[ARPC] Live ((open))

[Dawn Chekov]

Dawn smiled as she walked up from behind Dylan - normally her drummer, but today her keyboardist because Reed was sick with the flu. That was one thing that Dawn was happy about now that she had learned that vampire blood, the blood of her 'kin' as she liked to call them, despite the types being different, was the fact that she never got sick. Yeah, there was the odd time when she got hungry and that would bring her disease back to the fore-front, especially as of late. Dawn hadn't been feeding as normally as she had before. Her feelings and her hunger had inspired her to write a new song and that song was something that she was about to debut tonight, on a small stage that had been set up.

A soft tap to her shoulder with her mic pulled her attention back to her band-mate and she smiled to him, flashing him her tiny fangs. He was not scared, he knew that she was, for the most part, harmless. He just handed her her bejeweled mic and then moved back to take his seat at the keyboard they had just set up. Now it was her turn, making sure that her black dress hadn't ridden up to an uncomfortable height, she made her way to the stool set before the mic stand and slid the mic into place before lifting her small form (in big platform shoes) into her seat, crossing her legs at the ankle. She fixed her long, platinum hair - some in front, some in back of her shoulders - and then took a deep, cleansing breath.

The slow, somber music began to fill the air, echoing a little because of the acoustics of the room and with another deep breath she began to sing, lifting her hands to gently cup the mic as if it was a lover. Her long nails gently raked over the tine rhinestones as she gently closed her eyes, a slight frown on her face that matched the words coming from her glossed lips. Every so often her head would tilt a little, as if she were leaning in to kiss the mic but then leaned back a little as the chores came. Her hands dropped from the mic mid way through and moved to rest, clasped together in her lap, her eyes nearly closed as she worked her way though the song. Dawn barely moved in her seat other than her hands every so often coming back up to the mic and then dropping back down.

Dawn's eyes fluttered for a moment before closing again as she neared the end of the song a couple minutes later, the words still reverberating in her mind, a couple tears sliding down her cheeks as she began to grip the mic a little tighter, preying that the bad of the song didn't come to pass, preying for the good. It was the optimist in her to hope for the best but she also had that pragmatic mind that made her want to prepare for the worst. She just hoped that the worst didn't happen, she would rather take month and months of gut wrenching pain from her hunger than she would the worst in her mind.

{{The Song}}

[Ripper]

Ripper followed a stream of tattered music posters as the wind whipped them off of the billboard outside and sent them twirling into a dervish to disappear eventually far away in the cold Autumn air.

The same gust of air clattered also across the framed wooden frame slats of the venue door before flinging it open to smash outwards against the walls of the establishment once its icy fingers had taken hold. brief

A brief flash of light and music shone from inside that small portal and beckoned in like a candle's flame to at least one windswept Killer. He had actually come to enjoy several of the small local band which that had cropped up here in the Universities' music scene. The enthusiasm in with many of the youth poured themselves into their craft reminded of echoes in which music could be used to either aggravate or unite a peoples into listening.

The soft refrains which were coming from inside would not be his first choice of a shuffle from his Ipod, but the company and warmth a populated room were both a pull inside and a draw away from the abruisment in the harsh elements.

The vampire entered the room as quietly as possible while still pulling the door in shut behind him and latching it closed from the gales of outside. He quickly then crossed the room to find a seat in back of the crowd where he could sample the entertainment for the evening.

[Myk]

For once he wasn’t thinking. The short blade was thrust forward between the bones of the neck before his wrist snapped down, popping the Ancient Zombie’s head from its shoulders like a bottle cap. As the supernatural bonds displaced, the corpse dropped into a pile of bones with a clatter before merging with the dust and the decay. With that last enemy slain in a chain of ten or so, the small room at the very back of the Northern Catacombs returned to silence. Nevertheless, Myk’s desperate grip on the knife remained. He stared, dull-eyed, at the wall just a few feet in front of him as the silence buzzed in his ears, fogging his brain. Ordinarily, all this stillness would unease him, but there was nothing to feel and nothing to think about. It wasn’t a sad kind of emptiness or a happy one, it was simply emptiness. There was a void in his heart and in his mind and it was just that – a void.

