United in Death ( Closed, Family)

[Noemi Michaux]

There were times when silence was a persons best route she thought to herself. Subtle flickers of shadow played against the stone of the wall, the dismal weather forcing a scent of wet rock, cavern like and chilled around the two who were quietly regarding each other. Noemi had been buried in her books, between work and Dauphins push, she felt frayed and a bit restless.

Her sire, the Acheron, her Dauphin had made his way into the room, a cavernous chamber made up of cut stone and mortar, filled with bookshelves and tables. He hadn't said anything to his fledgling, just taking a seat next to a standing candelabra, the fire chiseling his face further, creating a movement in his eyes that she had a hard time not falling into.

Sometimes he terrified her, she who had taken countless lives before ever having been turned, she who had ended her own parents because it meant being able to further her unusual habits.

Noemi had always had an affinity for the dead, a fascination with anatomy that drove her through school and then university, achieving top of her class and entry into any hospital she wanted... becoming a surgeon wasn't the goal... it was the means to a goal.

Noemi wanted to learn how to bring life from death. She always had, since the first caterpillar she had accidently killed to the cadavers reeking of formaldehyde laying open upon slabs, nude and sexless as clumsy fingers molested their very cores. There was a knowledge in her, that kept her so close to the edge of discovery... she forever danced upon the brink of creation... only to fail, tossing her into fits of melancholy and a burning, barely banked rage.

She had learned to push all that down, every emotion, every inch that might give something of herself, inviting people in where they weren't wanted. She needed the dead... those that fraternized with life she had no use for. She wasn't even thought odd for it, she came from a long line of displaced aristocracy, her family having the Duchy in Savoy France, barely escaping during the sordid little revolution, to England, waiting it out... as finances dwindled with living the expected life, bribes to retain their titles... more bribes to keep their lands...

Titled and gauchely upper middle class she had been raised. So of course she was never frowned at for her 'stiff upper lip', she was aristocracy, and that took away any right to feelings.

Now she sat in silence.. her norm if she were honest... but this felt bloated and forced, she knew Dauphin wished something of her, he rarely wasted movements on niceties...

Sounds of other members of her bloodline could be heard in the distance, the weather most likely causing them to feel trapped as she did... but she didn't turn toward it as they passed by, she seemed unable to look away from Ambrose.
She folded her hands upon the table creating a soft rustling sound as her precious tomes were rudely moved, and raised a single brow in question, inviting what ever discussion he wished to have.

Still he did not move... nerve wracking now, he was a damned terror really, not that Noemi didn't love him in her way, he was her conduit to Death and had gifted her with not only keys to her souls dreams, but power as he had embraced her himself, linking her to the first generation of blood.

Ambrose had a way about him, one that was both appalling and appealing... a war going on within himself that no one else could or would ever understand... how does one interpret the mind of someone who has been in this world for centuries? He was monster. But he was also man and she reminded herself of that as she softened her countenance and let him see her fondness for him. A subtle shift of facial muscles and the French woman redefined the game being played out in her library. A dance that women have been performing since men beat their dinner with rocks and sticks.

"Mon Dauphin..." she began, her voice dulcet and sultry, unwittingly for the most part, but the refinement and soft flow of her accent made it what it was. "Please, let me ease whatever it is you are brooding upon..." she meant it, and he knew it. There was nothing, NOTHING that Noemi would not do for him. Even if he terrified her whilst doing it.

Leaving it at that, she didn't clutter the air with words, she simply went back to waiting...

Noemi was a master of that....

The Necromancer had the patience of Death.

[Ambrose Acheron]

Tizoc, rose and made his way to the most familiar of places. Standing over the ritual altar, hands planted at the sides of the stone looked up as Noemi addressed him. He had been lost in his own thoughts and quickly accessed the Google to look up this new word. Brooding.

brood·ing
ˈbro͞odiNG/Submit
adjective
showing deep unhappiness of thought.
"he stared with brooding eyes"
appearing darkly menacing.
"a dark, brooding landscape"

Tizoc frowned at the words that appeared in his minds eye. Is that what he had been doing? He had merely been thinking. True though that his thoughts were dark, permeated with death and loss. So many fallen and this new host of problems which had arisen. He was pleased the Brood had come together in the endeavor to claim the lands in Westwall and Cherrydale, pleased that the Disciples of the Apocalypse, a new Holocaust in the making had been soundly beaten in battle even though they had suffered casualties. Still, the lingering shadows of a past fraught with angst and heartache weighed on the anachronistic monster like a great weight settled squarely on his shoulders.

