Path of the Vampire forum

Crimson and white made a mess of each other. Two cold, pale fingers pushed through the opening in his flesh, digging deep into muscle like he was searching for gold. Well, lead, as it happened. There was a hole in his leg. A damn hole the size of golf ball hiding a bullet fragment the size of a pea. Myk had been shot once again because he spent too much time in the sewers hunting those obnoxious Hunters. Ordinarily Myk would be stealthy enough to perform a sneak-attack, catch them off their guards and disable them before they had the chance to react. Only now and again did Myk fail, however, and they shot at him on sight. Most would miss of course, but it only took those that didn’t to cause an injury… obviously. Whether it was a bullet to the shoulder, to the gut, or to the leg, those injuries hampered progress and put the usually boisterous and happy clown into a sour, sombre mood. The insult to the injury, as far as Myk was concerned, was the impact on his trousers. As well as tearing a hole through his leg, that bullet had blasted through his leather pants. Ripped and holey skin-tight leather was not an attractive look; he would have no choice but to go home and change, well, after a little bit of sulking at any rate.

“…I’m no battle babe…”

Those words, spoken before by a girl named Skylar, echoed faintly into his mind as Myk sat quietly on a bench just outside the sewers.

“Me either,” he muttered back.

Pewter eyes were dazed by pain, yet still marvelled at the colours as he twirled his fingers. Every revolution, every pressured jab deeper into the calf muscle pushed blood out of the wound, caused the pain the blossom with electricity and fire. Blood as hot as lava pulsed down his leg, spilling onto the Earth, and Myk half expected to see smoke and char marks in its wake. He shouldn’t have been so sensitive really; he was no virgin to pain and injury. For all his quirks and eccentricities, his enthusiasm for learning, for honing and hoarding skills, Myk was far from being a warrior. His dexterousness offered him many opportunities to avoid injury and cause them in others, but his luck and indeed his clumsiness often hampered any positives in the young Telepath. In his subterranean travels, Myk had alerted a rat who had, in turn, alerted the Hunter to his presence. Before Myk could cry or bark or make up some random confusing story – nary even managed to open his pretty little mouth as a matter of fact – that Hunter had took aim and fired. The Hunter’s damn aim was true too, resulting in that hole in his leg. That damn hole with the damn bullet still embedded inside.

Blood was not a new phenomenon to anyone and least of all to a Vampire. Quantities and qualities would make the difference in tolerance to anyone and anything, however. A room painted crimson was not a common occurrence for your average Human, not unless they were some form of sociopath, but this kind of thing could have been considered all a part of the sport for a being like him. A small stream of blood running down your leg, then, was no big deal. Besides, red was one of Myk’s favourite colours as it happened; white being another. Once, in a fit of some intense yet forgotten emotion, Myk had taken to painting his room in that glorious pigment. Everything had been coated in the purest white; the ceiling, the floor, the walls, including the furniture. But Myk had not disposed of or painted his belongings. No. They were secreted away in further items of furniture; a chest of drawers, a wardrobe, some hidden compartments in the walls and floors and even under the bed.

Myk was looking forward to returning to his apartment at the Ivory Tower; the one he left open for anyone to visit as they pleased. Myk was looking forward to stripping out of black, to washing out of red, and returning to white. He would tome home once he could walk, as soon as he’d removed that bullet. Through all his digging, it wasn’t long until Myk found the troublesome slug in his leg. Holding it firmly between the sides of his fingers, he delicately, quickly and expertly began to draw it out of the tight wound. It came out with a slurp – a sickening wet, smacking sound as fingers withdrew. Myk raised his blood-soaked hand to his face then, his eyes sparkling-dull, admiring and analysing this shape of metal that had caused so much pain and blood loss. A hitched breath released from the Telepath and he sat back on the bench, his hand falling to his side and letting the bullet succumb to gravity. Exhaustion, but satisfaction broke over him like a wave and he cared not for how the small piece of metal slipped through the panels of the bench and disappeared into the grass beneath – out of sight and out of mind.

