Path of the Vampire forum

Tinkering...tinkering as he often did. Psyche tapped the hammer to one of the rivets on the gadget, upsetting the buck-tail and securing it in place. He'd been enjoying the hobby/career move as it wasn't far off from his previous career as a body artist. He'd thought of how he'd like to get back to doing that, maybe once he'd saved enough money and was able to find a suitable place for business. His particular tastes required some serious thought into location as he preferred his jobs of a more extreme palette. He'd just never desired to spend his time on any of the traditional 'tramp stamps' or butterflies that seemed so popular among the ladies. And frankly, the oh so casual request from some guy wanting to get his labret pierced because he found it 'edgy' was a real headache. He'd need to find a location where the consumer base was an edgier crowd. Of course, with the events that had occurred this year, he wasn't exactly sure he could find anything edgier than the crowd he was already in neck deep with.

As his hands worked carefully with grace on the watch-like contraption, his mind spaced out wandering into Vathia. He'd only just learned it had a name within the past few days, but realized it as the place his mind had spent the first few months of his turning. Such time spent in this realm of thought had hazards and repercussions; he'd been starting to realize a few of those as of late. Wandering his mind went looking for any new occurrences and as his thoughts delved into the inner-workings of the CrowNet settled on a strange incident that was occurring.

Looking at the bounties list, there seemed to be a number of rogues appearing in mass. One particular incident caught his eye. This Jeffrey McAllen was noted as being only 13 years old, and his first kill had been his mother. This particular topic had been brought up recently in heated debate on the forums and such an incident surely would hinder the debate of those who would try and stand-up for those such as Francesca. He'd be interested to delve into what was going on in the mind of this particular turned youth. Looks like the last seen location was... the Mall? Holy hell, even after death and in a bloodfrenzy this kid had an itch to go shopping?

"I gotta get into this kid's head."

As a middle-aged woman entered into the retail store, Jeffrey watched from the adjacent railing of the second floor of the mall. He'd been stalking her since she arrived into the parking lot. She was fit, healthy, very attractive...but most importantly she was alone. It made the hunting easier. Watching her he felt his pulse quickened, he could feel it beating in his head like a set of drums that never let up. He had to quiet the beating that just seemed to go on if he didn't feed. He wanted it to stop, no, needed it to stop. But maybe that was only part of it. There was something so free about the entire act of hunting that he felt. Cornering them, sinking his teeth into them and ripping them apart. The blood was so amazingly delightful. Jeffrey didn't know how to control it in the slightest, he needed more. He had to have more. It was all he could think about.

He'd been moving along the walkway outside towards the window of the store, waiting, until she'd finally found the outfits she'd like to try on. As she made her way back into the single dressing room, he looked about the sales floor and saw no one about other than the retail clerks at their appropriate registers in the front. Of course this time of night not many would be visiting the clothing stores that were on the verge of closing soon, they were all out in the food malls and arcades in their little social circles. They looked like small flocks or herds of prey to him now. That was all he was concerned with. Survival.

When he'd given her enough time to get out of her clothes, he looked back to the front and eyed where the clerks were. Peeking through the curtains at the woman, she was bending down away from him stepping into one of the dresses she was trying on. Quickly he slipped in and, with a low hiss, grabbed the womans throat and quickly bit in. The bite was deep enough to disable her vocals and any screams she woud have hoped to get out for help were immediately drowned out in the steady pour of blood that escaped her open neck. Ravenously, Jeffrey drank from the pouring wound, his head shaking back and forth. The beating was so loud now, but this was not the hunger drums that tormented him... these were the sounds of her beating heart that excited him, that made him want more and more. When he heard and felt them, he couldn't stop.

When the drums ceased to pound and he'd felt her slip away, Jeffrey stopped. In the months he'd been feeding, he'd learned this lesson. The first times, he couldn't control it. He just kept drinking and thrown-up blood all over the alley afterwards. He'd been sick for days, hunched over behind a garbage dumpster in the rain thinking he was going to die. The first time he'd done it had been at home. But it wasn't like the first time.... that was the worst of them all. Pulling his teeth away from the wound he let her body slump to the ground. The blood had pooled outside of the dressing room in a mass. Wiping his face with his sleeve in a feral frenzy, Jeffrey ran out of the dressing room in haste past the registers leaving them believing that he may have stolen some merchandise. Those damn kids and their idle hands.

