Casper Song [History and Musings]

[Azraeth]

Journal,

Ex chao claritas A phrase. Words that are strung together to create some form of cohesive meaning, a conceptual unit that gives understanding. Words. Syllable and sounds that come together either written or spoken to create some kind of single meaning. Action cannot be found in a phoneme or in phonics, but words are what humans use these days in place of action or so that they can hide their actions. If a politician doesn’t want to admit that they fucked up, they will hide behind semantics to say ‘I did not have sexual relations’. If the owner of a corporation does not want to admit that he is dealing arms to a genocidal dictator, he will outright deny the deaths of thousands. It is that vigour, that activity that has did and lost its meaning.

Ex chao claritas From chaos comes clarity. That is the merit of words, to give weight and to teach, but it is the basest of human truths that one must be taught with words, because learning through action is the way of danger. Early on, when children go to reach for a flame, they do not know that the pretty orange can singe away their flesh and cause them agony. Humans learn to let words tell them what they need to know, and we live in an era where there is more information, where there are more words than ever existed before. But I am not a human, I am avampire. I have the misfortune and the luxury of being able to learn from my physical mistakes, and that means that I can take liberties in teaching myself.

From chaos comes clarity I was speaking with a friend recently, really my only friend who isn’t in my lineage after siring Tiaz, and his name is fooleater; at least that is what he goes by. He showed me a bit of literature recently, and we had a discussion about how strife creates success, because it is only when a body is tested that it learns endurance. It is the same concept as building up stamina for a marathon. It is from the chaos of my turning that I was taught something fundamental about myself. I am a fighter. There are always questions when one goes from life to death, to life as a predator; how can there not be when one goes through a change similar to going from gazelle to lion? Most ask why? I found myself asking where, how, when?

How do I gain power? Where do I need to go to be safe? When can I protect myself from my enemy? The answers are simple. But the most important answer belongs to the last two because they are the key to the first. There is no place that I can go that is safe, and there is no time that I cannot protect myself from my enemy because while there is chaos and discord all around, I choose the path that I will take the chaos and create order from it. I have laid my hand bare, and I will be the one who pulls the strings that get me to where I want to go. That is why I chose the childer that I did, because I wanted those who would have the power to control their fate. We will be the ones who shape where we go, with our words first, but actions that will set us apart and define us as Dragomir.

Yours,
Casper

[Azraeth]

Journal,

I know that I have been promising that I would write in you more lately, but I’ve been horribly distracted with everything going on. The sirings were taxing for me at least, they weren’t as easy as I had hoped that they would be, but I guess that is the price that I am paying for picking the people that I did. They are good people, strong people, and they are most certainly of the Dragon Kind. Eilidh is the eldest, or the first to be turned, and she has grown into the role already in the past few days. I am both pleasantly surprised and impressed that there is more to her than the woman who had no problem kicking the **** out of some drunkard. She has taken on a lot of responsibility, even seems to be protecting my wayward sibling, Skuld. Red, as I call her, got her first kill just the other day, and I think it will be the first of many.

Andrei has been my best friend for years, and I’m almost shocked that I didn’t go to him immediately after being turned. The two of us have spent an absurd amount of time together, even went through that dorky Satanism phase together. He still has a lot of skeletons in his closet, but he is one of those people that I know I can count on when I need him, just as he knows that he can count on me. I am fairly sure that if Mermaid boy weren’t my twin, that Andrei would be happy to sign up for the position. That, or maybe I’m just flattering myself. And…speaking of my sibling, he’s doing alright. He’s also not awesome or wonderful, and he kind of sucks a lot. Usually.

Asher and Shiva I haven’t gotten to know all that well. I spent a few days observing Asher, and he’s the kind to break the rules when it suits him. I hope that he ends up learning to respect both my word and Nikolae’s, or I can see a difficult road ahead for him. I don’t mind his mouth, hell I cherish his attitude because it’s world’s better than the semi-Victorian nonsense that seems to be running rampant. I will hopefully be able to curb that into something a bit more…intelligent though in the future. Shiva is just quiet, the silent one who likes to glare daggers at me when I try to talk to her. She kind of scares me. Just a bit really.

Well, I’m off!

