The makings of a monster

[Noemi Michaux]

Well this is disappointing, she thought, catching a slight frown before it became sullen. Smoothing out the soft bow of her lips, she spread her fingers over the oak surface of her desk, leaning forward to a better vantage of the goings on outside her window. Ignoring the faint rustle of her aunt's over fondness for lace and growing boredom, she squinted slightly against the glare of the afternoon sun.

She couldn't hear anything yet, but she knew that would change in a matter of moments as the object of her scrutiny came closer to her home, waddling with a complete lack of shame as a fair 10 stone rolled freely over belt and without benefit of a fitted shirt. As her gaze flicked upward it was all she could do to hold back a sharp inhale of breath as his florid features gleamed with sweat dripping from an abominal swatch of hair ginger in colour... GINGER of all things and a back handed swipe of meaty fist against forehead.

There was nothing she could do to stop the wrinkling of her nose, the patrician slope losing its perfection into something stunning in its outraged disdain. Yes... he was coming up her path. Now she imagined she could hear him. The grunts of strain even this slow walk would cause upon his joints. The wheezing breaths. The beat of his strained and fat incased heart. Filthy really.

The rustling from behind her picked up, heralding her aunts approach as well. It was become difficult to keep her fingers from fisting against the exquisite wood, assaulted on all sides as she felt... wait... was that a bible the ginger demon was carting under his elbow?

"Guests!" squawked her aunt, the mercury Noemi had been feeding her in small amounts beginning to tell in the harsher rasp of Isoldes voice. Perhaps it was time to adjust from seven pinches to nine..

"yes Aunt Isolde. It seems the Good Lord has sent us a Missionary, one who seems about to martyr himself upon our doorstep via stroke."

Her aunt gasped and leaned over the soft slope of Noemi's aristocratic shoulder, taking her nieces outrageous comment as fact due to the unemotionally practical deliverance. "Do you really think so? Should we call someone ma petite?"

really it was all one could do not to roll her eyes, but instead turn a soft albeit false, smile and pat her aunt's hand. "I am the someone you would call Isolde." the sternness of her voice was lessened by the soft, breathy French her speech was laced with and her aunt clucked with agreement, "of course, of course. I seem to forget things...."

Noemi didn't wait for the finished thought from her aunt. It was likely never to come, and she instead extricated herself from the woman and stepped out to the foyer to receive the ginger joke about to press her entry bell.

Some days it just didn't pay to leave the lab.

( to be continued )

[Noemi Michaux]

Smoothing the smoke gray of her pencil skirt over shapely thigh, her Italian Bolino's echoing over the gleaming marble of her foyer the good doctor walked to the door as the soft chime of the bell announced the biblical tragedy upon her porch.

As predicted, the opening of the door had barely registered when "Good afternoon ma'am, have you heard the good news?" shot her through the temples. Another false smile, pink tinged lips, Chanel antique rose, parted over gleaming teeth as she swung the door wider. "Please, won't you come in? I could never forgive myself if manners were not kept." she watched his eyes widen as her true French made a mockery of his Canadian twang. As it should. Plebians. Farmers and merchants, the lot in this new world. So very crass. And certainly NOT in the amusing les enfantes way.

Stepping far aside to let the behemoth into her sanctuary, her aunt already clicking her tongue and making motions to have their one maid Andressa begin tea, Noemi regretted her decision to leave Isolde alive. Conveniences at the bank be damned. She was top of her class, a stellar and talented surgeon, her feats in the British Emergency rooms upon her residency were legend. She would be well enough with money very soon.

"Beg pardon ma'am, but it wouldn't be right me entering a ladies home without benefit of her menfolk. The talk..." he stammered out as he caught the full effect of her countenance. It was alarming really, the stark beauty, and many had tripped over their speech when confronted with it. Ignoring the reaction she sagely nodded, and for her own perverse enjoyment offered the ginger nightmare a rather well done smile of sultry proportion.

