Path of the Vampire forum

Tragedy isn’t something that one would normally consider to be wondrous or fantastical. Such adjectives were generally reserved for fantasies and fairytales where knights decked in shiny, silver armor slew dragons and princesses were revived by nothing more than a kiss. Jack was sure he’d never thought of using them to describe anything prior to these moments. But there was no better way to think about it. He was witness to a rather wondrous tragedy.

The girl had jumped, or perhaps she had been pushed, as the young vampire now noticed that another soul was standing in the gloom of the skyline above. It seemed as though it had been the former, however. Jack had jumped once himself, though by that time he had already been dead, so it had been all folly, really, to think that a fall could end the torment. This little lady was very much alive, he could hear her heart scream out as she dove into the darkness. That was the tragedy of it all. The helplessness, the agony, the desperation that brought someone to the edge of the world and flicked them off, as if they were nothing more than some paper doll.

Tonight though, life was thwarted, by death. Yes, that was the case every evening, but in this case, death preserved what life attempted to snuff out. It was poetic, though, not what made it wondrous. It was the tool death used, the personification of it in the flesh, and the way that person moved. Had it not been for the preternatural nature of his senses, Jack might have missed him completely. He moved with the speed and grace of a demigod from a Grecian myth, leaping into the darkness and catching hold of the girl. This before executing a perfect landing, bringing them both, safely, to the Earth’s surface. So amazed was the young vampire by this immortal’s feat (for what kind of creature, other than a vampire, could display such skill) that the cigarette almost fell from his lips.

He caught his dag between his lips before it slipped out completely, however, the icy menthol burning his cold throat. Jack was sure he’d never seen anything quite like that. The vampire appeared to fly for those few moments before falling back to the earth. And the crush of the pavement beneath the immortal’s feet, Jack felt the tremor from it across the street. He knew he was incapable of such a feat himself. Truth was, he felt the desire to save the girl, himself. Though he had no idea how he would have pulled something like that off, the leaping fellow had beat him to the punch. It was for the best, of course. In Harper Rock, death only exacerbated the demons that plagued one’s soul.

Perhaps he had it all wrong though. Perhaps she had really been pushed. Just a girl, a thrill seeker, dancing on the edge of eternity. Noticed by a few this evening, one in particular with psychotic tendencies. Only the girl herself could say for certain, but from where Jack was standing, she seemed quite shaken up. Not without good reason, either. He took another drag from his cigarette.

“Carla?”

It was not that her faint whisper did not register to his preternatural ears, but the name with its pronunciation was so foreign to him that he initially dismissed it out of hand.

“I’m not sure now if you are purposefully trying to end your life or just seemingly have the self-preservation instinct of a fruit fly; but there is no particular reason that I can think of for a person to so quickly and easily discard away some thing which they already possess--especially if when lost only once it could never again be recovered.”

Was anybody else able to see the bedraggled looking young girl who approached the pair while he was speaking and looked over at them both with sad eyes almost pleading. The vampire certainly did not seem to notice while she reached over and cupped her hands against his ear; but he ended his tirade of chiding with an afterthought, while not spontaneous, had not decidedly come so as a planned statement:


“Besides, the dead will never propagate to help for any one but the living…”

With the eyes of a dog caught digging into a bag of treats, Narla is silent when familiar man who 'saved' her begins to chide her about her actions. She heard his words, she understood why he said them, but there was no relief for her through his concern as she might have wanted. He didn't get it. She was so close to being free from this hell. From being trapped as some soul in some hollow shell. Her eyes hazed over the longer he went on, and soon his voice was like a noise in the background. She heard it, she could understand what was being said, but it lost its way further into her consciousness. What came from it was a sad, yet blank stare looking past him.

The appearance of the young-looking ghost drew her eyes to her. Narla watched as it manipulated his thoughts with a slightly sour look. It is her eyes that are broken. If she had none, she wouldn't see them. She wouldn't mistake them for people, they wouldn't be able to bother her because she wouldn't, she wouldn't be rejected by her family, she wouldn't have to see another psychiatrist, another strange stare, another mumble behind her back about her sanity, another day she feared she'd get put in a loony house. She didn't ask for this, and now, once again, she gets a lecture from not only a person, but a ghost as well. Her fists clenched, and tears burned her eyes again. Narla fought hard to hold them back. "Please leave me alone." She wanted to run into the streets but he would probably follow her. Not everyone wants the avoidable death of a stranger on their conscience.