Regards,
Casper

[Azraeth]

Journal,

I suppose my earliest memory is one of the key factors that separate me and my brother. They say that the earlier one can trace their memories, the more intelligent they are—but I frankly don’t believe them. I remember the day that I was born, if you’d believe it, and I know that I’m a bright cookie but hardly the smartest in the bunch. My father was very happy to see that I was a boy, he even exclaimed in some kind of gibberish, what I would later understand was his happiness that I’d had a penis. Apparently if I had been born with something else, he would have been woefully disappointed. Not that he or my mum had the sense to get any ultrasounds done.

The look of pride shifted almost as quickly as it came into place when my mother’s contractions got worse and the doctors told her to keep pushing. I was a twin, you see…but you knew that I guess, right? Well, my brother came into the world and despite my worming my way out of the clutches of my mother’s womb first, he was the larger, stronger, healthier. I had to be put in one of those little warming chambers, an incubator they call them because I was small. My lungs were underdeveloped when I was born, so thanks again pops for not having the foresight to get some kind of medical attention for Constance.

You see, my parents belong to some stupid cult, which is essentially an extremist group with heavy Judeo-Christian influences. Yes, that’s where we got the strange names. The parents decided it would be a good idea for us to be named like angels, but not after angels per se. But I am rambling. My brother was bigger and stronger, and that set the pace for the rest of my life, it seems. I look back and he was always the golden boy, the one who was good at sports and who was able to get whatever he wanted. Me? All I could ever do was get good grades.

Well. I guess ‘good grades’ is a bit of an understatement. I was president of the robotics club and a member of the debate team, the mathletes, the literature society, and the honor’s court. Somehow, I managed to be social despite my awkwardness, which was something that my best friend, Andrei never quite understood. I was always out meeting new people and he was always…well, he didn’t really like to talk to most.

I guess that I always have viewed my brother somewhat as competition, which makes me admittedly a little tiny, teeny, itsy bit jealous of him. I hate it. There are times when I want to lash out at him and kick his *** just for existing. There are other times when we talk, and it’s like there was never that rift that began to break us apart years ago. Eh. What’s done is done.

Yours,
Casper

[Azraeth]

Dear Journal,

The eyes are the windows to the soul, but baby, my windows are fucked up. Only the first part of that little gem is well known, but in my case the entire thing is true. When I was turned, I gained a little feature from my sire. I guess that in some ways, the slitted pupil thing does have its advantages, but it’s also just plain creepy. I have recently begun to worry that I am no longer myself, or rather that I am losing sight of the person that I was when I was human. The genetic defect passed to me through my sire’s blood is easily dealt with in the form of contacts so that I can fit in with humans—but I don’t feel even remotely human. I don’t want to touch humanity, and I love it.

At times I swear that I can feel something reptilian crawling beneath my skin, something bloody red and shades of orange that would put shame to the sky at dawn . Maybe that’s just my mind’s eye telling me that I’m going mad, and maybe it’s true. In my zealous attempts to try and take control of my change from human to vampire, maybe I have started a spiral of events that will lead me towards becoming more of a monster than I thought I could be. I hacked off my best friend’s leg. I lit my sibling on fire—though I think she mistook that for an attack. Note to self: Speak with Skuld in the near future to rectify that.

I want to keep control of myself, but at times I feel like that song, Crazy Train. I feel as though I am just gripping the seat and screaming, praying and hoping that the train won’t derail off of a mountain. With more chaos I have grown and allowed some of the forces to slide through, but applied my own force to others. One of those powers-that-be that I have let through is Nick. I had a few reservations at first, but I find myself growing to enjoy his thoughts and company more and more as time progresses. Oh, and he makes a wonderful Tanqueray and Tonic.

Yours,
Casper

[Azraeth]

Journal,

Today was eventful, well really I guess it’s the past few days that have been. Ombrata and I spoke, were able to come to an agreement, which has proven better than I thought it would be. I had my reservations, of course, given the history between himself and my bloodline, but our conversation has me more at ease. I have Jack to thank for that, or Fool Eater as he seems to like being called by the general populace; I swear that man is gold, and of the people outside of my lineage, he is one of the few that I would go out of my way to work with on a regular basis. But back on point, Ombrata and I only just recently came to an accord and my twintard had to go and attack him. Naturally I went to see if I could talk some sense into Azariel.

You can imagine how that went.

After telling me to **** off and get bent, I tried to reason with him, but he just kept repeating his sophomoric insults at me ad nauseum. He insists that he can handle anything that comes at him, which is a good thing considering I don’t plan to defend his suicidal behavior myself. I told him that people have long memories and that he needs to stop attacking and insulting everyone around him. Naturally, he said that they’d have to find him first. I’m going to be happy when someone knocks some sense into his skull. Hopefully that happens before he marks Rue and Eilidh as targets for his stupidity. Doubtful. But Red's too smart for him anyway.