Comical, she thought as he reddened even more, jiggled from foot to foot and then shoved his bible between them. "We... that is I, well really we as its my church, but I'm here and they're not, so myself as well... we, I would like to invite you to our worship. Yes. that's it." he really did look as if he were choking on the devils Pradas now. "I would love to discuss this wonderful welcoming you offer my Aunt Isolde and myself, over tea of course. I'm perfectly chaperoned as you may attest."

She found she simply HAD to see how his heart was able to hold up to this amount of torment. HAD to see if perhaps this heart was strong enough... was this one finally it? Was this the answer she had been waiting for? A heart so sound it could carry this wretch from door to door without fail? Noemi swallowed slightly as she turned, her mouth fairly watering as she lost herself to thoughts of her poor sweet dear, immobile, almost alive... but for her failure to find a heart strong enough...

Her mind raced as she found herself jolted back to the now, the wheezing juggernaut walking with her aunt into the parlour... thats it... just steps away from the hidden entry to her lab... calculating every move from here to get him there... fingers curling around the small vial she kept in her pocket... curling around what would soon be her greatest triumph...

[Noemi Michaux]

The faint scent of formaldehyde left a soft burn inside her nose, letting her know she needed to take a moment to clean up, change gloves and mask. As soon as that thought entered her consciousness, it left as her gaze moved from the heart laying before her, still beating from jolts of electricity conducting through it, and settled upon the covered form to her right.

snap of glove and a toss into the rubbish, she lowered her surgical mask, the open chest of the dead man before her barely registering now that she was done with the bible thumper. The hum of her machinery soothing in its static consistency, making promises she needed to hear...

Her fingers steady though she had to glance at them, her excitement making her sure her composure was surely compromised, but no... not even a twitch, perfectly balanced... gently pulling the sheet down from the covered figure. The slab gleamed metallic, concave toward a drain, cold and sterile as it bore testimony of the face only Noemi could love.

It wasn't that she had disservised the face, her technique was as beautifully done as any fashion house artist, scarring would be minimal. It wasn't the swatch of black curls gleaming cherubic and fallen against bloodless alabaster skin, wrong somehow if one could place it...

It wasn't the lips, as pale as the snow fresh fallen in her beloved Alps, surely the colour of an angels kiss. No...

There was nothing in the perfection of his countenance that one could pinpoint, so opposite of the fat carnage on the table beside him, gore slithering down into the waste units, chest peeled open and broken as if his God had taken back in a moment of fury that which he had given... oh she was a master of removing hearts as they still beat...

There was something just WRONG with the angelic form. Something unnatural and eerie. Well... to anyone that didn't see him as Noemi did. To the French beauty, she who had sacrificed everything for this, given everything... the lives she had ended...


no matter.

HE was going to be her moment. There were no Gods in all the universe... until now....

"You will live my darling..." she whispered through soft lips "You will live."

[Noemi Michaux]

Her reflection stared back at her, pale, immobile, devoid of emotion. The elegant vanity handed down for generation... saved from the fires of rabble dreaming of an equality they didn't deserve... returned to her mother when Noemi was but a babe as a birthing present from family that wished her dead. The better to gain her title.

She could not even bring herself to smile as thoughts of her rancid little fiance, so reminiscent of some sort of starved hare, chinless as he was spineless... killed by his own whore with his own letter opener.

A single tear welled against the green of her intense gaze, unable to fall as she lifted her chin, looking down at herself in that vanity mirror. It wasn't for poor, poor Renaud that she wept. Never him. She would have eventually ended him herself... timing it better of course, his funds the only thing worth note of him... but, the little harlot should have been lauded, not hanged... at least he never spawned.

With a swiftness brought on by rising rage, her hand swept over her vanity top, sending soar the small bottles, pieces of jewelry and hair combs that had naught to do with her anger.

She failed. Inconceivable. She had failed her sweet angel once again. The heart had burst with the second full surge of electricity. Exploded really, if one were being plain. It was more than she could bear.

and now the tear fell. splashing against the mahogany, mixing with her spilt perfume. Where had she gone wrong? She went over every step, for the thousandth... no millionth time... and could find nothing to change. No way to change the outcome... Except...