Being able to walk again was more important than keeping a souvenir. Myk was standing and moving, albeit with a limp, into an alleyway in no time at all. Once concealed by darkness, certain as to avoid suspicion, Myk activated his tome and teleported to the roof of the Ivory Tower. He was not going to stop and chat, which was just as well because there was no one to chat to. Myk took the elevator to the ground floor then hobbled toward his apartment. He thought nothing of waltzing inside and removing his black vest shirt right away because he wasn’t used to visitors – despite his open-door policy. Hair the colour of bleached bones came tumbling down to his elbows again as he pulled his head clear of the shirt and pewter eyes found out quickly that he was not alone. Startled, Myk drew his hands to his chest – his vest top still in his clutches – and gawked at the man in his apartment who was apparently only half-dressed himself.

“Uh… hi?”

When the ‘intruder’ turned around, Myk analysed him quickly. Pewter eyes made their way down from the man’s face, across collar bones and broad shoulders, falling over a muscular torso to the blades of his hips, faltering momentarily on the space between his legs and then moving straight down to his toes. In a blink, Myk’s eyes returned and settled on the man’s facial features yet again, honing in on blue eyes that seemed familiar and equally mysterious. This analysis was partly to remind Myk who he was looking at and partly to get a good look at what was on offer. As it happened, Myk’s memory was often full of holes, so it helped to remind himself who was whom from time to time. Besides, it wasn’t like this man was unattractive and Myk had wondered – vaguely, as he did with many men – what might have been beneath those clothes. There was still yet more flesh hidden from view, but alas, Myk was satisfied by what he could see.

Ashen skin littered with scars had made a sculptured brow rise in the Telepath though, drawing wondrous imaginings about this one’s life – now and before the turn. Myk wasn’t aware of any faltering in the healing process, though he had learned that one could increase their rate of regeneration with practice and knowledge. All Myk could assume then was that this man must have had an interesting life before he met Elizabeth. One could pretend that it was merely Myk’s curiosity that made him think this way, but that wouldn’t be wholly true. He was also paranoid.

Incidentally, Myk hadn’t been so observant as to notice the goings on in his private space. Then again, nothing was particularly private when Vampires were involved. There were powers that allowed you to break into homes, powers that allowed you break into minds and even break into emotions; nothing was sacred anymore and nothing was secure. Had Myk had been paying attention to Cosimo’s actions, he still wouldn’t have minded the ‘intrusion’. There was nothing here that Myk couldn’t afford to lose, nothing here that incriminated him in any wrong doing. The only thing he had to worry about was that recorder of his where he spoke his thoughts on various subjects, but still, those recordings wouldn’t have made any sense to a stranger like Cosimo – or anyone else in DC for that matter.

Myk shrugged his shoulders at the man’s comments, then tossed his vest onto the whiter-than-milk couch that was in the corner. Myk was in no way shy – he was French after all – and he didn’t mind the fact that he wasn’t as muscular and strapping as the other man either. Myk had a slender build, a light and agile frame that combined adequate strength with the flexibility of change. Myk’s body was a range of angles and curves, suiting his aesthetic lifestyle and enabling that gender-bending transmutation that he desired. Although he often leant toward femininity and androgyny, it wasn’t all that Myk was capable of.

“You’re not intruding,” Myk said dully, though kept his eyes fixed like a hawk on the man. “The door is open as a means to be inviting. I have nothing to hide… though… there’s plenty to find.”

A grin pulled at Myk’s lips then; something wily and indicatively sultry, though that was possibly on account of the cherry-red lipstick he was wearing. Myk moved a step to his left, leaving space for Cosimo to slip past if he was so eager to make a break for it, but not too much space. Myk was injured and moving much at all was difficult after all. The Telepath’s intentions had been to shower as quickly as possible and change into attire that was not soiled and torn, but now that he had someone to play with, those thoughts of cleaning himself up were miles away from his plans. Although he never, or rarely, got the sense that people enjoyed his presence and liked to play with him, that didn’t always deter him from forcing himself upon them. As a matter of fact, it often became more amusing to annoy these people than devastating that they didn’t like him. So, whether Cosimo liked it or not, he had found his way into a spider’s web tonight and that spider really, really wanted to play…

The fact that Cosimo hadn’t made a run for it made the spider very happy and in the very least, intrigued. The Italian confessed that he had been looking for paper and pewter eyes moved to the chest of drawers behind him. There was no paper in there. In fact, there was probably no paper in this apartment at all. He kept all of his creative equipment – balloons, glitter, origami folding paper, felt pens, crayons, paint, scissors, glue, sequins, feathers, and various other shiny, colourful things – on his boat. Myk might have confessed such a thing in return to Cosimo, but it didn’t seem to matter in happenstance. Now that Myk was here, the man could direct his message straight to the ‘owner’. Still, Cosimo never really stated just what the content of that note would be before he changed the subject. Was it as simple as merely letting Myk know that he’d had a visitor, or could it be that Cosimo had a specific message to share with the Vampire? Myk might never have known and never remembered to have asked as his mind got to work on explaining why everything had been painted white in this cramped space.