I care about him. Hope he doesn’t **** himself over or try his standard ****, pulling crap and hiding behind whatever authority figure will accept his *** kissing.

Eh. I can wish.

Regards,
Casper

[Azraeth]

Journal,

I’m sorry for waiting so long before speaking with you again, Journal but the past few days have been hellacious for my temper, mainly because of the guild discussion on the Worthington board. I honestly just want for people to get along at this point and politely talk about what they want. It annoys the bejesus out of me that so many in the Worthington lineage seem to dislike us Dragomir and it’s almost to the point where I want to say “Well okay, we’re the only organized ones in the whole lineage but we’ll go if you want.” But that would be childish and where I may have errant opinions at times, I am hardly brash. What do people expect from us? Do they expect us to just pretend that we haven’t had our **** together for weeks and give up what we have worked for?

Sorry, that ain’t gonna happen.

Maybe I’m being too harsh? I suppose that my main concern really shouldn’t be creating peace in the Worthington bloodline if people are just going to complain about those efforts. Which is fine by me, I can focus my attentions on the Dragomir and on other elements of the city with a great deal of ease. Like…Amaranthia. Had I known that our first meeting would end so well and that our second would be so passionate, I may have thought a bit more about denouncing her club so publically. Of course, I have come to love the Necropolis and hope that with time, there will be less tension surrounding it.

Then there is Nick. I have mixed feelings about him. He seems to have no problem being an *** in public, but in private he is so sweet. But there is something about him that seems a bit off, like he tries a little too hard. I think that perhaps it would be a good idea to distance myself from him until I know that I can both trust and depend on him more than when we are speaking privately.

The council’s formation draws nearer and I begin to worry about a few things. I have no problem in devoting my time and attention to something that will benefit the society but I have no interest in arguing with people. I guess I just hope that I am not put in the position where I have to argue my grandsire. But I guess that’s part of what will be seen.

The family is doing well and everyone seems to be getting along save for that Merry girl, but it’s almost like she was just looking for a reason to complain. I don’t quite understand it. But then, we are all outcasts in our own way except for when we are together. We are bound by more than our eyes or our blood, because we are Dragomir. This is the city of Harper Rock, and here be dragons.

Yours,
Casper.

[Azraeth]

Journal,

He's gone. I suppose I would be stupid if I said that I didn't see it coming, but I miss him. I suppose that's the weakness of a sire. I told myself when I sired him there would be no emotional attachment, that I wouldn't have to worry about getting close to him because he'd always be an *** to me. I was mistaken. I miss him. I wish he had never betrayed me, wish we could have resolved things. He didn't even tell me he was leaving. But there you are. And here I am, stuck with nothing but a little vial of ashes to remember him by.

I can't trust men like him. I can't trust fools who let their passions overwhelm their judgement. I refuse to shed tears for childer who go out of their way to hurt me or to hurt the Dragomir. I won't do it anymore. Asher was a mistake, and I won't let myself make another.

But I still really want him back. I want him to be safe. That's why I turned him to begin with, because he was on the brink of death and I thought he was a good man. I brought him from the grasp of fate and had to send him right back. May he rest in peace. I know that I won't, not while I'm haunted with the look in his eyes before Kajira took the final blow.

Yours,
Casper

[Azraeth]

[Note, this isn't a journal entry]

He had chosen not to be there. He had watched Asher as the man had died, had seen the emotions playing out on his face - emotions that only those in touch with their humanity could see. To him, it was like rage, disappointment and sadness all of it rolled up into a bundle of sensitive nerves. He could only imagine what Amara would look like. He could only imagine what she must think, what she would be thinking right before the knives drove into her flesh and pushed her into the Shadow Realm for a second time. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want the pictues flashing like phantasms against the wall, but there they were. She was always there right beneath the surface, threatening to push through his skin and crawl from his heart. She would stand before him and she would judge him.

"Ma coeur." She would say in that soft tone, the one he felt she used only for him.

He hated that aspect of loving her. He could never be free of her.