The heart. That was it. Inferior peasant heart. Of course it failed. Of course that obese oafs organ disintegrated when put to true aristocracy. True heaven. Adam. Noemi stood, further knocking her precious baubles, her robe swirling in silk fury around her soft form as her head fell back and she let loose a single, horrible wail.

Spinning on heel she dashed to her wardrobe, almost toppling it as she tore the back hidden door open, a set of servants stairs laid bare but barely registered as she dashed down the well to the depths of her laboratory.

Her rage mounted with each descending step, her teeth set and grinding as she held back screams of fury, until the obese corpse was within grasp. Mindlessly grabbing a tray she began smashing it over his hated face, over and over, flattening the nose, caving the temples, viscal fluid pouring from burst eyeballs, unable to stop until she had killed him again... and again, and again...

as fast as the fury erupted it was over. sobs tore through her one last time as she slid to the floor, gore dripping from her ebony curls, scarlet scars creating a roadwork of insanity on the white silk of her robe...

Noemi didn't move from the floor. Not until the sun had once against risen and began its descent into the new night. When finally she stirred herself it was with a purpose. A renewed vigor one would say...

if there were nothing but failures due to genetics in this town... well she would just have to move toward success... nothing less would do... she would. not. fail.

[Noemi Michaux]

Harpers Rock... her eyes glanced over the laptop screen again as if somehow the information she was seeing would change. Never one to lie to herself she had secretly hoped Montreal... Quebec.... well, nothing for it.

Looking around the now almost bare room, Noemi closed the laptop as she stood, sure that she was making the right move. Weeks she had studied the strange phenomenon that seemed to be commonplace in her soon to be new home. For weeks she had studied genetic patterns from census and hospital records. She wasn't wrong. Couldn't be wrong. It was like a melody stuck in your head, tugging at your memory until you have to find the lyrics. Unignorable.

She really never did believe in destiny, unless she herself were directing it. But this... it was just RIGHT.

"Adam... " she whispered to herself, imagining his eyes opening for the first time. Imagining his first attempts at speech... Imagining finally mastering both life and death... to truly BE death...

Her smile became more pronounced, not even the soft shuffle of fabric and elderly kitten heels could mar. "Are you ready Isolde?" she asked in French, "I know how you dislike traveling at night, so we must be off." Of course Noemi found it poetic, the knowledge that Isolde would be proven correct in her fear of night travel. A lovely little accident should solve her funding issues along the way... it really was a shame she didn't have more time to create something even more stunning, artistic... Isolde deserved that at least, a glorious ending...

"Our fate awaits us dear Aunt."

[Noemi Michaux]

"Baby Daddy Down!! BABY DADDY DOWN!!!"

The commotion several stories down was nothing new to Noemi here, safely away from the rabble as she was upon the roof of the building. Like some warped comical sitcom the events on the street unfolded before her bored gaze, holding her attention for a time.

The woman was ragged, though if you looked at her close enough her bone structure spoke of some keen genetics deep in her distant past, Nubian and finely structured, painted with rich ebony skin. It was a shame really the loss of such exquisite genes to homelessness and drugs.

Baby daddy was a scrawny and deathly white, patches of hair growing in whisks around his jaw, desperately trying to become a bro beard and elevate the crack addict to hipster. She imagined she could even see a greasy unkempt bun atop his lice riddled head...

Where the baby was, Noemi didn't even want to hazard a guess, still watching as no police came, no passerby even glanced, just avoided by crossing the street... the darling woman should have screamed 'fire'... but that was not her concern and this was far more amusing.

Baby daddy began to vomit, his body spasming as his dying convulsions overtook his thin frame. Noemi as a physician had sworn to do no harm, so she remained rooftop, ignoring the calls to aid. Saving him would have been true harm, so she watched disinterestedly as he died there on the streets, his woman hunched over him sobbing and still screaming hysterically with each sucked in breath. Soon now... yes there it was, the death gasp turned rattle... and his bodies fluids released in a wet torrent, darkening the street under him further. Noemi was quite glad she was out of scent range, that was impressive his bladder.

Finally sirens sounded in the distance and the Necromancer knew to exit as she wanted no part in the questioning. If there were to be questioning. In this town she could probably tap dance naked around the corpse and the police would grunt and tell her to step away from the body, go home. So beautifully corrupt.