The grey solid stone of the dark room seemed of a concrete substance laid below the grounds in a subterranean tomb-like structure. A single lamp light waved to-and-fro above, creating dancing shadows from the movement of the florescent pale-blue light above the movement of metallic chains connected to the walls. The large man struggled against the restraints binding him to the walls, arms out-spread and shackles locked down at his calfs leaving him kneeling upon the floor. There, behind him, sat Psyche; a steel surgical instrument table positioned on his left, tattoo gun humming in his hand as the buzzing needle stabbed into the man's back again and again in rapid succession. Psyche could feel the tension of the man as he fought to somehow drown out the extreme volume of the music that echoed throughout the sepulcher. He supposed the man figured that perhaps if hsi screams either equalled or exceeded the volume of the music, that perhaps it would neutralize the other. It didn't really matter either way to the tattooed menace, he couldn't hear a note of either melodic tune. He'd discovered however, that by tapping into the human auditory cortex, he could process the reception of the sound and in turn essentially "hear" it himself.

"A wretched heart
In the dark decay,
Dominate forever..."

A smile played to his lips as he etched and scrawled the florescent inks into the flesh of the man before him. The artistic masterpiece unfolding into a sight of visual beauty before him, he kept a masterfully steady hand while transferring the scrawlings from his own mind onto the pink canvas. As the musics of Rob Zombie flowed into his own mind, he repayed the favor by telegraphing images of all manner of horror and mayhem before the man's eyes. Visualizations of his family melting away like wax scupltures in extreme heat, dogs being hit by cars, images of the holocaust. He continued the mental display as if it were some form of expiremental reprogramming. As long as his captive remained afraid, the skin was tense and the pores were opened which was highly condusive to the artwork. Anything to further the perfection of his art.

"Into a psychic war
I tear my soul apart
And I eat it some more yeah
Yeah Yeah Yeah Yeah"

He stopped inking the man's back momentarily, just long enough to vocalize the chorus of the song and give a speedy drum slap to the back of the man's head, "More human than human! Yeah!"

Suddenly he stopped working. An image played into the forefront of the mind of the tattooed artist that formulated into a delightful smile splayed across his lips. "Oh helloooo there..."

Leaning down to the ear of the large man, Psyche whispered in jovial glee, "Maybe you'd like to watch a movie?" He slapped the back of the man's head again and laughed, "Yes. A movie it is."

Creating a holographic display in front of the both of them, he leaned up against the back of the man and rested his chin on the top of the man's head. Black faded into visualization of young Jeffrey moving through an orphange as if it were a buffet. The captive man watched in awe and disgust as the scene unfurled and finally returned to screaming. Psyche laughed and cranked back up the radio to levels that would surely eventually deafen the man...

After three consecutive days and nights, he finished the final touches on the design that he'd been applying to the entirety of the man's back with utter devotion and dedication. Had it not been for the readily available neck in front of him, the tattooed menace wouldn't have even allowed himself to eat. Setting down the tattoo gun, he grabbed the white cloth and dabbed it with alcohol before beginning to wipe away any excess ink as well as to bring an extra sense of enjoyment out of bringing pain upon the poor son-of-a-b*tch. He turned off the radio and blew delicately on the skin, now covered in an elaborate array of color and design depicting the Malebolge of Dante's Inferno. The imagery of red boiling fire sizzling beneath a tormented, burning body dangling by chains displayed a scene of the level for corrupt politicians. Each fire immersed in the boiling mess was painted with intricate emotion of pain and torment.

"Well now, Mr. Senator." Psyche leaning forward and talking into the man's ears again. "I must say, this is perhaps some of my better work and I do hope you will appreciate the time put in."

He'd done it. A masterpiece of the flesh. He knew it'd have to have been so, as the skin of this particular scoundrel had been flawless. A perfect canvas to paint upon and portray the very sins contained within. He'd seen him on the television, involved in some form of talk regarding the possibility of renovating the quarantined zone. That would just be unsatisfactory. The zombies needed to be contained within, they couldn't just have a mass of zoned out drug addicts infesting the streets of the rest of the city. Property value would derail and all the pampered flesh of the white collar would make a mass exodus out of the providence. That would be detrimental to his quality canvas supply. Maybe the loss of this particular weasel would halt the process, maybe it wouldn't. Either way, he'd provided what Psyche desired most and allowed him to create a thing of beauty.

Taking the skinning knife off of the tray, Psyche began cutting at the base of the neck enciting a serenade of screams in the mind of the telepath. Down the shoulders and along the sides, he carefully cut away in even increment around the artwork so as to keep the artwork perfectly framed. Some 10 minutes later after the skin had been edged and seperated from the muscle tissue, he moved the mass of flesh around in front of the man and hung it by laundry pins down from a line.

"There. Perfect, don't you think? It'll require some time to dry before I can properly store it, but I'm always of the mind to ensure that the customer be able to fully appreciate the work that their bodies have provided a means of creation." Smiling at the work, he kissed the man's cheek and slapped the other side of his face tenderly. "Unfortunately for you, I won't be requiring anything else of yours. However, I AM starving."

In a fervor the vampire sank his teeth into the neck of the particular crooked politician, the blood being exanguinated hungrily. As he drank in furious delicacy, he thought of Jeffrey and knew it was time he visit the boy.

