Path of the Vampire forum

With just one perfect, handsome smile, Myk found himself changing his mind again. The fear and anxiety was still present, not entirely wiped away, but the Telepath could forget about it as he focused on that champion smile and those blue eyes that could draw him in and drown him in their eternal depths. Myk had come in with a migraine and it seemed perhaps he would be leaving with one too. There was no doubt in Myk’s mind that this was a bad idea in and of itself, but he really couldn’t push aside his wants and urges based on something as basic as a potential threat. Fable represented a very real danger in much the same way that Ripper probably did, but, since Myk never worried about risking it all for the simple pleasures and tastes of life, there seemed to be no reason to deny himself a quick spot of dinner with this man. Rutherford would undoubtedly have plenty to say of the contrary, but Myk could pretend not to listen. Besides it was just dinner…

Fable made a quick mention of needing to go get prepared or something – that was what Myk understood from the quick hand gesture and the fact that Fable had disappeared into a back office. When the man returned, Myk was playing with his hair, twirling the bone-white tresses around his fingers as if he was knitting threads of silk. The approaching footsteps made the Telepath lift his head, lift his eyes up from the snowy brightness of his hair; what Myk found made his whole body both simultaneously stiffen and melt. The other male looked as if he was dressed ready for Christmas; this warm glow of pure wholesomeness was so intense in his aura that Fable practically smelt of nutmeg and cinnamon. Myk really wanted to embrace the other man then, to soak in that spicy-sweet heat like sinking into a hot bath. With Fable being as close as he was, Myk had to struggle against that urge to just attack him with a hug and lead on as requested.

“Sure,” Myk beamed, acting as if nothing untoward was spinning webs inside his brain. “Right this way then…”

At first, Myk made the motion with his head and gave the wry grin which suggested that the other male should follow his lead. Once they were outside, however, Myk had no intention of taking the ‘lead’ so much as coiling his arm around Fable’s and walking arm in arm. Given the amount of physical contact, Myk didn’t suspect that his efforts might be snubbed. In fact, Myk had a sense that this particular Telepath was more like him than appearances first suggested anyhow…

The Telepath’s silver tongue was sly and skilful and he could really lie about himself and to himself forever. No one would know. No one cared. With this in mind, the Telepath found confidence. He didn’t have to linger on trapping thoughts, on tugging, dragging, scratching thoughts that tried to bury him. With anonymity, Myk could be whomever he chose to be, and not being wholly himself was perfectly wonderful and liberating. Being able to cut out the fat, to saw away the cancerous aspects of his personality, made him perfect, made him beautiful and bearable. The Telepath was fortunate to have such aesthetic beauty, but being beautiful in personality took work. As poised as he could make himself appear on the outside, however, Myk knew that deep down he was just wearing a mask. Myk knew that he could not always be the white-faced herald of laughter when anxious truth chewed at his willpower and focus. It would only be a matter of time, of poor circumstance, that would unveil him and ruin him before the eyes of those who looked at him with any form of respect. The future was a dreadful inevitability.

When the rejection did not come for some time, and a spirituous laugh rumbled out of the other man, Myk breathed a sigh of relief for knowing that for now at least the future had not crashed upon him. To Fable’s comment, Myk smiled back – with a twinkle – and squeezed the other’s arm ever so lightly, humming in approval.

“It is,” the Telepath stated simply before adding, “I am amazed that such a beautiful place harbours so much violence and cruelty… but I guess that is just how the world is.”

As they continued to walk, with Myk guiding them toward well-known hunting grounds, Myk lingered on the words they’d shared. Beyond the crypt-like walls of the buildings in Harper Rock, the ominous charms of the city began to contort, twist and scratch at reality. A soft, fleeting rain fell as the clouds skittered over the moon, leaving the fleeting sources of light to scatter wildly across the area like a baleful light show. The divergent shades of black and white were dramatically emphasized, painting the world into a comic-book strip. The streets that were once golden and gleaming with life now bled into perpetual darkness around him; the black of his attire too voraciously drank in the light. In reflection of the lunar majesty above, Myk’s skin glowed unnaturally white while the lustrous sheen of his hair was as effervescent as spider’s silk around his crown and shoulders. It was these stark, contrasting shades that allowed Myk to retain his brightness, to shine like a pale star in the midnight sky even though he felt like a blot of ink on black card, standing next to Christmas lights.