He knew that it was this stark emptiness within him that had been reflected into his suite at the Ivory Tower when he’d gone on a decorating spree. Whatever wasn’t painted white – like furniture and electricals – was replaced with their white replicas so that the whole space was as blank as he felt, but welcoming change. There were several causes for this feeling, he mused, but each reason complemented the other until he came to the decision that he was fated to be alone. Everyone he came into contact with soon became ghosts – literally and figuratively. Mr Pratt was in the Dark Place. Angele had stopped returning his messages. Creedy had vanished and so had Liam. As for Temperance, although he’d seen her recently, she was off doing her own thing and he didn’t want to intrude on her life with the way that he was. And then, of course, there was Vasik who, after coming to apologise for his sudden departure, made another sudden departure.

Myk had sensed their separation before it had happened and in no way believed he had encouraged it. He never changed his behaviour toward the man, never shut him out, never expressed any sorrow, he just kept the thoughts to himself and hoped he was wrong. But he hadn’t been. Vasik disappeared as predicted and when he returned, he disappeared almost as quickly and strangely as he had come to Myk begging for forgiveness. Myk hadn’t taken to the flowers the man had brought him. He was angry and hurt, and although he loved to play to the man’s fantasies of becoming his baby doll, he couldn’t deny who he was for the love of that one person; especially when that one person was about as reliable as a chocolate teapot in a heat wave. Myk had shrugged it off when he woke to an empty bed that night, but as much as he tried not to feel it, the more he realised that it was affecting him. He knew he couldn’t shut down, there would be no point in it. Vasik and the others wouldn’t come back and even if they did, what would he care? People were such distractions to his goals… whatever those were. Honestly, he couldn’t even remember.

All too readily Myk became aware of the sounds around him, how the dappling of water crossed the stone, how distant voices rumbled like insects, how footsteps echoed. A breeze stirred, not near strong enough to sway his hair which hung around his shoulders like stalactites, but enough to tease his skin like a cold breath. He heard indistinguishable words in a voice he recognised and pined for. He wanted to turn around, but didn’t. It had been months since he’d last seen that man, and every day he woke with the same intention to get on with his life and couldn’t. So much had happened, so many weird and interesting things which he thought might have changed him at last, might have brought about something new, but then he realised how he’d never be able to step forward when he had one foot still very much lodged in the past. And this whole scene, it was like something he’d lived before…

While the voice he heard continued to haunt him and although he thought he’d be turning around to see nothing but a ghost in the shadows, he turned around anyway. Myk’s grip on the blade wavered as his pewter eyes met the vacant space in front of him, but with a sigh expelled from his empty shell, he returned the blade to its sheath and decided to head for the surface. Really, what was he expecting? How could his mood improve slaying things in a cold, dark and depressing place such as this? His satisfaction wasn’t being reaped from slaughtering the undead anyhow, so perhaps the land of the living would be more prosperous.

He emerged from the sewers covered with ash and speckled with sludge. His clothes and skin felt grimy and the smell was fairly repulsive; like foul earth and day-old garbage. Still, he’d smelt worse and at least he’d cleansed his blade in the water of the sewer streams so it shone from the notch on his belt like a silver dollar. It occurred to him to lose his leather-style slacks and Rise Against t-shirt in place of some fresh clothes volunteered by sleeping mortals, or perhaps go home and change, but even in dire straits he was easily distracted. Thinking it best to avoid too much attention, Myk had slipped into the alleyways along the buildings and snaked his way to the deserted backstreet of a bar. There, his pewter eyes had uncovered a jewel in the rough, putting a healthy smile back on his red-stained lips.

The jewel, the man, was probably not aware of another presence in the dark because his mannerisms expressed a simple kind of nonchalance that Myk wasn’t entirely used to seeing in earnest. He followed a series of posters to the doors of a building and then walked in. Myk’s head shifted a little to the left before he straightened up, a dark look of intent on his face.

“Well hello, Mr Ripper…”

There was a slight skip to Myk’s steps as he crossed into the streets, pleased at least to walk in the wake of the other Vampire’s scent when no one was around to judge. A little thrill ran through him once he reached the doors of the building, an anxious thought reflecting on the possibility that Ripper had known he was being followed and was about to displace his stalker. Myk pushed the door with force, sending it swinging back into the darkness. He peered in, but to no avail. It felt like he was sticking his head into crushed velvet. There was a soft pressure against his flesh, which he later distinguished as heat, and a strange, muffled sound coming from deep within. No Ripper though. Myk rolled his shoulders and told his feet to move and they did so, bringing him through the narrow, dark corridor that reminded him of sex clubs, before he happened upon another set of doors. Here the heat, the noise, was much more potent. His cheeks felt like they were catching the sun and his whole body felt invaded by the sound – someone singing.