A flick to her forehead is what brings her back out of her thoughts. She hesitantly looks up, flinching from what might be the start of physical harassment, when she notices the blur of something fall onto the ground. Her gaze followed it with furrowed brows, marking her confusion. It was a pellet? Did he throw a pellet at her? When she actually lifted her eyes to him, then past him again, there was a woman there this time, holding a gun.. a toy gun to his head. She must have fired and the pellet bounced off his head to Narla's. The stranger was very perturbed with him for some reason, but the waif took advantage and stepped away from the two, bringing herself a little closer to the musician instead. Narla hugged herself, unsure if she should leave being the possible reason for this conflict. She only briefly eyes the man she thinks is a ghost. The one that tipped his hat to her fall off the side of the building. Was he disappointed now, too? She couldn't even die when she tried to.

The night just seemed to grow more interesting with each passing moment. The vampire was now witness to not one, but two astonishing feats. Should he have been so impressed? Probably not, tonight’s showmen were immortals after all. The gifts of the ‘damned’ seemed limitless or perhaps just unique to the individual players. Nonetheless, as Jack watched the second lass descend from above with the grace of an angel falling to the earth, he pondered upon how he, himself might tap into such abilities. His last fall had been far the poised and nimble leap that lady in red executed. Thinking back on it, the vampire distinctly remembered the phrase ‘scrapped off the pavement’ used in reference to the aftermath of his tumble into the abyss.

There was truly nothing discreet about the scene that had unfolded here this evening, especially when the lady in red pulled a gun to the heroic vampire’s skull as he lectured the lass who’d fallen earlier. There weren’t many folks around anyway and those that were pretended that they didn’t see. Interesting, the effect that the supernatural was having on human nature. Not one soul had tried to take a selfie in front of the vampiress as she descended from the rooftop and no news teams had shown up to interview the fallen. Small miracles were still miracles. And at least the gun was a fake. Shooting a man in the head on an open street, in the middle of the town, vampire or not, could draw a bit of backlash. Perhaps not though, maybe this lady in red had the necessary street cred’ and no one would bat an eye.

The girl, the one who jumped or who was maybe pushed, seemed to be inching herself away from the two vampires. He reached into the front pocket of his jacket and pulled out a box of menthols, popping the lid open. “Smoke?” He outstretched his hand offering a cigarette to the girl. It was apparent that she was still a bit shaken up, it was best that he tread lightly here. She may have been a human, but Jack was no savage. “Carla, right?” He began in that gruff, melodious voice of his, “sorry, I overheard a bit of your conversation with that fella,” he nodded towards the vampire, “quite a tumble you took, good man, him, for stepping in. Took a fall myself once, wasn’t the most pleasant experience, believe you, me,” he took another drag of his own cigarette, letting the cool smoke drift off into the gloom, “must be quite the view from up there. Did you catch anything interesting?”

"Alright Cristiana."

Ripper blinked in total perplexiton while the barrage of harmless ammunition impacted directly across his brow line--serving to totally divert his brain away from all other trains of thought line to where it might once else wise have been been leading towards. He had more experience than most in knowing what a bullet to the skull was supposed to feel like-so his reptilian brain was quick to dismiss away as trivial any damage that might have done to their fully intact cranium; what had him boggled even more was the dramatic entrance of not just one but two familiar faces in rapid succession.

"So is this one one of yours then?"
The vampire looks back and forth between Jack Diddly and Cristiana before going on to confide even further:

"She seems to have some sort of death wish about her...."

He might have gone on a little further in to the conversation; but something about the intense expression which Cristiana had fixated upon him caused his words to falter unsaid and gave fair warning that he should probably close his mouth.

Jack Diddly wrote:“must be quite the view from up there. Did you catch anything interesting?”

His attention blinked back over towards the other pair where the Allurist was quietly interrogating the distraught young woman by way of using an effaced kindness which seemed to flow from him naturally and earnestly. Ripper's ears were cocked for any answer to this question although instinct had him hold still and maintain a steady gaze on the second female whom had fallen from the sky that night while she was still staring down daggers at him.
Only a slight crease across the brow line mirrored any cognition on the matter; what in the hell had happened up there?

Narla side-eyes the spirit when he offers a cigarette. She did not smoke. She didn’t appreciate the thought of acid burning her throat and lungs, but nonetheless, with thin fingers, she reaches out for the cancer stick anyway. The moment her digits touch the papery outer shell, reassurance lifts her eyes to his face. She stares at him for a drawn out moment, eagerly taking in his visage, every detail of it, every mannerism she can gain from it, to memory.

It isn't possible for her to recall every piece in the future.. Narla knows that but she will remember something about him to keep her certain he isn’t.. some sort of ghost. She tucks the cigarette into one of her jean pockets and silently breathes her relief. Three physical people here… one nosy soul. They are good odds. She peers off into the street thoughfully. If she leaves now, she will not be certain if every person around her is 'real'.. and she craved that certainty..