Pewter eyes focused sharply on the road ahead, his curiosity willing him forward, his anxiety turning his feet to lead. Then he heard it, felt it, like a bomb had just gone off behind him. It hit him suddenly like a piano dropped from the sky, but far from knocking the wind out of him or splattering him across the pavement, it seemed to puff him full of hot air. A scream – a woman’s scream – this terrified sound had punctured the air. The shockwave of the voice was so powerful that Myk swore he heard it rattle windows, shake the earth and throw his hair forward – though that was probably just the wind. Sculpted brows bent into a sharp angle before a second scream hit like an inferno. Myk could feel the anxiety within swelling into form, licking at his insides with intolerable heat, but he barely even flinched. Myk only stopped and glanced to Fable, his companion for the night, as he quirked a brow – a look hoping for approval maybe for the dark thoughts twisting in his head.

“Should we investigate… or?” As Myk asked, his pewter eyes twitched back and forth like the tail of a cat.

At first, the other male was not interested in the scream – perhaps Fable had not heard it as he’d been focused so intently on Myk. Incidentally, the white-haired Telepath had been so engrossed by the scream that he hardly noticed the other male’s attention until he heard the voice rumbling in the distance like low, growling thunder. A hand came up to briefly stroke Myk’s cheek – cashmere slipped across his skin like the caress of a lover. Pewter eyes lost their devilish intrigue for the moment and stared in bemusement at this terribly handsome figure in front of him. Fable said such curious things, things that made the Telepath frown and cant his head like a dog told to sit and yet offered no reward for doing so. Myk did not understand why Fable’s words seemed so conflicting either. Beautiful killers… that was how he described their kind. Deceivers. Devils. Charmers. Snakes. Or perhaps he was merely referring to Myk… The suggestion was troubling; how much did those keen eyes see? Or worse… How much did that gorgeous smile hide?

Fable’s hand had made the effort to flee after the initial contact, but Myk had other ideas. With dexterity as sharp as lightning, the Telepath caught the hand on its retreat. At first it might have come as a surprise – the sudden, forceful act – but Myk’s grip quickly lost its snappishness. Like crisp chocolate left out in the sun, the touch turned soft and enveloping. Myk massaged the hand in his own, warming their skin in some fond gesture expressed by mothers onto their children. There was a possessiveness to it, but warmth and acceptance, allowing the man to break their contact again if he so chose. It was because Myk had been so slow to respond, that he made this effort. He didn’t want the other Telepath to get the wrong impression – Myk was dead, perhaps, but he was no dead fish. Still, he wouldn’t force anything upon Fable – he liked the boy even if he was afraid of him.

Why did this scene seem both romantic and wicked anyhow? The pair stood under an overhanging spotlight, the glow highlighting the silver spray of rain that showered them in glitter. Fable was facing him, dressed just like the protagonist in a darling Festive movie and then there was Myk – he sported Pretty Woman so well that you could swear he was a likeness for Julia Roberts. Their stories were not supposed to cross over. The whore and the reverend coming together under a shower of rain, surrounded by the screams of the terrified – and quite possibly dying – was not about to become Blockbuster of the Year. Still, they shared a dark secret didn’t they. It wasn’t just about being Vampires either. In those things, these two men found some sense of solace and Myk worried that this connection would be their downfall.

“Come then, let us go investigate,” Myk crooned and although he didn’t want to, he let go of Fable’s hand to walk ahead.

Although it might have been nice to walk arm-in-arm once more, they would be at risk to continue into a situation that was quite obviously hostile. There was no way of knowing what was awaiting the curious Toms, but Myk didn’t allow for the unknowns to slow him down. The screams – while they had died down – had given Myk enough of a suggestion about their location. Of course they were coming from an alleyway in the dead of night – this whole scene was so cliché that Myk wondered if for a moment he really was in a movie. None of these thoughts deterred him, but maybe the smells should have. With every footstep into the darkness, Myk sensed he was drawing closer to a crime scene. The scent of blood was heavy in the air, as if oxygen atoms had become iron through some strange incantation of screams.

Myk found the blind bend and paused. With little more than the shuffle of clothes to be heard in the immediate vicinity, they really did have to consider if venturing any further was really worth their while. Myk waited until Fable was nearby before reaching for the man’s hands again. Myk turned to face him, stepping into his space. Pewter eyes looked as dark as spent embers as Myk regarded the other Telepath. His lips parted as if he was about to say something, but then drew in a slow ragged breath – maybe losing his nerve, maybe gaining some rationality.

“I think… we’re too late…” Myk spoke directly into Fable’s mind. “Are you… still interested in going forward?”

