Bone Rattler (Invite Only)

[Psyche]

*Thud...thud...thud....thud....thud*

He'd been at this for a solid hour now. The tattooed freakshow, laid back in his coffin, slamming the side of his hairless head against the inside wall hoping....just hoping he'd find anything of interest on the crownet as he danced around it's 'interwebz' via technokenesis. It was to no avail.

*CRACK!*

"AAAAAAaaagggghhhh!!!" he screamed in frustration, as he gave a final slam and split his forehead open, tearing his concentration away from the crownet and a blurred focus back on the ceiling of his crypt.

"This....is some bullsh*t." he sighed, sitting up in his coffin and tossing his naked legs outside it's edges. He needed to do something. Anything. His only company he ever received was out, leaving him with no alternate source of entertainment. Frankly, he couldn't blame them. He was hardly a party to be around. Since his many number of poorly handled incidents, he often tried to remain off the radar and perhaps had been doing it too well. He'd heard rumor that many thought him permanently asleep...maybe catatonic? In reality is was more the feeling of being a pariah than anything.

He didn't share the same ideals as most. The laws of the Masquerade were much like the mortal religions of today, vampires picking and choosing what was acceptable to follow and what not to. It was idiotic to him. Those vampires were dead and maybe would have even had alternating opinions if they'd lived in the present. Psyche had danced the tango with the taboo and drank the blood of his own kind. He'd been killed for it, of course. He'd been less than negligible about keeping it low key and so suffered the repercussions of his careless actions. He, of course, held no regrets over what he'd done. He knew now, human blood was just as much a 'safe' action as drinking rat blood. There was power in vampyric blood, a surge of energy one just couldn't enjoy while playing it safe feeding off the weak. It was, of course, one's own prerogative; but he'd made his own mind on it and his body agreed.

"I can't do this sh*t anymore. I'm so f*cking bored!"

Climbing over the edge of the wide, silk lined coffin, the tattooed wonder let his bare feet slap against the marble flooring and looked about the large, open area of flame-lit crypt. No one. Not even the decoy image that had once sat there at the fountain once upon a time, keeping him company in his solitude. Everyone else was out and about, free to entertain one another and enjoy the night. He'd be damned if he just lived eternity not doing anything, afraid of constant consequences. There was sh*t that needed to be done.

*************************************************************************

Fingers crawled out from underneath the manhole cover, followed by two arms, a head and torso, and finally the rest of him before replacing the sewer entrance covering. He'd consulted the demi-fae, as much as a ask it had proved to be. His ritual casting was rusty at best and found to be sub-par compared to what it had used to be. All his attention had gone to managing his businesses over the last months and he'd neglected other physical importances. The damn demi-fae had almost managed to escape the circle and frustrated him to no end with it's absolute unwillingness to cooperate. But he finally broke it, and according to it's guidance...the vampire should've been around here somewhere.

Psyche took the time to 'sniff out' the area and detect the vampire's aura. Faint traces lingered on the air, leading him around the next few city blocks and into an abandoned warehouse. The large metal doors of the building remained open a crack, allowing him ease of entrance without having to bother finding out if he had any lingering lockpicking skill. "Finally, a break."

Entering the darkened warehouse, he peered about and allowed his senses to trace the path of the aura. Hearing would have been a useful sense to have at this point in time, but that wasn't a luxury he'd really ever been provided so why be concerned over it now?

"Gotcha, ya son-of-a-b*tch."

There. In the corner, the wild vampireling was snacking away on an obviously abducted toddler. This probably should've conjured a feeling of utter disgust and rage, but truthfully, he wasn't bothered in the slightest. Oh well. Not like he was trying to linger on any remaining fragments of humanity anyways. However, he was interested in the one doing the snacking. The thought of pouncing on the unsuspecting youth, slicing into a major artery, and draining it of it's life blood made him shudder with enjoyment. It'd been months since he'd last fed. Anything else at this moment seemed nothing more than a nuance. This was sancrosanct.

Quietly crouching in preparation to pounce, he armed himself and leaped across the room towards the vampire.

"Oh sh*t." he thought to himself as he realized it wasn't just skills that had deteriorated, but physical prowess as well, falling short of his aimed destination.

