Path of the Vampire forum

This thread is back-dated to Monday 20th July 2015.

There were 102 days left until Halloween; that one time of the year where it is socially acceptable to play dress-up – even as an adult. That small fact did not deter the Telepath, however. To Myk, the thought of dressing up in a fanciful – or horrific – costume was exciting no matter what day it was. Besides, inciting public reaction – no matter how critical or negative – was always a significant part of the fun.

Myk had been inspired recently by his usual trawling of the internet, resulting in a shopping spree. The man’s wardrobe was fairly tired and wishy-washy – shades of red and black and white blending like road-kill skunk. He had every intention of injecting some colour into his wardrobe, but as usual, the Telepath was suckered in by is favourite colours, particularly in black lace, red roses and white gems. Silver, brass, copper and gold featured sparingly too, adding a touch of simple elegance to his shopping basket. Of course, Myk wasn’t about to wear this haul of delights all at once. He had his eyes on the little black dress, and in fact, the minute the package had arrived, the Telepath wasted no time in trying on the Alexander McQueen design. Once fitted, tucked, synched and taped in place, Myk addressed his appearance on the screen of his laptop.

Mirrors wouldn’t show his reflection anymore, but the man was nothing if not resourceful when it came to problem solving. Cameras, as it were, still worked in the same way they had done when he was mortal, so he took full advantage of the front-facing camera on his laptop when it came to scrutinising his appearance.

Was the dress, the look, a tad plain? Perhaps for him, but as everyone knows, it is the accessories and the girl that make the outfit. Myk tried on a lace choker, matched with a bracelet on his left hand, before complimenting the whole ensemble with killer heels that were bound to make many a woman flush green with envy. As a matter of fact, the Telepath couldn’t pretend that wasn’t half of the appeal when it came to dressing himself up as a female; making women jealous. He got a lot of pleasure out of those catty competitions, particularly so when it was revealed to them that there was a man under those fluttering eyelashes and whimsical outfits. Myk had a slender build, a light and agile frame that could easily be mistaken for a toned female given the right concealments. Myk’s body was a compilation of attractive angles and curves, he wasn’t too tall, his skin was the colour of perfect ivory, and he had incredible skills with a make-up brush, let alone a hair brush. Impersonating a female was, frankly, effortless for the male.

For once, Myk kept the make-up subtle and flattering. Crimson and charcoal shades framed his pewter eyes and a similar shade of red stained his lips. His bone-white hair was kept long and straight, pouring down his shoulders in tapered tresses. A single line of silver was drawn into his hair on the right side, just behind the ear; a little bit of drama in so much consistency. Myk did his best to sweep the lengths of his hair back behind his shoulders, but the slightest breeze or movement would have the tresses disobey. In the end, Myk would give up brushing back the shorter lengths that tickled his collar bones, having much more pressing matters to pay attention to. The Telepath was pleased with his overall look, but an ache of sadness flushed in his heart: being all dressed up with no place to go was a despairing reality. Yet, fortunately, it was a fleeting one. Myk brightened with the thought of leaving the Ivory Tower and escaping to one of the many clubs that peppered the streets of Harper Rock. This dress, this look, it required an audience and he couldn’t wait to see their reactions…

A little thrill ran through Myk once he reached the doors of one such club; an anxious thought reflecting on the possibility that something dangerous just might be on the menu tonight. After a quick shrug, Myk pushed the door with unintentional force, sending it swinging back into the darkness. He peered in, his body drawn taut with expectation. Pushing his head through the door 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. Once he'd discovered that no one had been assaulted by the door, by him, Myk rolled his shoulders, sagging slightly, and then told his feet to move. After a little contesting, they did so, bringing him through the dark narrow corridor that reminded him of far too many sex clubs, before he happened upon another set of doors. Here the heat and the noise were far more potent. Myk felt like his cheeks were catching the sun and his whole body vibrated as if invaded by the sound and energy of stroboscopic music. The Telepath took another deep breath, puffing out his already exaggerated chest, steeling himself for his entrance.

