Path of the Vampire forum

Posted: **22 May 2015, 06:57**

The man sits with his back against the red brick wall. The warmth from the day’s sun still lingers in the near-crumbling cement, though that doesn’t mean much to the human. The day had been spent in much the same way as the night time; sitting against that wall—hungry, listless, and lacking the majority of his formerly well-kept inspiration. Where life had once been a grand affair. Well, not really. Kind of. It was a fake grand affair, a flimsy attempt to copy the lives of those who inherit wealth and prosperity at birth.

Cosimo’s birth wasn’t a grand affair. His mother was the daughter of a baker who had no grand aspirations in life. She was pretty. No, **** that. She was beautiful, like Venus stepping out of the ocean on that shell. A virginal kind of beauty in a girl who always looked like a woman. A girl who kept her purity in tact as long as she could. But, who could resist the allure of a bad boy? A bad boy who was far older than she was and who was under the impression that she was far older than she was. She had lied, of course. Massimo had had the most serene blue eyes and a way of speaking—she wanted to give her purity to him.

In doing so, of course, she was landed with Cosimo. Named Cosimo because she hoped and prayed for a sense of order, or that he wouldn’t disrupt her life completely. As if, after being born, she could be done with him. He couldn’t help but think she always begrudged his presence; that tentative and flimsy link to a man she might have loved but what was that link worth, when he would no longer have her?

Regardless, Cosimo grew up under his mother’s care, rarely seeing his father. Sometimes he’d stay with Massimo over a weekend. That happened about once a year.

When Cosimo was sixteen, his mother tied a sack filled with rocks around her waist and jumped into the deepest canal she could find. Maybe she thought it would be an elegant suicide, but all Cosimo could imagine when he could bare to think about it was that she had died with her lungs filling with second-hand ****.

Well, maybe it’s poetic in a way. Cosimo feels like he’s starting to drown in second-hand ****. Maybe he can blame his mother for everything. Isn’t there something Freudian in that? Thirty-three years old... no, thirty-four in just under a month’s time. His mother is dead. His father is recently deceased due to a con gone wrong, and Cosimo escaping just in time to save his own life. Is he a coward? Something he struggles with every day. But, dear old Dad really did have it coming for him.

Point is, now he’s here. He’d joined some cult to try to find some purpose. He had trained hard. He had worked toward that purpose with guilt-fuelled zest. But he hadn’t trained enough, wasn’t hard enough. Couldn’t, by himself, actually kill the creatures he was being trained to kill. Creatures who know their strength and who treated him like a toy…

Cosimo shudders and leans further into the wall, now trying to savour its warmth. Yeah, he still has the same purpose. The same hate, but now it’s not a second-hand hate. It’s a proper hate, summoned by proper experience. They’re monsters. Leeches. They all deserve to die.

Cosimo knows that he needs to get up and he needs to find a new gang to fall in with. He needs to train some more, and he needs to get stronger. It’s not safe, there against that wall, just outside of an alleyway. But there’s light, here, and he’d pilfered a notebook and a pen from one of those magazine stalls when no one was looking. He needs to write this **** down. He doesn’t quite believe how far he’s fallen, and he needs to get it on the page. Maybe somehow the spilled words will form some kind of path. Some clear direction, or a trail of bread crumbs that he can follow. Slowly, one at a time, to re-build some semblance of a flimsy existence.

Posted: **22 May 2015, 17:49**

She doesn't venture out often, but when the woman does, there are only but a few places she ventures to. Mostly out of need, and not because of flights of fancies, or destinations chosen on a whim. No, Elizabeth is no longer a woman of spontaneity, but of careful predetermination. Leaving for but a while, only to return again a short while later with the hopes and great anticipation that one evening, the shadows will release him and he will be home, waiting for her. Something, the woman did not want to miss. A woman, perhaps filled with false hopes and ever the dreamer, though that public side of her has long disappeared months prior.

Her thrall, Elise tells her that if he has been gone this long, that he will more than likely not return. That Elizabeth should spend her nights focused on other things. Things for herself. Elizabeth knows that Elise is only trying to help, be a dedicated friend and be supportive, but the topic of her husband is always short lived between the two of them because it is better to agree to disagree. Elise believes she knows best and Elizabeth knows, she knows best. Or, that is what she tells herself.