The vampire turned around, her pale sunken features nearly hidden behind a mess of red wavy hair, gave a hiss and returned the leap towards him. Unlike him, her destination was right on the mark, unfortunately for her so now was his, his blade impaling itself in the abdomen of the vampiress. After giving a momentary wail, she clawed Psyche's chest and sent him staggering against a nearby wall. He really hated them when they were this young, it was frustrating how damned strong they were. Fortunately, they were usually equally as dumb and despite their little rage fits, he was still stronger.

He aimed his semi-automatic and unloaded a clip in her chest with a smile on his face. She fell to the floor in a heap, struggling to regain her bearing. The scent of her blood was intoxicating, calling to his senses and stirring an insatiable hunger in his core. With urgency, he bear-crawled quickly to her and sank his teeth into her jugular, allowing her blood to flow freely into his mouth. The liquid vitae was electric to his senses, like a man who has been without water for days in the sun finally quenching his thirst on a cold glass of water. Psyche drank hungrily from the wound and continued to do so until her vessel was empty and the remains turned to dust.

Rolling onto his back, he looked at the high ceiling of the warehouse with a wide grin of pleasant satisfaction. He was beginning to finally think straight. The ravenous hunger was subsiding and thought clarity was returning.

"Oh jesus. I've really let myself go."

[Psyche]

Tattooed fingers strummed together in front of the vampire's face; the dim lighting of a single over-head bulb swinging to and fro, shifting shadows from side to side. The nights had been long...too long, sitting away quietly in the depths of his lair. Each night contemplating the purpose of it all; how long would he live out his existence in this self-sentenced solitary confinement. Were it not for Ari, he'd have probably just allowed himself to slip away in the fade. But even she couldn't be there all the time, nor did he truly expect her to be. It's not like either of them owed each other anything. He wasn't even entirely sure what the relationship was between them. Were they just friends? Maybe a bit more? Possibly two equally socially awkward individuals who simply enjoyed the company of the other? He'd like to believe it was more, but it was all a really moot matter wasn't it. The irrelevant need to declare a defined term or status was more of a mortal necessity in some vain search for self-worth. If it was one thing he'd learned was that when you're destined to live out eternity then a tomorrow no longer exists. All one could do is live out the present. So, it really came down to one simple truth; he enjoyed her company and would gladly accept it as long as she felt compelled to gift him with it.

He could, of course, pinpoint the exact moment when his sense of purpose had diminished, or rather taken a nose dive into an abysmal nothingness. His last removal from the ranks of Tytonidae had stripped him of any duties, tasks, or chores to occupy time. Was that the primary reason for joining in the first place? Some form of social belonging? Maybe not. At one point, sure, he'd cared about the protection of the Masquerade and the secrecy of vampire existence; but it'd been some time now sense he had any need or care for humans in any form or facet, so the entire concept had turned to a moot point and he could really care less. The social interaction was still to be missed though. They had been a family, or as close a sense of the word as his understanding could allow. Though, it could've just been a relief of the boredom honestly. Living in damned near complete sensory deprivation had begun to take it's toll.

It was always an oddity that his hearing had never healed itself after the change. As much as had been regained or improved in others, it didn't make complete sense; though truth be told he'd never really given it much thought, he'd been deaf for most of his life, so it was the norm really. As he strummed his fingers, he looked over the many tattoos that covered his body and a thought occurred...

"Are you f*cking kidding me?"

It occurred that in all this time, his subconscious effort to keep all of his body art from healing might actually be preventing his cochlea doing just the same. Was it even possible to selectively allow something to heal? He'd never really tried. Now that'd be an interesting development. To be able to hear again. In his youth, he'd loved the sounds of music. It was a singular art form he'd been denied the exquisite pleasure of enjoying; having to endure eternity without sound, music, voices.....without screams. It was beyond any torture he could inflict, to say the least. And now the idea of possibly of having the pleasure of it again was too much to bear. His hands trembled at the prospect of it all. Being able to actually watch a movie with Ari that didn't require subtitles, listening to all the varieties of music imaginable. It would certainly be an added bonus when hunting. Most enticing of all the possibilities would be hearing the whimpers, moans and screams of his works though. Listening to the intricate tears, slices, and crushing as he completed his projects....the thought was exhilarating.