As it turned out, Myk had chosen his venue well tonight. The club was crowded with people, people who appeared to be not incompletely like the Telepath in so many ways. It was almost difficult to tell when these individuals dressed to be so anarchistic, which was Vampire and which was not. The fact of the matter was, though, that it was almost difficult. The Telepath heard and saw and thought too much; too many voices were in his head that were not his own and he learned too much from a simple glance. Feeling overwhelmed, Myk slipped between the energised people, their bodies hot and dripping; he was heading toward the bar. He sat himself beside another Vampire, though didn’t regard them too much right away – he was much more concerned with how he felt about his surroundings. Feet pounded the dance floor with a natural, beautiful ferocity while hearts danced in cages of bone. That pressure of so much life and energy made the Telepath feel smothered, but he held himself in check. A little alcohol would have helped dull his sensitivity, but pewter eyes were fixed on the crowd. Myk would have liked to join them, but, his skill set and his mind generally neglected a sense of tempo, pace or rhythm. No. He would make do with watching – his usual pass-time.

It was difficult to distinguish any one particular individual – each person was a segment of a black jelly wall under the flicker of the eye. Still, Myk did find a couple he enjoyed watching for a while and followed them as they courted across the dance floor. She was young; black hair, blue eyes and white skin marked her as the Lolita type and she was far too young for the man she was seducing. Her black crop top said she was confident, her skinny jeans with slashed legs said she was down-to-earth, yet fashionable. She was aware of how she impacted the world by her presence and it was evident in the eyes of her lover how much she impacted his world too. He was enraptured, to put it simply; he watched every part of her sway and wiggle with such fascination and desire as a cat would gaze upon an open box. Myk smiled as the pair finally melted back into the jelly, disappearing from his eyes, but not his thoughts. There, they would live on forever; never getting old, never getting ill, never falling out of love and never dying – truly immortal. Turning back to the bar, the Telepath sighed to himself and finally ordered that drink. The bar tender happily presented to the white-haired lady a Black Widow; a cocktail of Rum, Southern Comfort, Curacao, Soda and lime. Myk smiled in return as the drink was set down, a drink to mark the occasion – even if he wasn’t aware, at this moment in time, just how true that sentiment was.

Nikita had been a bit of a hermit as of late. He had been minding his own business, hanging at the Handle Bar, waking and sleeping at the Handle Bar night after night for months and tonight was the first time he felt like socializing since it all started. He had spent a good while walking the streets before he found himself at the Metronome. He ordered a double vodka for show as he scanned the club looking for a pair of eyes that would meet his. Maybe the person behind those eyes might want to dismiss their wardrobe and be nice in all the ways a Lady can be nice after 10 minutes of small talk.
He wasn't picky. Pretty much anyone with full lips would do just fine, assuming they weren't disease ridden and didn't have a nasal voice. Those with nasal voices never shut up, he knew this.

A 30 something brunette was sipping her martini on the other side of the bar. She was sitting on the bar stool obviously with her legs crossed and she was swaying her foot while smiling at him. Nik saw by the way she was playing with that olive on a toothpick, she was a sure shot. So easy he would be back home by sunrise. He grinned like an idiot at the woman as he saw another vampire sit beside him.

At first he didn't pay much attention, but as he saw a knee in the corner of his eye, he turned his head to take a closer look. His intention had been to just grab his glass and head over to the other side of the bar, instead he froze for a second with his mouth open.
She was stunning!
Nik looked at the brunette, then the one beside him and instead of finishing leaving, he placed his glass back down on the counter and arched his brow in a way he always did while making first contact. His lips formed a cheeky grin as he looked at the creature beside him.

"Do I come here often?" He asked the beauty beside him.

Pewter eyes had sunk into the dark, heavy liquid in front of him. Rather than drink the potent cocktail though, Myk stared and stared and pondered. His left hand held the stem of the martini glass that his drink was served in, his right hand was tucked away in his lap. One knee was crossed over the other, the slide of skin under the netted section of the dress was probably suggestive, though wasn’t intended to be. Myk was barely aware of the outside world at that moment and almost felt like his eyes were closed as he peered into the inescapable blackness of his drink. His vision darkened at the edges too, creating a tunnel of focus on the liquid. No matter the thoughts which invaded him – telling him to move, to shift, to break from the spell he was under – nothing would have the Telepath budge. Nothing, that was, until a voice pierced the haze in his ears. Myk blinked at last, after a long moment of mannequin stillness, and looked across to where he perceived the voice had come from. There, to his right, was the male Vampire he had simply overlooked up until now.