Those words that echoed so intimately in the other man’s mind might have suggested that Myk was talking about something else. With their current proximity to one another and the nature of their interactions thus far, one could be forgiven for assuming that. The chances were that Myk and Fable were about to walk in on another Vampire’s kill and since their kind were indicatively hostile and territorial, the wrong type of blood could be spilt. Myk didn’t mind getting into a little trouble if it meant a bit of fun, but he had no right to drag Fable into the dirt with him. This reminded him of nights in England – dragging young, unsuspecting boys into his web of deviance. The guilt was fleeting back then, not as it was now. Myk was a different kind of animal – wiser, more capable – and so if he could help it, he wouldn’t spoil the reverend Fable…

Some shrewd, vigilant part of Myk’s brain was screaming at him, telling him he should be afraid, or at least very alarmed at the unfolding situation. They shouldn’t be here. They shouldn’t be anywhere near each other let alone anywhere near here. Yet how could he be afraid when all his senses told him that Fable was there and they were very much safe because Fable was willing to play the game with him? Myk had relaxed with the man’s approval – his agreement to proceed. If Fable wanted to be here and he wanted to play, surely there was nothing wrong with following one’s whims. Myk couldn’t help himself all that much anyway; he was a slave to his emotions and instincts and urges, and right now they were filled with this man in front of him. Fable's scent, like clean linens and clove and cinnamon-spice; Fable's voice, as smooth as syrup and very nearly as sweet thrumming in his mind; Fable's touch, blessedly cool and soft and warming around his hands; and when the Telepath looked up through his lashes, his field of vision was filled with Fable's white face, russet hair, brown jacket and red scarf.

One hand slipped out of Fable’s grasp and came up to brush his fingers along the scarf near Fable’s chest. He was marvelling at two of his most favourite colours once again coming into contact. Plus, the texture of it was amazing, consuming – reminding him of Winter nights trapped under blankets with steamy lovers. Vampires may have been colder than your average Human, but they weren’t dead – not really, and Myk’s parts were still working (he’d made sure to test that). There was still some warmth to Vampires, some energy or force that kept them burning brightly in the frozen north of Canada. Hell, Myk could warm things up by just touching things these days. His hands had never been so warm even when he had been ‘alive’. With the right desire, the right application of power, Myk could set fire to this little scarf he was playing with, though of course he would never dare or dream to. Why play with fire physically when he was playing with fire figuratively, right?

“Why indeed…” Myk purred telepathically.

Without much of a warning, Myk’s hand trailed purposefully north. It skipped over the bulk of the fabric which was wound around Fable’s neck, and found its way to the exposed centimetre of skin beneath the man’s chin. Lingering there to tease the nerves with feather-light strokes, Myk smiled coyly up at the man, almost as if he was still requesting approval. This was a distraction technique – for the most part – as Myk closed the gap between them and guided Fable’s hand to rest upon the small of his back without such permission. The Telepath was forcing a hug and he wasn’t exactly ashamed of it. Still, that scream in the centre of his ears was becoming louder and louder, becoming more difficult to ignore yet certainly not impossible. Myk’s hand advanced further – defiantly – before settling on Fable’s cheek; his palm curving around a strong jaw bone, fingers splayed delicately as he tested areas of skin that would comfortably accept their presence. The white-haired Telepath’s head bowed slightly, suggesting that he might be leaning in to steal a kiss. His remaining hand left Fable’s at his back and found its mirror image on the other man – their bodies became knitted together as neatly and provocatively as the fibres in Fable’s red scarf.

In the heat of the moment, there was a popping sound that surrounded them. This small, insubstantial wisp that made the air around them shimmer like a soap bubble. Myk had cast a Telekinetic Shield in preparation for their “game”. Sure that Fable would have felt the sensation of a thousand ants tickle his skin, Myk watched Fable’s expressions carefully. Considering their close proximity, Myk also watched for any indications of excitement too. Although the ant-like tickling was brief, the shield’s affect persisted. For all intents and purposes, the Telekinetic Shield acted as a supernatural version of electroreception. Pulses of energy dispersed into the immediate area to generate a field and like a spider’s web, it revealed disturbances through tiny vibrations to let the Telepaths know what was going on around them. This would provide them with an in-sight to incoming attacks, helping them to dodge if needed and even counter-attack. Myk suspected that they could use a boost and he smiled devilishly, boastingly – like a child who’d been caught lying and was proud of it.

“If you’re ready… mon cher… let’s go.”