…Love me or leave me, quit me or keep me
Whatever it is you're feeling, I just need to know
Love me or leave me or grip me or free me
I know that you're out of love so say it isn't so…

The lyrics hit him particularly hard and he completely succumbed to the sound. Myk walked into the lounge space, past the Vampire he had followed here originally, and sat himself at a vacant table near the stage where the young woman was singing. He watched her face and movements; the soft creases in her skin as the passion of the song took her, the placement of her hands, the way they trembled, and when the song came to its slow, sombre end, he watched the silver droplet of a tear mark her face. Myk sighed, the weight of his cold breath feeling oddly warm as it pushed through. He empathised, but couldn’t express it like she did. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried. His father had mentioned that it was an unusual thing – not to cry – even for a male, but that didn’t exactly encourage him. As sad as he felt, he just didn’t cry, and he wondered, perhaps he could try to be more like this woman who was so passionate. Perhaps he could try this singing thing. Perhaps she'd even help?

[Dawn Chekov]

As her eyes opened, she lifted one hand up and quickly wiped away her tear, glancing over when Dylan had whispered his concern. Dawn gave him her brilliant smile but she and he both knew that it was one smile that wasn't a hundred percent truthful. With a wink to him, she glanced back, the lights made it difficult to seen anything past the first row of people, especially with her sensitivity to light itself. She squinted usually, but it was silly looking to do that when performing so of course she forced her eyes to relax to their natural open state instead of nearly closed to avoid the light.

She glanced back to Dylan and whispered which song she wanted next and then looked back to the audience once more. This would be her final song for the night, after that she would move off to the side and try to sell CDs, pictures, and t-shirts. All of which she would sign if needed. As the slightly more upbeat tune started to play, Dawn began to sing once again, her voice starting a bit high and then as she started into the verse her voice took on the lower tones. This song sort of forced her to feel a bit happier, thus giving the male behind her a reason to ease up. She knew he would be curious about why the first song had gotten to her so much and would bug her about it. As annoying brothers did. Or annoying band mates.

The song continued and Dawn continued to sing, swaying a little to the melody of the music as she sang, stroking the mic and the stand it was in from time to time. Every so often she would smirk a little during the song and that was one reason why she picked it, it was just one of those songs that instantly switched her back to a happy go lucky girl that she normally was when she wasn't dealing with the pain of her disease. It was almost tempting to just continue to sing the same song over and over again, but at the same time, she knew that there were others waiting to get on stage. So once the song came to an end and she stopped singing, she slid off the stool, straightening her short skirt of her dress. Then she stepped to the side of her mic stand and gave a little curtsy like bow, causing her platinum hair to fall over her nearly pearl white face.

Standing straight soon after, she pushed her hair back behind her shoulders, gave a small smile and turned to say something to Dylan who then nodded to her and began to take apart their equipment as she made her way down the small stairs and towards a table where there was a small box sitting. All the things she had planned to sell with her 'Prima Dawna' logo on it. The things she would sign if that was what the person wanted. She started to lay out some of the things on the table, smiling and humming to herself as she did.

((Song))

[Ripper]

The warmth of the room mixed in with a hubbub of quiet chatter and music to form a very soporific effect. Ripper lolled back in his chair, head tilted and looked over across the room at the performer who was singing there. She was familiar to him, but he couldn't quite understand how he would recognize the female human. He was sure that he'd never been attacked by them, no did she care much of the empiric taint that vampire thralling left upon a person.

For now he was content to merely sit there in place and watch her from across the room to contemplate the matter silently. From behind him came another cold blast of air as the venues doors once again swung open.