There was a fraction of a second where Myk just gawked at the man, followed briefly by a scanning of his exterior. Pewter eyes made their way down from the man’s handsome face, across collar bones and broad shoulders that were hidden beneath a shirt, cascading over a concealed torso to the man’s lower regions which had disappeared into darkness. There wasn’t much else to see from their positions on the bar stools and so, in a blink, Myk’s eyes returned and settled on the man’s facial features yet again. He honed in on brown eyes that were cryptic and somehow dangerous. Warnings whispered in Myk’s brain about this man’s capabilities, about how easily this Vampire beside him could crush his neck in the palm of his hand, but Myk chose not to listen. Instead, he chose to listen to the words that had been spoken to him.

“Do I come here often?” Myk parroted those words back to himself, inside his own mind; somewhere safe and secure from the Killer in front of him. Myk wasn’t sure if the mistake in the grammar was purposeful or not. That European accent – Eastern, Myk assumed – might suggest a flaw in the grasp of English language on this man’s behalf, but then again, Myk was equally capable of a flaw in his understanding. Myk had travelled so much, learned and absorbed so many different cultures that there was a significant barrier to Myk and the world around him. Myk had swallowed the world’s knowledge and it had blended together, got diluted and mixed up and confused in his own mind. So there was a chance, the Telepath decided, that there was no mistake at all by this man, that the Killer was merely stating a joke.

While logic and paranoia begged him not to question it openly, Myk smiled at the young man. One pale, delicate shoulder lifted and then sagged before pewter eyes tore themselves away from the Vampire in question to look at the rim of his glass. A sprinkling of rock salt lined the edge like diamonds, glittering radiantly in the fragmented light of the club. Myk retained his smile, an amused look that spread so much red across his perfect white skin, like so much blood on a tiled floor.

“I’m not sure if you do come here often,” the Telepath said. The character of Myk’s voice was low, yet ethereal; this dark, seductive sound that a cat may make while it is fondly considering the canary before it. “If you did, though… I would like to think that I would recognise you…”

The Telepath took his first sip of the evening then, relishing the texture of the salt that crackled and popped against his exploring tongue. He longed for the taste of it, that saline rush followed by the bitter-sweet wave of the alcohol that followed, but all Myk could do was savour the feel, the spurt of heat that washed down his throat and extinguished in his stomach. A Telepath could only train their body so much it seemed, how very disappointing.

"Whoah!" Nik thought as his grin faded a little and his eyebrows raised up to reveal a confused look. His eyes wandered a little and he leaned further back to look at the person beside him once more. "Dude.. she's a dude.. or is she?" He paniced a little at the thought of pulling a Bangkok Suprise by accident, and how Victor for instance, would never in a million years shut up about it.

Nik looked at her from head to toe, reluctantly slowing down his eyes on certain regions of her body to reveal at least some kind of hint, but there was no way he would know for sure. He needed to hear her voice again.

"If I told you my name, would you remember it tomorrow?" He asked after double checking if anyone he knew was around. Nik tried really hard to lose the confused look and remain as his usual player-self. He rubbed his scarry knuckles. It it something he does in stressful situations without realizing he's doing it. The reason he always loses in poker.

White hair created a curtain between the two Vampires as Myk’s head bobbed forward to take yet another sip of his drink. He had not glimpsed the confused expression on the other male’s features, but even so, Myk was questioning all the usual little things. He wondered if he was convincing enough, if his performance and appearance were as life-like as he imagined them to be; which was ironic considering he looked like a porcelain doll. With only the laptop’s camera to guide him and with Myk’s easily deluded mind, it was ever the wonder to him what remained between what was real and what he imagined. Of course, there were obvious differences between males and females, but nothing that couldn’t be masked with the right kind of accessory, the right piece of equipment. The heavy, jet lace of the choker tightened around Myk’s throat secreting an Adam’s apple that was – frankly – not all that imposing in the first place. His frame was slight, composed of tight, strong muscles that any female Vampire could be proud of. Myk had even learned how to pad out his male chest to look feminine within in its very own skin. The only red flag, as it were, was that voice of his…