Noemi turned and walked to the stairs leading down, the soft click of her shoes beating a staccato rhythm upon the tar swept ground. She cast a glance down at the Prada works of art and satisfied they were unsullied she stepped into the stairwell.

Down she went, counting silently in her mind to keep her thoughts in check. She was learning to mask her inner musings as best she could when nearing her Sire. She wasn't sure it worked, but she was damned if she wasn't going to try. Her secretive nature demanded it.

Well below ground level now she looked for the hidden door and opened it quickly, slipping inside and letting the heavy wood shut behind her. The room was clear of anyone including her Sire, but she knew he was most likely ruminating at the altar he spent most of his time musing over. She stopped and thought about joining him, he was a wealth of information and they spent many hours together with him explaining his plans, his desires for this line, what he needed of her, and more importantly, teaching her.

Noemi knew he had yet more plans for her, things he hadn't said aloud, and she could hazard guesses at what they were but she knew better than to presume, at least until she was strong enough to withstand the backlash.

Not that he had ever hurt her. In fact he was rather gentle with her surprisingly. She knew it had been a difficult choice to sire one such as she, but he embraced his decision and did not look back. There were those in her family that thought her weak, and that was just fine with the Necromancer, in fact she was satisfied with that assessment.

It's what she wanted them to think.

They did not need to know the depths of her relationship with her Sire. They did not need to know she was so deeply entrenched in his plans she could see outcomes that wouldn't reach light of night for years. They did not need to know she agreed with his purpose and that was why she aided him.

All they needed to know was every move she made was purposeful.

She knew she was emotionless. She knew that every smile she deemed fit to give was a calculation. She knew also that she would kill, torture, maim, all without feeling a thing if it drew Acherons further to fruition. So she watched the family unfold the way it had been predicted, and went about her usual studies.

She needed to make a cadaver soon.

[Noemi Michaux]

Nothing in his life
Became him like the leaving it; he died
As one that had been studied in his death,
To throw away the dearest thing he ow'd,
As 'twere a careless trifle.

Malcolm, Scene IV Macbeth

[Noemi Michaux]

Strains of music eased into her consciousness, the sound gritty and old, obviously coming from a record rather than the more clean crisp tones of digital. She preferred the records herself, there was something raw and emotional when talent flowed from the vinyl discs. Focusing for a moment she recognized the flow as Billie Holiday and a partial smile curved her lips for the remainder of the song.

Noemi leaned back in her chair, her hand sweeping through the heavy mass of her hair, sending it billowing over her shoulders and down her back. She had been immersed in correspondence from her past life, her human life, her distant relations in Savoy France keen to get their talons back into her. Or rather her societal place.

Bugger them.

She knew she was going to have to die. She wished it could be something spectacular, but she would keep it quiet, ask her Sire if she could make use of his thrall to handle the legalities, and then toss her human lineage into the rubbish where they belonged. The only thing she would miss was the country home and the small vineyard, the Doctor had enjoyed the day to day managing of the grapes... the scent, the earth, the mechanics of it all. She had a few crates of the vintage, but to her they were priceless and would remain housed with care.

Perhaps she would die in a riding accident. The lot would believe she had gone provincial and lost her head in some poorly populated wooded town. They believed all of North America hadn't changed since they traitored themselves. Well that was a bit untrue, they actually believed they had gone even more ignorant. Les Enfentes. Eternal. Naughty toddlers.

Someone turned the record, she wasn't sure if it were her Sire or another family member, and now it played Miles Davis. Fine by her. The current lineage drama had seen a small reduction in traffic here at their sanctuary, but it had quieted down for now... though she was not inclined to believe that would be an only occurence. She well understood familial drama. Hell, she teethed on it. It was no import to her. It was difficult enough this turning, learning new levels of control, learning to be a monster on the inside...

And this monster needed to die. Soon.

Noemi pushed from the desk, her soft cashmere dress flowing to her knees, the emerald green of it accenting her eyes and contrasting her hair. It suited her well, the form fitted tailoring and it wore well under her lab coats, making this one of her favourites. She had to speak with Ambrose, and she also needed to check on Adam... she had been studying without fail the tomes her Sire laid out for her, and had found a passage that gave her hope she might become strong enough to finally open his well preserved eyes...