[Myk]

When the first song had faded, another began. Myk would have applauded, only he’d been lost to his feelings at the time. As the next song trilled to life, he felt less shackled by his emotions and so, took the opportunity to look around. The décor was attractive, but it did little to catch his attention. His pewter eyes wandered this way and that, to the lively faces engaged in conversation, to the sombre and content ones just trying solely to exist. Myk would have watched them all a little longer, would have looked across at the other side of the room even, but his concentration held as he finally found his friend, Mr Ripper. Myk smiled, squinting his eyes rather childishly to make full use of the closed Cheshire grin. He wanted to wave, but that challenged his rules on socialising with the man. As much as Myk might have wanted to bug him, he wasn’t going to. He respected the Vampire’s time too much to just invade on it. He was a busy man and he deserved to spend his down-time however he pleased.

Myk gave a bit of a sulk and turned back to face the singer. As he watched her eyes glow, glitter and then darken as she swayed under the incandescent lights, his mind continued to pester him about what he couldn’t do or say. He knew he couldn’t invade Ripper’s space, but was sending him a drink a step across the line? Sure, these were his rules, but they were based on a loose understanding of old-school manners and ethics which, while honourable and sweet, may not have been applicable in this day and age. As a matter of fact, what kind of drink could he send? The only thing he knew regarding the man’s tastes was that he was a Vampire and a Brit. Was tea laced with blood a little out of the question? It was if he was keeping up this whole Masquerade ********, he reminded himself with an irritated breath. So just tea then? Did they even serve tea in this place? Myk threw his arms in the air in defeat, knocking the underside of table with his wrist as he did so.

“Ouch, ****!” he seethed, rubbing the area. That would leave a bruise – probably. Maybe he should just sit still and behave and avoid another calamity. As amusing at probably would be to stand up and confront a lamp, fall over the foot of somebody else’s chair and cartwheel over the bar to land face-first in a puddle of week-old liquor and cleaning products, Myk sensed that putting on his sensible cap instead of his clown hat would serve him better tonight. Not that he had any plans. Did he have any plans? He couldn’t remember. Things were a bit of blur since listening to that first song and even though he was a little perturbed at his lack of recognition and motor skills, he rather enjoyed this floaty, spacey feeling. Myk looked to the singer again, tucking his wounded paw into his lap. He still felt a little fuzzy at the edges, but this song wasn’t as entrancing as the first. Beautiful as it was, Myk preferred the other – maybe because he didn’t feel her performance this time was as genuine. Was she forcing herself to be happy? Something in her tiny movements made him think she didn’t suit happiness.

What a horrible thought indeed! And although he hadn’t meant it exactly as that, he was somewhat relieved when her time on the podium had ended and she once more walked amongst the mortals – er, sort of. Myk watched her slyly out of the corner of his eye, past a thick strand of bone-white hair. She was setting some things up on a table. He turned, watching her with sharp eyes. A logo flashed past his sights and he cocked his head. A few CDs were laid out, he stood up and casually stepped toward her. He heard her humming and drew a smile, the friendly sort.

“Hi,” he said, tuning his voice over the sound of the percussion of the new band which had attacked the stage. He was sure she’d heard him, however, and waited for her to turn to greet him in return.

[Dawn Chekov]

Dawn had continued to hum to herself, setting out more things to sell, small things that she had bought herself and then improved or bedazzled in some small way, taking death like things and making them pretty or adding the element of death and goth to pretty things. Her eyes traveled over the things before a voice called her attention that she was no longer alone. She blinked for a mere millisecond before her smile grew to the point that her fangs showed, dimpling her pouty lower lip. She brought her hand up and tossed her hair over her shoulders "Greetings! How can I help you?" She asked cheerily, her Russian accent light but present.

Picking up a pink sharpie in case he wanted a signature, she tucked into her top, the pink cap catching on her black top. Her glacier blue eyes shifted to the new band, looking for Dylan, when she spotted him putting away their stuff behind the door she smiled and turned her eyes back onto the male that looked as though he could be her twin. Or at the very least, her brother. Her smile was soft and welcoming, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. A professional smile, Dylan and the other guys that made up Prima Dawna's back up band would say.

It was a smile that she put on for everyone, all her fans, all the press. She refused to let anyone outside of the boys to know that she was either upset or in pain. Or both on some days. Being what she was, needing what she needed in order to live out the day - or days, since she had learned to drink from other 'kindreds' like herself that allowed her to feel stronger, faster, it meant she didn't have to feed as much. She waited to see what the new person would speak again.