Much like the anomalous, yet chameleon nature of his accent, was Myk’s vocal range. He could very easily reach for and sustain a Contralto voice, which lay somewhere between the E note below middle C (E3) to the second G note above middle C (G5). The Contralto voice, the darker, richer female voice, was very close to the male tenor voice in actual fact, having a similar range in vocals. Likewise, Myk could reach for and sustain the lower tenor range, somewhere around the D or E note above middle C (D4 or E4) and shift into the F sharp or G above middle C (F4 or G4). Nevertheless, Myk’s natural speaking voice was that of a Baritone, with a range between the A flat note, one octave below the middle C (A Flat 2) to the A flat note above the middle C (A Flat 4). Myk spoke in soft, hushed tones with a prevailing underlay of sound, something reminiscent of a cougar’s purr. And as capable as he was at shifting his voice and switching his accent, it was rarely something he controlled.

Myk was considering the subject of his own voice when he heard the man speak at last. Tucking a length of disobedient hair behind his ear, Myk’s head canted to the side to get a better look at him. “This one speaks in riddles and songs,” the Telepath remarked to himself, growing a little tense. He put the martini glass down on the counter in a controlled movement; one twitch of his hand could make that tender stem splinter in an instant. Pewter eyes watched the male clench his fists somewhat – one hand gripping the scarred knuckles on the other as if to wring out some bothersome emotion. Myk momentarily considered the martini glass again, how breaking that stem and driving it into this one’s throat was somehow appealing. He had come unarmed this evening, and as perfectly manicured as his nails were, he doubted they could do much more than scratch. The Telepath must have had two or three dozen debilitating powers at his disposal – some more subtle than others – yet still he considered his surroundings first. If Myk could be criticised for any one thing in particular, it was probably that he was compelled to sell himself short.

“It’s doubtful,” Myk said honestly to the man’s question, his words unfurling in a low, darkly honeyed voice. “There are so many of you about that it all blurs into a single memory. You would have to do something… substantially… spectacular if you want to be remembered…”

There was a challenge in that voice, in those glassy eyes, as the Telepath looked through the brown orbs of the Vampire in front of him. Perhaps he should have felt frightened, or in the least, nervous. A strong, inexplicable sentiment wavered in his breastbone, but it couldn’t be attributed to either of those emotions. It took some time before the Telepath was able to identify the thrumming, caustic feeling in his chest to be excitement. Myk beamed at the Killer then, his pale slender hand settling itself atop the bar counter where long, curved nails tapped idly at the wood. He was waiting, expecting, anticipating… What would this young man do next?

Nik's eyes stared her mouth as she spoke. He was confused beyond his mind. Each second he spent with this female he became more and more insecure. He still couldn't tell by the female's voice, or appearance if she was what she undoubtedly looked like, but the voice was too strange. Nik had spent countless nights in bars all over the continent, and had met some pretty raspy sounding women, but this one here was different. She looked classy, unlike the sluts on the other side of the bar. She was petite, but not sparrow-like. She wasn't tiny, the kind of tiny that you can spin around your member in the heat of the night for sure. She wasn't the kind to break easy.

The way she responded caught him off guard. Usually the ladies giggle and smile and speak in a way that leaves no questions about their intentions, but this one spoke like he was indifferent. Like - god almighty - he had to actually put up some effort if he wanted her to surrender.

"She's a dude... has to be." Nik thought in his mind.

A quick plan was made.

"Well, then..." Nik grinned at her and ran his fingers through his hair. He leaned forward and tilted his head to meet her eyes. He reached his hand towards the person's neck. His intention was to brush his thumb across her choker to make sure there isn't anything manly hidden underneath. She wouldn't hopefully find it too intrusive, if it was followed by a compliment - or that's what he hoped.
"I must become unforgettable, then.." He said and put his plan in action. It was quick, painless, and as his thumb met her Adam's apple he felt an overwhelming urge to grab HIS windpipe and give it a little.. or a bit rougher little squeeze.

"You get some sick.. twisted satisfaction from prancing around in girly clothes?" He grit his teeth at the now obvious man sitting by him.