Psyche looked back to his now tightly balled fists, white knuckled and tremoring as he contemplated the hypothesis. There was only left to try. Standing up from the wooden chair, he slid his hands along the flattened arms. "Old Sparky" as it had come to be known generations ago, mostly within the prison systems, always served as an appropriate place of contemplation and imagination for him. The idea of all the energy that passed within that chair served as an inspiring symbol. He looked over to Delilah, scrubbing away at the previous remnants of a ditched-effort project that he'd lost interest in when the canvas proved less than conducive to his artistic hungers. She had proven to almost always be up to this task of cleaning to his satisfaction. The one time she hadn't, his "incentive plan" had corrected the less than optimal performance.

Psyche began to imagine the many nerve networks, muscular and bone structures, and various systems of the body as he knew them to be from his extensive research into physiology. His perfect memory didn't hinder the effort at all either, being able to map it all over himself visually and concentrating on the construct of the inner ears. Slowly, he imagined the ... "aura" that hovered within the ear canals to diminish and allow them to heal. The process, he was sure, may take some time...

[Psyche]

...What seemed, quite probably, a much shorter time than had actually passed, Psyche began to hear the faintest of ringing. He quirked a brow and concentrated in the manner he was doing that facilitated this reaction. The quiet ring becoming increasingly louder, much like symptoms of severe tinnitus, until finally faint echos could be heard. The faint echos became an occasional quiet squeaking, and finally perfectly audible until Psyche attempted to focus on the source of the sound and came to rest his gaze on the light bulb overhead, swinging to and fro.

Squeak....squeak....squeak....squeak

A twisted smile crept upon his face as he reached overhead and stilled the swinging bulb. Looking at it with a sense of awe and wonder, he tapped his finger against the light.

Click...squeak....squeak...squeak

He stopped the light from swinging once more and gave a single momentary laugh. From his left, he heard the slightest shuffle of feet nearing him, prompting him to turn and give an odd questioning look to Delilah, who for some reason or another was staring at him in a strange manner.

"What the f*ck is your problem, girl?"

Delilah, leaned back and averted her gaze from her employer's, "Sorry, Sir. It's just....well, your ears."

"How many times have I told you, stop calling me f*cking 'Sir'. I'm not that kind of boss. What about my ears?"

Surely she couldn't have noticed he could hear suddenly. The reception of sound wasn't entirely noticeable and he hadn't been blatantly obvious about the change in being able to suddenly do so.

"Your tattoos, S..." She contemplated over a number of things she could call him before she landed herself in hot water. Mister? Boss? "Stupid." Oh Jesus, that was the best recovery she could make? The big game plan was to just go with another 'S" since you'd already started with it? Someone was going to be cleaning up her mess next for sure. F*ck it. Go with it. "They're not on your ears anymore....just gone."

"Say what?" he'd completely missed her new title for him in the light of the news she was delivering him. Instinctively he reach up and touched his ears, as if he was going to be able to feel that his tattoos were gone. Upon the sudden revelation he was appearing rather daft, he lowered his arms and tapped his fingers together. An odd predicament to be in. He couldn't exactly 'check' and see if she was lying. Damnable useless mirrors. "Have you digging around in my hydro farms again, girl?"

She quickly shook her head and pointed up to his ears, tracing around the affected areas, "No, I promise! It's just bare skin all around here."

Psyche thought on what he was being told and considered he must have spread the area too wide when allowing his ears to heal. Now he just would have two noticeable areas of unaltered skin. That was going to look just plain dumb. What's worse is he wasn't going to be able to fix it himself with no way to see what he was doing.

"Dammit, Delilah! Why can't it ever just be a 'Hey! I'm leaving.'" he said mockingly in his poorest valley girl like impersonation. "It's always some bullsh*t, I swear."

It was clear she was unamused by the implication she was any kind of ditzy rich girl, "Because I'm the f*cking janitor, you jerk. I clean up your messes all day. It's my JOB to deal with your bullsh*t." She tossed down the mop she'd been holding and went to the corner of the room, picking up her bag before headed for the exit, "And by the way...I'm leaving, a$$hole." Delilah then making her ascent out the exit.

"Pffftt. I'll make sure to leave it extra messy for her tomorrow, then."

The only considerable option he had left was to make a visit to Masterpiece, he guessed. That was sure to be fun. Let Micah anywhere near his ears? He'd never even determined if the lunk even liked him. He'd probably try and stab him in the friggin' ears with the gun. Though, options were limited and it was the only one he could think of.

Grabbing his jacket from the chair, he made his own way to the exit, ensuring to shut off the light behind him. "This f*cking sucks.."