Steps padded against the darkened streets of the Cherrydale district. Truth be told he wasn't an accomplished tracker in any way shape or form, but by finding the right minds, he'd managed to narrow down where Jeffrey'd been hiding out. It turns out, that while the young rogue had an insatiable appetite...he liked to take breaks to watch movies. Go figure. It'd been a real pain to even find that little bit out. The chore of tracking this kid down hadn't been easy with having to bounce mind-readings off several individuals. He'd tried innumerable times to tap into the consciousness of Jeffrey, but with his bloodlust, immaturity, and down-right feral animalistic nature... it'd proven to not only be almost impossible... it'd been so erratic it'd taken some time to recover from.

Through the double doors of the Oldtown Theater, he walked in and made the left turn down to the theater he knew he'd find the boy. It was funny, really. You're young, yes. You have no supervision. No one's going to tell you what to do... and yet you stick to what you know. You don't go and watch Alien, cuz you aren't allowed to watch movies like that. I suppose Mom would've been fine with ripping the throat out of that lady though, Jeff....riiiight. I'm not going to watch Predator cuz there's older kids in there who might give him issues.... seriously? And yet..... there we are.... E.T.... oh yes. Winner. Jeff, you're a trip... you know that?

Slipping in to the movie, Psyche took a seat in the rear-most row of the theater and started scanning the seats before him to try and pick out the feral. There weren't too many visitors to this theater... he was thankful for that. If this turned into a scuffle, he REALLY didn't need a scene to break out. Down in the third row, he squinted a bit and thought that the scruffy hair reminded him of Jeff. If anything, it was the closest profile out of anyone in here. He'd have to keep an eye on that one.

After watching the scene for a short time, he looked to the wall and gave an inward grin. The little red box was a god-send and could offer a method to inject the much needed cover to keep from breaking the masquerade outright. Standing and making his way over, he reached the tattooed hand out and pulled down the tiny red lever down, sounding the alarm and causing the viewers to start removing themselves from the theater.

He watched the crowd continue moving upwards and out of the theater, keeping eyes on who he believed was the rogue. Keeping a steady eye on the ruffled hair of the youth, he moved towards the center aisle to keep up the facade of being one of the sheep. He couldn't help but notice that the crowd was so odd for an outdated freaking kids' alien movie. I mean really? That lady had to have been 70 years old. Wait. Where was Jeffrey? ****. He'd lost the ruffled hair while observing the crowd...

As the last person exited the theater, he gave a passing view over the expanse of the room to make sure he hadn't missed him... where the hell?

Much too quickly a smaller hand quickly found it's way to his throat. ****. Jeffrey'd found him....

"Howdily ho, neighbor."

Psyche offered a smile to the feral in attempt to hide the concern for the dilemma he was in. Looking into the boy's eyes, there was little left of any rational consciousness. he'd be near completely enraptured by the call of the beast. There was no sense in attempting to read thoughts and manipulate the situation; Jeffrey was a creature of behavioral instinct now, and feeding was the primal desire.

Jeffrey held him there, pinned to the wall with beastly strength. His gifts had apparently been more appropriately placed along the path of the killer, perhaps. Either way, he was stronger and faster than Psyche was. Baring his fangs at the tattooed burden, he flung and arm forward and raked it across Psyche's face before plunging four strong digits into his gut.

Psyche cringed at the pain of the fingers being forcibly inserted into his abdomen. As he looked down he watched as blood seeped onto the hand that had invaded his muscular tissue. Alright, intrigue was over. This was ******* war. The damn dog just pissed on the carpet and now it was time to beat the damned puppy into a coma. Reaching at the back of his pants, he withdrew Id, his favorite little automatic pistol, and placed the barrel to Jeffrey's stomach.

"Game on, *****."

With a quick squeeze of the trigger, he felt the pull of the pistol fire five rounds into the stomach of the feral youth. Jeffrey reeled back, dropping him to the floor, as the rounds exited through his back and left a spray of Jeffrey's insides painting the last row of seats in the theater. Apparently, this seemed to piss off Jeffrey more than neutralize him, as he looked back at Psyche with an expression of absolute rage.

Ah, ****." Psyche mumbled to himself.

Probably in many of the other vampires' cases this would be a matter of straightening out a misbehaving youth. Disciplining a troublesome child, or even just popping a round or two in the head of this kid and calling it a day. However, while Jeffrey was young... he was a feral rogue... he's also been a vampire just as long as Psyche had. His physical gifts had easily matched, if not bested, the intellectual and mental gifts of the tattooed vampire. Luckily... Psyche had his smarts, at least.

Jeffrey charged the gaunt vampire and tackled him to the ground. Psyche'd tried to fight it off, but he was simply overpowered. This was simply going to be a freaking headache.

"OOF! Jeffrey.... we're about to have real ******* problems..."