“Hi..”
The thin medium answers back to Jack, relaxing physically as she returns her attention to him. He called her 'Carla', as Ripper did.. It wasn’t her name… not that she cared. There were plenty of things people called her, what’s one more? Part of her couldn’t bring forward the courage to correct him, anyway.

As he continues, commending Ripper for saving her, Narla's eyes wander back to Ripper, now being confronted by the angry woman. “Yeah…” she compliantly agrees with the slightest hint of sadness and a faint smile. She didn’t ask for his help, but he wasn’t the bad guy for saving someone who didn’t want to be saved. Narla did appreciate his kindness, even if she was awful at showing it.

From the conversation between Ripper and the pea-gun shooter, Narla discovers, unsurprisingly, that she is subject of the conversation. She does not bother to correct, agree, or argue, throw in her two cents, and so forth. The waif knew she already caused enough problems. Speaking too much would turn their questions on her and she hated being that center of attention. That in itself will lead to additional issues.

This is precisely why, when Ripper glanced at her, Narla's gaze veers to the wall of the building she fell off of. The other woman stating her honest opinion about Narla’s disorganized appearance givers her further reason to keep out of direct eye contact. Narla shrugs to both her comments and offer of help, refusing to look at either for even the slightest of seconds. Eventually her gaze tracks back to Jack again with a greater degree of uncertainty in her eyes. She heard his question--what is was she saw up there on the edge--but it took a few heartbeats for her to deliver an answer. “I saw a bird… but it flew away.”

Note: (Sorry for the delay, I had to deal with some personal stuff)

The fallen girl seemed to accept his offer of a menthol with hesitation. Almost as if she expected him to reach out and pull her into the depths of the abyss, never to be heard from again. Pretty smart considering that the young vampire, by his very nature, had done something rather similar prior to their engagement this evening. Though upon her fingers touching the cigarette, Jack could sense a relaxation wash over her. The girl didn’t even have to smoke the thing for it to set her at ease and it didn’t seem as though she planned on it. Shrugging it off, he supposed it was for the better. Though living in Harper Rock, if smoking didn’t take you, something far worse most likely would.

She greeted him in a voice that seemed as wispy as the maiden herself. And as the vampiress interjected, he realized, for the first time, just how young the small girl looked. She couldn’t have been more than nineteen and the assessment of the vampiress seemed to hold. Even despite falling from the roof of the building, the young lady would have looked rather disheveled. Though Jack didn’t see a problem with. Once upon a time he’d built a life on the streets and most folks there had a look similar to this waify lass. It was something that screamed freedom and reeked of anarchy. Seeing her in this light left him a bit nostalgic. Not like he had changed his lifestyle all that much since settling down in the city, but the streets always seemed to be calling.

It was a kind, yet worldly gesture, what the dark haired, vampiress offered to the girl. Jack wondered if she would accept, he wondered if she planned on seeing night’s end. For it was clear now that she hadn’t been pushed. And her vampire savior’s words rang true, this one was looking for death. He’d seen it before and even now the lass’s mannerisms told the tale for her. She was afraid. So fearful in fact that death seemed the only solution. Jack could sympathize with that. “I hope you weren’t trying to fly after it,” he responded lightly, taking another drag from his cigarette.

Jack almost coughed up the smoke in his dead lungs with the vampiress’s next question. It wasn’t a silly thing to ask really. They both probably had a weathered, street seasoned look to them, after all. To Jack, though, there was only one girl in the world. She was very much dead, but still very much with him all the same. He let the remaining smoke slip from his lips as he shook his head slowly. “No, ma'am,” he responded in that cordial, melodic way of his, “just happened to be in the neighborhood.” Flicking the away the remainder of his cigarette in a miniscule haze of fiery ash, he extended a tattooed hand to the vampiress, “Jack, pleasure to make your acquaintance, Chrissy.”

The vampire couldn’t help but wonder why his phantom paramore had led him to this particular scene this evening. He considered the fallen maiden again, searching her for a sign of something other than nostalgia. May was silent of course, as if being straight forward would kill her, metaphorically speaking.

"Right, so that didn't come out sound haughty or snobbish at all!"

Ripper didn't know (or really care) who the hell Becky was, but Cristiana's instant elitism was enough to stop him keep from clenching his teeth together. He paused a tick while she and Jack exchanged acknowledgements.

"Don't you dare go and play all nicely-nice like you just fell from the heavens-*******-above down to us poor damn sodders!

It seems from your puffed up words and magnanimous bull ****'tuide that you still expect on being able to lord it here around the city.
...

*This last part of his statement he directs to the Quartermaine with an obvious smirk, but (d)oppel's eyes never wavered once from the vampiress. *.