[Myk]

When the woman looked up from the kaleidoscope of gothic-pretty objects and smiled, he smiled back, only he couldn’t help but notice the fang-like structures encasing her canine teeth on the top jaw. Curiosity made his brow wrinkle and he assessed her briefly, out-of-habit, before putting the thought completely out of his mind when she spoke to him. How could she help him? Well, he hadn’t thought that far ahead, had he. He just wanted to say hello, maybe pick her brain over things – musical things. He passed a glance toward Mr Ripper and flinched internally as though he was about to have a chair thrown at him as a result of his behaviour. How many times had he been told to think ahead, think things through, put a plan in mind? It was one of the fundamental pieces of advice Mr Ripper had given him for Chess, and something he should have automatically applied to life as well.

Myk promptly looked back to the singer and noticed how her eyes seemed to beg him for a nickname, bringing about the question he knew to immediately ask.

“Well, I came late to your performance,” he said confidently. “So I missed your name…” Myk’s dark eyes looked over the CDs once again, encouraging a wry grin to form on his face. “Prima Dawna?” he asked, head low and eyes fixated on her. “Should I assume you’re Dawna or maybe… Dawn?”

The more he seemed to focus on this lady, this Sundrop, the more he seemed to learn. Although her ice-blue eyes were masking sadness, there was a brightness there that seemed utterly genuine; though not so much a happy brightness as the shrewd kind. She seemed intelligent; smart enough to know when to put on the stage smile and greet her audience, and yet sensitive enough to not seem too false by doing so. Her artistry suggested she was accustomed to brooding, that in a way, it was her trademark. She could be sad and happy and conflicting because she was a part of the world and distant from it at the same time. She could fit in and connect, but then fade without notice. She wasn’t entirely Human, Myk was certain of it, but she certainly wasn’t his kind either. She simply seemed to exist because she did so – her own little variety of trouble and uncertainty and fatalistic hope. And he could learn so much more about her, he felt, if he just dared to. The way his capabilities increased was dreadfully fascinating!

[Ripper]

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--

[ pov_ripper writes: ]

( can you forward a text to somebody's head? )

[ kira kerr writes: ]

( Image Telepathy ? )

[ pov_ripper writes: ]

( no, not image: text. it would in SMS format and transferred through Technokinesis to another telepath )

( *be in )

[ kira kerr writes: ]

( Well image telepathy is image as well as text. )

( well words )

[ pov_ripper writes: ]

( but it wouldn't come from my phone in this case... )

[ kira kerr writes: ]

So you want to like send a text to someone's head then forward it to another

[ pov_ripper writes: ]

( I am curious if it could be done )

[ kira kerr writes: ]
( Maybe it would work like me seeing the text and forwarding the image of it? )

[ pov_ripper writes: ]

( but then the message would come *from* you )

( and not still be directed to my phone and serial number )

( so they wouldn't know that it was coming from me )

[ kira kerr writes: ]
( Hmm, I think maybe the image telepathy sending words to someone's head would work? )

[ pov_ripper writes: ]

( I'm going to try uploading a text to an online database and see if you can download it and manage to transmit? )

[ kira kerr writes: ]

( Alright )

*taps in a note to Myk and routes it through Gmail to a private server. He texts her the url address where she can download it at*

[Dawn Chekov]

Dawn smiled a bit more as he picked up some of her things, questioning her name. She of course didn't mind the fact that he had come late to her show, it wasn't just her show after all, each group that was signed up tonight had their own fan base after all. "Dawn, 'Prima Dawna' is a play on words, if you will." She said with a little shrug as she glanced around and then smiled to him again. It was really very interesting how much them seemed to look alike. Both with long light hair, only hers wasn't as light. "Did you at least enjoy the little bit you caught?" She asked with a soft smile, pulling out a few more trinkets with her band name on it while the other band on the stage started it's next song.

She was curious as to what his name was, but she wasn't going to pry. She could do that much much later when she was safe in her creepy apartment and hacking up a storm. She could probably find him in some evidence or something, after all, a man like him would be hard to miss. At least that is what she thought. She set the trinkets down and then offered her small hand to the man. "Pleasure to meet a perspective fan." She said merrily, it was definitely something that made her happy, meeting her fans, or meeting people that enjoyed her music, If she could touch one person with her songs, she was happy.