Honesty was not something Myk often dabbled in because being blatantly honest about your feelings – and actions – can often get you into trouble. People misunderstand, Myk misunderstands, and it all leads to confusion, raised voices and pain. So when Cosimo had asked about the room and why it was so very, very white, Myk had initially shrugged a shoulder. He turned his back against the wall nearest the door, falling slightly against it and lifting that one aching leg a touch off the ground. The wound was not bleeding anymore; or at least it didn’t feel that way. The waterproof-quality of his leather trousers had forced the blood to seep into the layer over Myk’s flesh and now that it was drying, cooling, it felt like thick glue was sandwiched in there. Myk grimaced slightly at the thought and sensation; he folded his arms across his shoulders and then made a generous evaluation of his own personal space. He didn’t want to dismiss the question entirely – that seemed rude – but neither could he reveal the truth of the matter. In considering it, in looking at those blue eyes and ashen skin pulled taut over refined muscles, Myk had started to remember why exactly he had painted the room. A small twinge entered the Telepath’s heart – the impression of which showed only momentarily in his features.

“I like white,” he murmured as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Mi piace… bianco? No?”

Myk wasn’t sure why, but it seemed appropriate to test his Italian at that point, albeit in an ambiguous French-British-Italian accent. The white-haired man needed the distraction, even if he couldn’t speak too much of his Mother’s tongue. It just wouldn’t do to lament over the past and Myk certainly did not need any negative feelings to permeate his unstable mood, recklessly tipping the balance toward depression yet again. It had taken too much focus and effort to drag himself out of that dark place and now that he was feeling better, Myk couldn’t risk tripping and falling back into that pit. It was always too easy to give up, to blame yourself, take the world’s problems as your own and be crushed under the weight of it. Myk hated how susceptible he was to such thoughts as well because it wasn’t rational, and he knew better than that. Myk’s father, a psychologist of all things, had always encouraged Myk to take command of his life, his feelings, his behaviour and Myk should have felt empowered by this notion at every obstacle, not exhausted and angry and defeated. Losing Vasik so ambiguously had caused the Telepath to break from rationality though, and sink into a world of inky feelings. In the effort to escape all that black, Myk had taken a paint brush to his surroundings…

“I haven’t seen the sun or the big blue sky in four years,” Myk explained dreamily. “I think all this white makes the place a bit brighter and fresher. Like, we could almost pretend that it’s daylight out there instead of perpetual night.”

Pewter eyes had stared off into space momentarily, that kind smile of his fading, but Myk quickly pulled himself together. It was so easy to smile even when he didn’t mean it. What was harder, ironically, was trying not to smile when something was particularly amusing or delightful. This was true usually as a result of the occasion. For instance, when an awkward situation for others was sheer hilarity for Myk. It was really difficult not to laugh at the misfortune of others sometimes – sometimes those people deserved it. Basic common courtesy condemned such a thing though – regardless of any justice – and despite Myk’s many travels and his advanced culturing, the Telepath occasionally forgot his manners.

Myk nodded in appreciation when the Italian words unfurled from Cosimo; this rich, caramel sound that had a succinct, anise bite to it. The Telepath very easily might have imagined the bitterness in the tone, since his mind had drifted off into the realms of his past. Myk remembered his mother, and very briefly, his Nonna for she had passed when he was still a small boy. A line of strong Italian women coursed in Myk’s bloodline, and they gathered together each Capodanno – the first day of the New Year – to celebrate and commemorate life. The women had rarely spoken any English when they were together, all but shunning the child and his father. Myk never did remember, or manage to translate, what the women had spoken of, but he remembered the haste with which they’d spoken, the passion and heat that charged on his ears like a harrase of wild horses. Pewter eyes glazed slightly in the coming silence, rousing only when the voice sounded again, this time asking him a question that made him scoff quietly.

“The change is different for everyone,” Myk said frankly, somewhat offhandedly.