Brazenly, the Telepath placed a kiss on Fable’s cheek and then slowly begun to unwind himself from the other man. If he’d had his way, he would stay there forever – or probably go somewhere a little more comfortable than an alleyway besides a cooling corpse at any rate. Myk’s girlish thoughts lingered on the possibility that he might be tugged back and thrown against the wall, kissed to death and teased and tantalised, but he tried not to let such fantasies overwhelm him. If he was to take on another Vampire – one just around the corner – then he would need his wits about him. Even a shield of psychic energy would be useless if he couldn’t think to act in the right amount of time. Myk took a deep breath, steeled himself, and began to march toward the corner…

Drawing a weapon would have been as wise as it was foolish. It was one thing to cast a Telekinetic Shield – the ability really did have a variety of benefits beyond battle – but drawing a blade or a gun signalled that you were bringing trouble, not simply expecting it. For this reason, Myk kept his weapons sheathed as he took small, cautious steps around the corner. If the worst should happen, he had alternative means to address an attacker, after all. Pewter eyes were wide and alert, ears attuned to the softest shuffle of sound, nose raised to allow the scents around them to come flooding in. With the power encircling them both, Myk could also feel the air around him – any vibrations that suggested movement would be sent across his skin, his nerves and fired directly to his brain. They were fully prepared. With Myk’s mind focused solely on what he was anticipating before them too, he couldn’t see how they could stumble helplessly into harm.

Unconsciously, Myk kept one hand outstretched behind him, reaching for Fable as if to keep him close as he moved forward; either because the action assured Myk that Fable was nearby and with him, or because it meant that Fable was out of harm’s way. Frankly, it didn’t matter. The white-haired Telepath was a cautious creature, not really prone to taking risks. All of his actions required some convincing, some logical motivation. He was often impulsive, but he did like to think things through before making a decision. This situation required immediate action now. It was clear that there would be some danger involved in following the game through to its end, seeking out their curiosity, but Myk didn’t think he could just let this opportunity pass him by. Fable was fully prepared to play, so, he couldn’t disappoint.

Rejecting the dangers of pain and death unburdened him, and Myk felt free to follow after the white rabbit of his curiosity. He passed the edge of the wall which separated him from the safety of ignorance, and found just about what he’d expected – as well as something he hadn’t. There was indeed a corpse – not two like he’d been anticipating (one Human, one Vampire). The woman’s body splayed wantonly across the damp floor of the alleyway; creamy flesh glowing against the rich spatter and pooling of blood. The woman was completely naked, stripped from her clothes that lay scattered about her. She was a dove in a nest of torn jeans, cotton and gore. The fatal wound was obvious – a lacerated throat; the carotid arteries severed on both sides. Whatever had attacked her, it had almost torn her head off; Myk could see the gleaming shards of vertebrae in her neck quite clearly. The Telepath sighed, stepping a bit further into the scene, careful not to tread in any evidence. He was too engrossed by the scene around him to consider Fable’s safety even if he’d vowed to himself to protect the man’s innocence. Instead, he looked for clues.

Myk had heard someone or something here just moments ago – he’d been distracted by Fable for some seconds granted, but still... The Telepath glanced around the area. There was at least 30 feet of building between them and the sky, and another 40 or so feet between them and the open streets. If the creature had fled, it had impossible speed.

“Celerity perhaps?” Myk mused to himself. “Wall ascending, super leaps maybe?” The white-haired Telepath stepped toward the corpse, arching over to examine the extent of the damage. “It practically tore her head off. Lacerations are jagged, suggests something serrated. Clothes could have been ripped from her in the same way. This attack has all the trademarks of a Killer…”

When CSI Myk was done with his investigation, he looked back toward Fable – finally remembering to pay attention to him. Still, at least he’d mostly assessed the risk and it certainly seemed that they were safe right now. There was that small possibility that whatever had killed the woman and… maybe raped her… had stuck around, but with all that screaming earlier, it was unlikely. As it was, they probably shouldn’t stick around for too much longer anyway.

“Everything ok?” Myk asked the other Telepath.

He wasn’t sure how Fable would handle things after all and it was best to ask. Myk studied Fable with mixed emotion, uncertain of how to even describe what he felt whilst looking at him, but he was certain that he felt hungry. That dull ache in his stomach was a growing pressure on his mind. Maybe it was all the blood in the area; the scent could be enough to make him salivate. Myk remembered gaining an appetite back when he was mortal and the perfume of a fresh stew could summon hunger pangs right out of the ether. There were other scents in the alleyway too, but Myk’s nose wrinkled as he tried to reject the impressions they left on him. Instinct told Myk to leave this scene, but he wasn’t about to go anywhere without the other male.