The nights she does go out, her routine is the same. Silly, to some. Perhaps too silly for an elder to indulge in. She shrouds herself in the cover of darkness that falls upon the streets and blankets herself in the shadows. The thought is that by doing this, he is still with her each night. As a dreamer and idealist only would hope and do. If she told anyone she did such a thing, Elizabeth is certain they would tell her how silly she was. Perhaps even laugh at her, but when you find someone who shakes up your world completely and leaves you in a whirlwind of emotions and desires you have never felt before, wouldn't you do anything to keep what you felt then, alive now?

So she plots each night. Plots and plans. Of nothing of great importance. Nothing to do with vampire society. No, the nights of the vampire elders are but a great story now. A myths perhaps. Most, if not almost all the elders have disappeared from public view; Elizabeth being but one of the last to take her leave from the society she once tried to help build, but a handful of years ago. Chad, Quartermaine, the pariah Cobb, and the good (or not so good, in her mind) doctor were the first to disappear and remain gone, mostly. Followed by her sire, Bella Dupree and her sister, Antigony. Not long after that, Amaranthia and the other Grigori elders. Gone, but not really. Just quiet. Followed by herself and Keara of the Vedarian lineage. Yes, the time of the elders are gone, and society has all but forgotten them and created a world they wanted to live in. Their world and she was but a mere shadow of what had been at one point. Which was why it was so easy for Elizabeth to disappear, unnoticed.

Tonight, the woman ventures away from the caverns, to a district filled with various warehouses. Parts were needed so that she could stay inside once again for a handful of nights. One trip a week keeps her busy for nights, upon nights. Waiting. Watching the clocks in the home and listening to the second hand tick away as time passes. She does not drop the cover of darkness until she is at the back door of a warehouse, picking the lock to enter its threshold.

Posted: **24 May 2015, 14:18**

With the falling of the sun also comes a drop in temperature. Cosimo could not go back to his dwelling—they’d found him a place to stay somewhere in the sewers, and though it hadn’t been all that welcoming, he’d made it home. But he is no longer welcome there. He’d failed. No one had actually said, outright, that he is not welcome but he does not want to go back. Cosimo doesn’t like being a failure. That’s what he feels like. One large, lanky failure. All of which he jots down in his journal.

Scribblings that look like the haunted pathetic woes of a twelve-year-old girl.

Except Cosimo knows that no twelve-year-old girl worth her salt would have endured the things that he endured and not feel the need to complain. There’s a voice in the back of his head telling him to get the **** up and do something about it, but he doesn’t want to. There’s no fire in his gut. There’s no… up and go. In fact, he looks quite ill, in the grand scheme of things. He should have gone to the hospital to get himself checked for infections, but they’d want his ID, right? They’d want… health insurance details, social security. Do they do social security in Canada, or is that just America? They’ll want his passport. He doesn’t have one. Not really. He’s kind of an illegal immigrant. It took him all of about five seconds to know for certain that the hospital was entirely out of the question.

A disgraced doctor in some back alley of Chinatown would do. Was it even Chinatown? Does Harper Rock have a Chinatown? He wouldn’t be able to find his way back to that place to save his own life. Which might need saving, at some point or other, if there is an infection.

But he doesn’t want to think about it. He’s not even going to write it down, the things he’s endured. He’s too ashamed. He’ll only write about the shame because… oh **** it. Is this writing thing really even getting him anywhere? The notebook slams shut and he shoves it into the tote bag where he keeps his worldly possessions. His worldly possessions consist of a notebook and pen, an empty wallet (okay, it has a few photos inside of people he’ll miss and maybe one day make his way back to), a beanie (which he now pulls out and shoves over his head because **** it, it’s getting cold), a day old sandwich, and an extra pair of shoes.

This is ******* ridiculous.

More clothes. He needs that heavy jacket. He needs, at least, a pair of socks that does not have holes in it. A blanket. Maybe even a pillow. He can be stealthy, right? Stealth… at this time of night they’ll all be out and about and he can at least get in to retrieve his stuff, right? Surely…

Yes. Yes, I can do this. One step at a time.