He shifted on the spot, trying his weight on the wounded leg before quickly revoking it.

“You’ll disagree with me… probably… but, we are still Human… at the heart of it.”

The first word came with a little gasp, a kind of hiccup sound when the shock of the pain rose out of his vocal chords unexpectedly.

“You’ll miss what you can no longer have,” he spoke again, this time sounding like he was grinding his teeth together. “Regardless of whether it’s the sun’s warm rays melting on your skin or the ever-shifting blues of the sky above. You’ll miss what you can’t have or you’ll learn to live without it… You know, whichever coping strategy works best for you.”

It could be said that Myk sounded quite cynical in those moments and it wouldn’t be wrong to assume such either. The fact of the matter was that Myk felt exasperated with this conversation, or rather, this particular subject. The great comparison of Vampires and Humans was a debate he had been engaging in for four years. In that time, Myk had yet to find anyone to agree with him that Vampires weren’t as evolved as they believed themselves to be. Myk was keen to point it out to them that the degrees of separation were significantly slight, but no one would have it. Most of these superpowers that a Vampire possessed, or could possess, were easily be emulated. Feats of strength, such as lifting a car into the air like a matchstick, was already a possibility due to machinery created at the hand of man. A feat of great speed, such as moving at/near the speed of light, was again already possible. Hypnotism was already a given, as was supreme intelligence, enhance reflexes and super senses. Just because it wasn’t an ability which was readily available to the general public did not make the accomplishments of man pale.

Still, the Telepath could understand their vehemence to an extent. It was likely the same emotion that roused when Humans and Apes were compared – something illogical, arrogant and undeniably Human. Humans are such fragile creatures, and they live for such an incredibly short time. They are weak and simple, with their shallow desires and petty grievances. They are so greedy and self-centred that many of them choose to murder the helpless rather than give up the tiniest scrap of their own luxury. Vampires believe they ought to see them all as mere cattle, savoury meals on walking platters as it were. The irony of it all makes Myk laugh, and laugh even outside of his own head so that it appears he is smirking at nothing at all.

“Sorry…” he said, choking back the sneer. “I don’t half get carried away…”

Since Cosimo made no comment other than to reassure Myk that an apology was not needed, the Telepath had to assume that the man either had no opinion – he was young after all – or that Cosimo was too polite to voice the opinion that he did have. This was fair in either case and they didn’t need to spend their whole night debating at any rate. Myk shrugged one bare slender shoulder and left it at that. And at the mention of his injury, Myk retained his indifference only because he didn’t want to make a fuss. The ache running up from his calf, shooting across his thigh and to his brain was like a lightning bolt. The Telepath wasn’t bleeding anymore – the surface of the wound was actually starting to scab over – but as the tear was healing, new tissues were knitting themselves together and firing off fresh, sparkling signals in raw nerves. Myk could feel the new cells exploding to life like little seeds, deciding to become muscle tissue and fibres and skin and sprouting in the soil of his body. He felt itchy, pained and irritable, and while it might have been wise to let this poor man leave, Myk couldn’t help but feel a tad lonely too.

“I’m… fine…” the Telepath croaked, not sounding particularly convincing. “I dug the bullet out and it’s healing. It’s just… sore. Oh!” Myk chirped, suddenly finding some brightness behind his eyes. “Some advice from me to you… If you find yourself in the unfortunate position of being shot at… Dodge. And if you can’t dodge, and are thus injured, make sure you dig the bullets out before the wound heals. I left one once… it made me feel very sick. I suppose it was heavy metal poisoning...”

It was all too easy for the white-haired man to become side-tracked, which was either the result or cause of his temperamental mood swings. Now that he was on the subject of bullet wounds, Myk had forgotten to focus on his rather sullen outlook on his kin. Curiosity quickly got the better of the Telepath and he was looking over Cosimo’s exterior rather like it was some new art exhibit. Myk wasn’t much of an art critic – though he did an eye for aesthetics – and it was always the meaning Myk was searching for, the underlying cogs and wheels that made one tick. He’d already taken the liberty of Appraising this one and studying what he could, but there was a lot to be said for simply asking questions rather than just assuming.

“How much do you know about… our kind, Cosimo?” Myk asked, his tone reflecting the keen glimmer in his pewter eyes. “Do you know what path you walk? Do you know the others? I wonder how much you have learned in your very short time…”