The Necromancer stretched and noted rather clinically that she needed to feed, if she kept ahead of the thirst she found she could manage it. Her talk with her Sire could wait until she was in control completely again. Noemi more often than not fed from the rude or the criminal, preferably both, but sometimes opportunities presented that she got a handsome meal.. a well frosted cake sometimes just tasted better.

The night was young and the evil doers were lurking, and lucky for them she was of a mind to teach them what evil -really- meant.

Wasn't she merciful?

[Noemi Michaux]

Normally sleep was something that came easy to her. Never having had a problem with finding her rest and waking refreshed and ready for her day. She had written her share of prescriptions for sleep aids, and had almost felt pity in a clinical way... then promptly forget them as her interests were caught elsewhere.

That was before she had been embraced.

Now the Necromancer would upend an entire bottle of sleep aids if it would only work to keep her from her dreams.

Night after night, like a movie being played out behind her eyelids.. if one felt in excruciating detail what was happening in said movie. It was like being mind flayed every day, leaving her raw and exposed, her mood sullen and introspective.

A loud crack sounded as Noemi bolted upright hitting her head against the poster of the bed in her haste to wake. Her fists clenched until her nails imbedded themselves into the meat of her palms in an effort to keep herself from raking them through her hair, over her skull. As if she could pull the memories out by force. Sitting still for the few moments it took the clock to sound a few clicks, she flopped herself back into the pillows staring up at the ceiling and knowing she would not return to sleep today.

She was pragmatic by nature, and in most problems that cropped up in Noemi's life she was able to compartmentalize and study from a mental distance, not really effected by the problem itself... always more of a roadblock than worry. Of course it might have something to do with her lack of deep emotions. A price she'd pay again and again.

Turning to her side, the raven's wing of hair spilling down the side of the bed as her fingers idly rubbed at her temples she again wondered why she was dreaming of that pair. It had crossed her mind that had she believed in multiple lives that might be the reasoning...

but she didn't, and there was no evidence to refute her.

The day continued waning into early eve, Noemi barely noticing while her mind probed at the memories, desperate to find some solution to ease her sleep.. before she went completely mad. Clenching her jaw she gave her pillow a few punches to ease the tension mounting in her core, it was then that she noticed the claw marks on the top of her headboard. Medium gouges in the wood as if something had been perched there.... watching her sleep...

The Necromancer scowled and leaned forward for a closer look only to be started back as a moan sounded behind her. She whipped around so fast, grabbing her gun from under her pillow in one smooth movement, she almost missed the source of the groaning.

A spirit. Wonderful.

Now she got to be a cliche Necromancer. Could this day get ANY worse...

"youuuu ssseee me..?" it slurred, not being heard by her ears, but rather she felt the words in her mind. Noemi had been becoming accustomed to spirits and their moaning, murderous rages, hate, sorrow and just plain looped behaviour... she fed on them enough... but this was beyond the pale, this approach.

Surely there had to be a talisman for warding off upstarty dead things that were talking to those above their station. Now that would be worth finding, because damned if the spirit wasn't opening its mouth to try and speak again...

In all it's shadowy glory. For spirits appeared to Noemi as outlines filled in with shadow. Sometimes they were strong enough to have features, or small distinctions, but many were still too new to gather themselves into a semblance of right cohesion. This one was a stronger shade... she could make out it was a male, and from it's dress he had died sometime in the 20's.

Gangster specs. They were in prime bootlegging territory so it didn't surprise her.. what DID have her curious was why the thing wished her attention... he could not mend anything, those he wronged were also more than likely dead... and Noemi was sure if there was a spirit pipeline, she was known as a killer not a saint.

"Out with it shade, before I use you for my next casting."

[Noemi Michaux]

Parted curtains of heavy silver brocade revealed a clear if cold night. The ice in the air crystallized the light from the myriad stars, turning them into true setted jewels. Noemi enjoyed the velvet feel of it, the soft bluish white light adding an alluring hue to her deathly pale flesh. She seemed more statue than person, immobile but for her thoughts and the slight flicker of green eyes.

