments.

I sometimes wonder how long we'll be able to keep it up, in this modern age.

I wouldn't say we really mingle, but there's a network to support the wyrdome. The average person doesn't know the witches in the fairy tales are not only real, but also protecting them from vindictive spirits and the like.

We have a version of the Mask in our world, to protect both sides of the equation. Not everyone understands that magic has laws, just like science. There's just a couple of places where the officials know it's better to just not ask, and approve the rare strange request. Like the blood banks never advertise what happens to blood that isn't used for medical purposes.

Edited 2012-04-09 04:01 (UTC)

Your Masquerade is thinner, then. Or wider. That's nice.

[There's none of her usual sugary sarcasm, but no sincerity, either. Just tiredness.]

It still sounds fragile.

It's had a couple hundred years to get support from government contacts. I haven't had to work with it in the Northeast, or out west, but in the Southeast, there's a lot of people who have had to deal with "haints". The culture is such that these occurrences are accepted, but nobody talks about them unless it becomes relevant.

[She seems utterly dispirited at this point. Her head droops, and she doesn't reply to Ilsa's further explanation.]

...I'll be fine for the rest of the evening. I should go.

[ Ilsa is concerned, and reaches out to touch Natalie's hand. ]

Are you sure? You're welcome to stay. Can you drink wine, anymore?

[Natalie moves her hand away immediately, and rises from the couch.]

If it's not blood, I'll spit it back up. You'd have to pass it through a person, first. [The sound she makes is more of a dismissive snort than a laugh.] You have a nice house and a nice world to go back to. I don't think I want to hear any more about it.

[Without even looking back, she starts for the door.]

[ Ilsa sees her to the door. ]

I'm sorry to rattle on so.

[ She tries to project a feeling of comfort and welcome without being cloying. ]

Natalie, please don't be a stranger.

I asked. You answered.

[She's almost to the door when she stops, and assesses her emotional state. Beyond the familiar hollow feeling in her chest, there was... warmth and welcome. As a human, she couldn't quite pinpoint that it wasn't her own. As a vampire, it was absolutely foreign.

Ilsa had been doing this all this time, hadn't she? She cast a surprised glance backwards.

No wonder Natalie had already gotten so fond of her.]

We'll see.

[And the voice was cold now, as she turned sharply and left.]

02 - Sink into your Embrace

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