Cosimo winces as he stands, using the wall for support. He pushes himself away from it and rolls his shoulders. It hurts to walk, but he is made of stronger stuff than this. So he continues to walk. He’s nearly healed by now, he thinks. He can at least walk better than he could two weeks ago. The entrance to the sewers is a few blocks away, past the warehouses.

Only to round the next corner to find some slender blond crouched down at a lock, causing Cosimo to falter rather abruptly in his steps, the soles of his shoes scuffing the pavement. A vehement clatter of the rough Italian ”Merda cazzo!” falling inadvertently from his lips, not at all muffled by the hand that lifts to stop them. He blinks, and continues to walk as if he hasn’t seen anything at all.

Posted: **28 May 2015, 16:41**

The petite woman is almost done with working on the lock, the sound of a light clunk heard, which lets her know she is on the right path and the door should swing open once she turns the knob on the door. However, as she works, someone comes up behind her. She hadn't been paying attention to her surroundings, Elizabeth lost in the moment of getting the lock open so she could get in sooner than later. So the possibility of someone seeing her at some point is rather large. Still, she takes her chances anyways when she does her rounds throughout the city.

He doesn't pause in his steps. He does say something unidentifiable and so, as usual Elizabeth lets her mind wander to the internet where she searches for a translator and then types in what she thinks she heard. She blinks and then stands up straight and follows after the male.

"Excuse me." Elizabeth asks, confused by the man's presence completely. Perhaps, she should leave well enough alone. He didn't care what she was doing. He hadn't tried to stop her from doing what she was doing and he didn't seem to be appearing to call the police. Still, was he swearing at her? He had eyes! It was pretty much his fault for almost tripping over her, in Elizabeth's mind. "Were you swearing at me?" She asked, hot on the heels of the mail, who seems to not be walking normally. "Do you not think that to be rude?" Elizabeth doesn't care why he is walking the way he is for now. No, there was obviously a bigger issue at hand in her mind. For some stranger to swear at her for really no reason, meant something to her.

"You had but to only open your eyes to avoid the entire mishap that just transpired. Besides, you could have done far more damage to me, than I you." She continued on, putting her tools away as she kept on after him, her pace faster than his. Yes, there was something wrong with the man. Perhaps the man was insane? The thought came too late, but as soon as it did come, Elizabeth stopped in her tracks and simply stared at the back of the man.

Posted: **30 May 2015, 10:25**

No sooner had he turned his back, Cosimo realised that he was not going to be allowed to just walk away. Which surprised him, honestly. One would think a thief would be happy to be left alone; one would think they wouldn’t do anything further to give away their identity. But this woman obviously didn’t care. Maybe she wasn’t a very good thief. Maybe she was doing something completely different and Cosimo hadn’t got his facts straight. Whatever the case, he cringed when he could hear her following him.

He didn’t answer straight away. Hands shoved into the pockets of his pants, he pretended like she wasn’t there. He pretended that he hadn’t heard. Maybe he could pretend that he was deaf. Deaf people could talk, so it wasn’t a bad story, right?

Except, Cosimo being Cosimo, he couldn’t not respond. The accusations were ludicrous. One—she assumed he’d sworn at her. Two, she seemed to get all up in arms about something that never actually happened, which was… what was it? What did he feel about this woman, then and there? Ah, there it was. Cosimo believed this not-so-good thief to have a stick lodged quite thoroughly up her backside. A golden stick, with an ego attached. Did she think the entire world revolved around her?

Cosimo turned on his heal to face the woman. In another life he might have thought she was attractive—sweetly so—but here and now she was just a woman. Another living body. A living body he’d have preferred to avoid. One with a very loud mouth. There was still a partial cringe upon his features as he answered, words lilting in a thick Italian accent, but his English was good. Good enough. It was quite obvious that Cosimo regretted continuing this initiated conversation.

”Number one: I was not swearing at you. I was swearing because I was startled—at the situation. Number two: we live in the twenty-first century and swearing it is… it is not so insulting anymore, si? Number three: I did not trip over you. So there is no point complaining about something that did not come to pass,” he said. He gave a slight bow, as if that should be the end of the conversation. He turned around, and continued to walk on his way.