Nik was all about each living their lives the way they see fit, but from a distance. He wasn't the one to bully, or belittle anyone because of their lifestyle, since he had his own way of life; Straight as an arrow, but criminal - who hasn't paid taxes in a decade, more or less.
He stood up and looked at the person next to him in a way only a pissed off Russian can. Her.. HIS next words would pretty much determine if she.. him.. would have a date with the floor-tiles within the next minute or so.

At first it all seemed so charming. Myk made a tsk sound and shook his head as he would to any male who sat beside him and postured like a peacock, but then things abruptly became tense. Pewter eyes glimmered a warning at the other Vampire; whatever Myk had been expecting from the male before him, the bold reach for his throat was most certainly not one of them. He visibly withdrew from the advancing Killer, glaring at that hand coming closer and closer as if a single touch would spark an inferno and consume him in its blaze. With his own hand on the counter between them, Myk could have easily swatted the invading limb away, but the thing that let him down was that blasted curiosity of his. The Telepath wondered what this Vampire would do if he discovered the truth. Myk wasn’t one to read minds at all, but maybe he had faltered in this instance. He clearly read the intent in those smouldering brown eyes because it seemed that when that devilish hand reached out to touch him, Myk knew those curled fingers were making for the skin beneath the choker, to the small bulge that couldn’t be hidden from touch no matter what he tried. Yet, Myk gritted his teeth and sat very still, obliging this obvious predator to have full access to his throat.

In that instant, Myk was very vulnerable. His head tipped back on its own allowing the male easy entry. He held his breath, his eyes half-lidded. He felt the brush of a finger – as light and as delicate as freshly fallen snow – and then the quick jerk backward. Myk took in a slow breath and on the exhale, straightened his neck. Pewter eyes stared ahead dismissively at the outburst beside him, but that didn’t mean he was oblivious to what was happening. A smirk stroked the Telepath’s lips, starting off as something small and exploding into a Cheshire Cat grin. Red lipstick made those wolfish teeth gleam proudly in his mouth. Myk turned and rose in one movement, appearing much as a phantom from the grave in that long, sweeping black dress. The height difference didn’t frighten him – with the six inch heels that he was wearing, Myk was practically this man’s height. The indignation in the Killer’s voice, the bitter complaint, the disappointment, it didn’t frighten him either. In fact, it was all very amusing to the Telepath. Myk went so far as to chuckle madly to himself; white hair frolicked over white shoulders with each guffaw.

“Oh, don’t be so sensitive,” Myk purred in the dulcet tones of a wanton schoolboy – a schoolboy with a low, rich voice and a strong British accent. “You act as though I’ve stolen your favourite dolly…”

As Myk rolled his eyes on the end of that statement, he very much expected to be punched. Some men were aggressively protective of their egos, their reputations, their very straight – unflappably and unquestionably straight – sexualities. As a matter of fact, the Telepath couldn’t deny that, when it came to dressing himself up as a female, making these proud men fluster was the best part. It didn’t matter to him if they struck out at him, if they tore his hair out by the roots, if they punched him so hard they broke his jaw, if they choked him with such liberal rage that he passed out. They could shoot him, stab him, scorch his flesh, torture him for days and Myk would laugh in their faces, revelling in their frustration. For the fact that he had managed to make them care so rancorously that they lost themselves to the feeling made the Telepath feel so precious and powerful. They indulged him with every callous remark, with every burning insult. No amount of agony would make Myk stop that crazy, howling laughter that made his ribcage stiffen and vibrate in shameless glee.

Since Myk had failed to yet stoke the embers of this Vampire’s rage into a desirable firestorm, it seemed necessary to take more drastic measures. The cattish smile on those ruby lips distilled into something distinctly scarlet. Myk laid one pearly-white hand onto the bar beside him and leant forward, his chin held proudly and provocatively in the sour air between them. The Telepath made himself the perfect target, and with heavy-lidded eyes, he stared deep into those dangerous brown orbs.

“I should have you know…” Myk said with a voice laced with liquorice darkness. “I rather do get some sick… satisfaction from dressing like this and tricking insecure, wretched little boys like you.”