The Necromancer reached up finally and fully opened the drapery, spilling more light into the small but sumptuous room. Uncluttered with furniture it consisted only of the large goose down bed, antique side tables and a wardrobe, the rich bocote wood gleaming from countless rubbings. Thick down comforters dressed in duvets of forest green and silver were peeped from beneath matching pillows and shams. Few other concessions were given to the room, what was there kept tasteful vigil as the vampire finally turned from the small window to face the spirit desperately trying to gain her attention.

Noemi felt the pull of it deep in her chest as if a fist had wrapped around her heart... and well she remember -that- feeling as her hand drifted up of its own volition to rub subconsciously between her breasts. If she dwelled upon her turning she would have phantom pangs again, the memory still too fresh in the young ones mind.

She understood the mechanics of the sacrifice, but part of her wondered if it had opened her up, or allowed other things to mingle more closely with her being... she often felt she was too close to the shadow realm, someday perhaps merging into it...

shuddering at such thoughts, a slight twitch of her beautifully rounded shoulders, Noemi remained grateful for the closeness to Death and offered up in a silent muttering her fear for its consumption.

Her eyes glittering now, a feral green cast upon curved cheeks of pale moonlight, she took in her visitor. He seemed to be having difficulty holding onto a form but she did nothing to comfort him as he desperately tried to remain visible. She had seen him clearly before he faded again, and had his image etched in her memory. His mouth worked again, a yawning black chasm that became too wide for his face.. stuff of nightmares if you weren't a Necromancer.

Finally a garbled sound twisted through her mind, his words imprinting there as if heard. She tilted her head and watched him as she eased back into a chair beside the small bedside table.

"Y...you.." he began, the strain was delicious to Noemi, and she again idly thought about draining him, he was quite strong this one... but curiousity and his well tailored ether clothes kept her from walking into him.

"You must... listen..." finally slammed into her mind, her brows diving together at the unexpected strength of it... and the realization he spoke in French...

"Who are you?" she demanded, beyond curiousity now, this was too much a coincidence, her haunted dreams and now the spirits clamoring every where she went... this one taking bold to a new level as he had to be aware she could drain him without a second thought. Noemi was not unnecessarily cruel, but she did not delude herself with thoughts of kindness. She was a monster, and though she lived by a set of rules, these rules were in place to assure her a monsters freedom.

"There... are more..." his yawning mouth slipped closed again and he wavered once more into better view. His hair pomaded into a slick well groomed style of almost a century ago, his suit was immaculate double breasted pin striped wool, and his shoes even sported the delightful coverings of spats. He held a fedora between his transparent hands with obvious well bred politeness and that was what finally pushed the Necromancer into giving him an ounce of respect and time. "There are more coming... "

Noemi did not even pretend to understand what he was trying to get across to her, she let her expression of raised questioning eyebrow and slightly pursed lips do her speaking until he continued. "Spirits... like me.. the lost ones... they have found you. Want you to hear them..." he silenced then for a time as it became obvious he was building his strength up for a final push, the Necromancer clicking her blood red nails against the wood of her chairs arm the only sound.

"I would buffer... for you... No.. emi..."

Finally finished he slid into silence, barely a shadow now even to her eyes. Noemi's mind raced with this bit of news, the questions building up into a temple of need, but even as hungry as she was for answers, she knew he was spent. Even now he flickered as if in two realities... which she supposed was the case...

Before he vanished completely she made a gamble and tossed her dice.

"What is in it for you?" was her only question as he faded, no one or thing did aught for free. And this one had braved a Necromancers time and attention... it must be desperate. Interesting...

In the split second it took for the spirit to vanish, he managed one last communication..

"My name.. Reichard..." and then he was just no more.

Slowly sounds came back to Noemi making her realize during his visit it had been silent as if her world had been stuffed with cotton. Pondering this phenomena as well, she remained seated and gathering her thoughts to design a course of action. If what Reichard said was true then she best prepare herself..

On a positive note at least she would not lack for food...