Posted: **04 Jun 2015, 20:09**

A bemused look crossed the woman's features as the gruff male started to explain his rationale for having to swear. Or defend, rather. Her right brow rose high when he claimed that being sworn at was not insulting anymore. She most certainly did not believe that for a second.

She smiled, simply amused when he decided to tell her to stop complaining over something that did not transpire, but was it not he, who had complained first? Elizabeth certainly believed so. Why else was there the need to swear at the situation he had found himself within?

He bowed and moved to leave and the woman just stood there. Dumbstruck. Well, if he thought swearing could not be insulting, he was most certainly going to find out. Elizabeth was not one to swear. In fact, in her three years back from the realms, there were perhaps at most, five instances in which she could recall using any form of vulgar language. Mostly, when referring to the women that flocked around her husband; usually calling them whores. She may have referred to someone as a '*****' at one point in time, the memory of her uttering such a word causing her to smile when she remembered the look upon her husband's face.

She let him get a few steps away before the woman followed after him, shouting out a few words. "Hey, asshole!" The way in which the woman said it lacked the emphasis to deliver the point home, still, it was said regardless. And when she said it, the woman stopped in her tracks and just stood at the male, as if in disbelief that she actually had said it. "How is that for being free from insult?" She lifted her chin high, confidence once again finding its way into her bones as she stood there, her hands on her hips.

Posted: **06 Jun 2015, 10:36**

Cosimo stopped. His head dropped back. Breath fogged the air as he stared up at the sky; slim pickings, really. He couldn’t see any stars. Couldn’t see the moon. Couldn’t even really see the clouds. Just a bit of black. No, there they were – skuds of clouds, slipping across the slim black sky, vaguely lit up by the city below. Why this woman wouldn’t let him just walk away was beyond him. Just a few small words. Words that she must have understood. A sudden occurrence that had Cosimo turning around again. Just standing there with his toes turned toward each other, his hands shoved into his pockets, and his head cocked to the side. He wore a jumper filled with holes. That beanie over his messy hair and the facial hair that is need of some attention. Maybe he could be a striking guy if he wanted to be but it was the last thing on his mind.

”That does not really work. We are talking about swearing and insults so you swear at me to try to prove it as an insult, but I know that you are doing it just to get a rise. So it does not work,” he said. It hadn’t insulted him, obviously. Cosimo was tired. The conversation felt like something that wasn’t really happening to him, but to some other person. It was a strange conversation to be having with a stranger. He backed up a step or two.

There it was again. A wave of dread. Such a failure. He sighed and straightened up. He reached a hand up to scratch an itch at the back of his head, dislodging the beanie which he had to readjust again. Did he have fleas? No. What do they call them? Lice. Lice. He thought he might have lice. Which wasn’t completely unreasonable. It was getting warmer, wasn’t it? Maybe they were breeding.

”Parli italiano?” he asked. He didn’t really care about the swearing. He’d already moved on to other things. If he wasn’t going to be able to walk away from this woman he preferred to know whether he could talk to her in his native tongue.

Posted: **07 Jun 2015, 17:48**

The male does not rise to the occasion and even says as much. Blue eyes watch him as he starts scratching away and Elizabeth begins to feel empathy for the male that crossed her path. Perhaps, he is bitter because his fortunes have not been favourable. His appearance seems to indicate that he could have once been an attractive and well groomed male, but now?

"I do not speak it, no. But I understand it well enough." The blonde telepath admits with a casual roll of her shoulders. "Here." Elizabeth then proceeds to dig in her purse and hand him a small set of bills totaling in thirty seven dollars. "It is not much, but perhaps it can be of better use to you, than I." Elizabeth has decided that the male needs a helping hand, given his grumpy disposition and the way he itches his head. She can't help but wonder if he has bugs in them. Bed bugs perhaps? Lice? Maybe fleas? Can human get fleas? Her cats had them once and hadn't that been ever annoying? The continual bombing of the penthouse, the baths and the washing of everything, just because one of them had managed to get out of the family complex.