When Scratch had come to him and asked for the Dragomir to join in on the fight, Az's mind had raced. "My Amara." He had said. It had been his very first thought, but that had been drowned in others; his sire and his childer their voices all growing louder in his mind. But hers had been the first. In the end he knew he could not save her. He could not protect her the way she needed and no amount of sweet words would make that change. Mircea had taken his love and made the Grigori into Capulet, with Azraeth holding the name Montague. He would not forgive Mircea for that, just as he knew that Amara would not forgive him.

"I will not hit her, but I understand why this is needed." He had said. He was devoid of emotion by then. He had let it all flow out of him so that he couldn't feel it. He couldn't be the selfish boy who wanted to go and warn the woman he cherished. He had a duty to protect the Dragomir, to protect the Council. The lines were drawn and she was atop the balcony, and he could do nothing but ask for her at the tower's bottom.

So he sat there after announcing her death, after reports had come in that she had perished. He knew where she had been, but he hadn't been able to go. It was temporary, at least that's what he told himself. It was a temporary state to teach the Grigori that their negativity had consequences. So why did she have to die? Because she was a leader. Because it was business. Because she represented power and wealth for that lineage, and that had to be ripped away from them.

War was a nasty thing. War was a brutal disgusting thing that made good people have to do bad things. Hard things.

He already missed her. But she would stand before him again one day. She would judge him and she would hate him for his betrayal. He would deserve that from her. They would lay together on cold stone and drink together the poison and then they would be gone. He was in pain. But as with Asher's death, only he would know it.

[Azraeth]

Journal,

Some days I'm fairly sure I was turned just to be a secretary.

Casper

[Azraeth]

[Note: This is not a journal entry]

Nothingness and then sickness; that's what dying felt like for Azraeth. It had been months since he had been turned and he remembered every detail with a vividness that would have put James Cameron's works to petulant shame. He remembered how it had felt to wander the streets, to be bleeding out and feel as if he were about to just topple over and pass out at a moment's notice. He'd run for home, tried to get to safety - only to be intercepted and forcibly killed. When he'd awakened, he'd very much been a different person, and yet it was all of his strongest traits that were distilled into dangerous concentrations. In life, he had been a loner, a boy who disliked being messed with, loved books, games, drugs. His preference was to deal with fact and data, leaving inflection and emotion as secondary components to anything.

After death, he had strongly rejected what it meant to be human; he'd shed the vestiges of the mortal coil, going so far as to train himself in the manner of not breathing so that he could avoid being mistaken for one at all. He entrenchened himself in the world of vampiric politics and seemingly forgot that he was a 22 year old, a boy who had about as much experience with leadership as anyone his age could have. He'd been pushed and pulled, prodded into becoming the dynamic figure that had become eclipsed by his own wariness and disdain. He had done well, but doing well had come at the cost of his ties to mortality. His brother and he rarely ever spoke anymore. On some level, Azraeth knew it was because they hadn't reached a point where they could accept what had happened, what they had become. Azariel would probably never be able to forgive himself for being unable to protect Azraeth.

But Casper didn't need that protection anymore.

The problem with politics was a simple one; everyone was out for their own personal gain. Nobody ever wanted to admitt when they were doing things selfishly, for their own gain or for the gain of their faction. Azraeth was absolutely no different though. He did everything for the better of the Dragomir, until it became everything, his obsession. Along the way, he'd made allies, friends, lovers, enemies. He'd lost track of what it meant to just have a normal conversation with someone, to be able to let his guard down for even a moment. It seemed like everyone was always trying to get something, vultures tearing at the last bit of meat on the bones. ­The good? Scratch, Moriah, Velveteen, Caine, Amaranthia, Nikolae, Rocklin, a few others and their group allegiences. He could count the number of people he really truly trusted on both hands.

Descending into Circe was like dying for a second time, easier in a way because there was none of that nausea that came when his body rejected the food he'd had while living. There was emptiness, calm and tranquility. He could be left alone with not even a pulse to bother him, and that's where he remained for around three months, only ever leaving so that he could pluck up some blood to feed on, or occasionally to join a hunt for someone. He was lost in meditation, his metaphysical form overflowing from his tangible one. In his time within the darkness, he'd had time to work out the cognitive dissonance, the things about himself that he didn't like, the things about others he couldn't accept. It was a lot like being lost in a dream state, sleeping for months to make up for forcing himself into wakefulness for the nearly six months prior to that.

It was quietly that he returned to the city, like a whisper rather than the scream he could have brought. Silently, he returned from the darkness, rested and ready to once again claim his place amongst the denizens of Harper Rock.