"Anyways, I do hope your evening turns around. Caio." She has things to do, and quite honestly, if he has anything in his hair, she certainly doesn't want them in her own golden locks. She of course does not say such a thing, for it would be rude, but her mind still thinks these things. She remembers when she was a young girl how horrible it was to have lice. Her entire family had them and her mother had not been kind in her methods to get rid of them. She shudders at the recollection of the memory before she turns around to leave.

"Oh." The woman pauses in thought. "There is a place, if you are interested. A cheap motel on the outskirts of town. My...friend owns it. If you are looking for a place to stay for a while." Elizabeth retrieves the business cards she was given by Lisa, to give to those who were ready to branch out on their own once they were no longer Fledglings, but might not be able to purchase their own home yet. Tiny, delicate fingers pass it in his direction. If he wants it, he can take it. If not, she would take the card back and think nothing of it.

Posted: **10 Jun 2015, 12:57**

The response made no sense to Cosimo. Who could understand a language and not speak it? But he had cursed, he supposed, and what was the first thing anyone tried to learn in another language? How to swear. What did that say about the human race? It amused him, really. He stood by what he had said earlier. Swear words were not insults anymore. Not really. At least not to him. They were instead something to be laughed at; something to be used in amusement. Or, as it was, slipping from one’s lips due to surprise.

The woman then proceeded to give him money. Give him something, when she had seemed so insulted that he had sworn in her vicinity. Women were confusing, generally, and maybe this one wasn’t all there. But, she did seem sane enough, in the end. Cosimo was just standing there holding the money in his hand loosely. He wanted to shove it back at her and tell her he didn’t need it. Ask her whether he looked like he needed it, like he might once have done. But he wasn’t wearing his expensive suits anymore, no. They were a thing of the past. He wasn’t even wearing that leather jacket he’d tried for a while. Where had that thing gone? Truth was, he needed the money. All thirty-seven dollars of it. And he wouldn’t be using it to rent some room at a cheap motel, either—he’d be using it to eat. Even as he took the card, too, his stomach rumbled audibly. Growled, like a pack of baby wolves chasing a rabbit.

”A place to stay permanently would be preferable,” he says, that Italian accent lilting each syllable. ”Until then I think it would be better to eat, no?” he said. Although his words were uttered with a laughing tone, he was quite serious. He did need to get a job, somewhere. Probably. But he had no proper identity and no credentials. He needed to do some research, somehow. Get to know some of the thugs in the city. Maybe do some grunt work.

His skin still itched beneath his meagre clothing where the tattoos had been seared into his skin. Not as many as some of the other initiates, but he had only been new. And then he had fucked up royally. And he had those tattoos that would be there until the day he died. He vowed to always keep them covered up.

”But I thank you,” he said with a slight bow.

Posted: **12 Jun 2015, 01:31**

Elizabeth listened and watched. Food. Yes, it was a necessity for humans, wasn't it? Elizabeth could go nights without feeding before she felt the absolute need to feed. She had found this out recently as a matter of fact. It seemed strange that he would prefer to have food over shelter, but then again it was summer. Outside of raid, there was no need to worry about any other elements. Still, most motels had refrigerators and even coffee pots. He could also order take away.

"I suppose that depends." Elizabeth countered, but did not elaborate on her private thoughts. "Use it for whatever you would like. If you wish to use it for food, then do so. If you do, when you get to the motel, tell the owner, my friend, Lisa that Elizabeth sent you. I am certain she would let you have a place for a longer duration for an exchange of services. Have you any skills?" Elizabeth looked around the two of them, as if looking for something, or someone. Was he really alone?

"There is a cheap place that sells breakfast food twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week not far from here." A hand pointed to the general direction. "I know not the quality, but as I said, it is cheap." Elizabeth frowned, wondering how that sounded. As if she sounded 'stuck-up,' as others pegged her to be on the occasion. Well, there was nothing she could do about that now.

Blue saucers returned to the male as Elizabeth studied him. How long has he been within the city? Did no one care to find him? If he had been here for a while and no one bothered to care that he was living in these conditions, Elizabeth couldn't help but feel both bad and sorry for him. Wouldn't it be so easy to make him into a vampire and rectify his entire situation? "Remember, Elizabeth." The woman blinked as she regained her focus on the task at hand and not on some flight of fancy. How on earth could she mentor and teach someone the way of this life, when she could barely take care of herself?

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