Eztli had been, for all his faults, a better sire, leader and tactician than Tizoc could hope to be.. Odd since his Path as it was called now was supposed to be the charismatic leaders and yet Tizoc had always felt more at home alone with the gods. Eztli had told him that the Path, "tlatoani, Seductoras, Los Magnificos, would eventually show it's face and he would find himself craving the adoration of the masses.

Eztli had been wrong.

"I begin to doubt. I begin to believe that in this time I have nothing to add. That this world... these people... have changed so much from when I come from that I will not be able to..."

There is a pause as he once more mentally researches the words needed. Translations, synonyms, they flow through his thoughts until he settles on "Be relevant... in this new world."

The old vampire looks down at the blood stained altar before him where blood has been shed, tomes have been written and enchanted, demi-fae brought to heel and he wonders that there is still a place in this world of machines and technology for the roots of a people to matter.

"Much of the past has died and is gone, lost. The world has moved on. What is there for one from those long dead days?"

[Delaney]

"Look at this! Isn't he the cutest?" Delaney held out her mobile phone to Jedediah as she showed him the Alpaca memethat was traveling around on her facebook feed. "Baaaaby." Laney more or less shoved the phone in Jedediah's face to get him to see it. "Do you think we could get one?" Laney smiled as she turned the phone left and right, still wanting Jedediah's attention.

"Baby." Laney moved into his form, both their skin connecting on contact as she circled one of her arms around his neck and sat in his lap. "I really want one. I've been thinking..." Delaney looked up into Jedediah's eyes, longing to lose herself in them. Focus, Focus, FOCUS. Delaney kept reminding herself as she thought about what she was talking about...Alpacas. That was it.

"We should get a farm. I think there are some for sale. Then we could have our alpaca and other things. Maybe some chickens. A Cow? Horses? What do you think?" Delaney presses her buxom body to his and then kisses his jawline. "Maybe we can just start with the alpaca and go from there." Delaney re positioned herself so she was now sitting and facing him, not so her side was pressed against his chest. "Give it some real thought before you say no." The woman pressed a kiss to his lips and then bounced from his lap, stretched out and started walking away. "I'm going to shower. Come conserve some water with me?" This was their routine, every night. "I want to go look at some farms that are for sale." Obviously Delaney had it in her mind that he was buying her a farm, and if he wasn't she was going to buy a farm.

The dark haired woman disappeared into the bathroom, but didn't turn the water on yet. She instead pulled out a towel for the two of them each, placed them next to the sink and waited for Jedediah, internally thinking about what her dream farm would look like and the animals that would occupy it.

[Noemi Michaux]

Silence once again permeated the room of stone. It lingered for several minutes before Noemi purposefully ended it by shifting and steepling her fingers under her chin. Absorbing what her Dauphin had said, it made a kind of sense the reason for his brooding. As she thought more upon it she supposed she too will feel thus if lucky enough to obtain his great age.

Noemi could not even imagine leaving this plane for Death and then being thrust back out upon the drastically changed world. Her sire must have spent much time in a state of shock, disorientation... it was a wonder he was as strong and terrifying as he is after such.

She admired terrifying.

"Mon Dauphin..." she carefully began, choosing her words with much thought, "Relevance is what you desire it to be... you have things you wish to accomplish here, now..." the Doctor paused a moment as he continued looking at her. She wondered what he was seeing when he looked at her, wondered if she would ever be relevant to him...

She was trying. As she had for no one else. Ever.

"Sire, do not let this time, these... creatures... put you to heel. Most are crass shells of what they thought they were when they were human, keeping human desires and weaknesses as if such were of value. I have mulled over all that you show me, the images of others of our kind and if I cared enough I would find it rather tragic."

Noemi stood then, a smooth movement that had an almost spider like quality... as if she were unfolding rather than straightening... her face coming fully into focus as the candle light swept over her freshly fed complexion. As a Necromancer it was even more imperative she feed regularly, though she was rather curious as to what would happen to her appearance if she did not for a time... enough... she brought her musings back to the now so rapidly if you had been in her mind you might not have even caught the off track at all.

Such was the way of a scientist.

"I do not care, and why should I? If they wish to cavort in simplistic fashions and overlook this priceless gift... what is it to such as us? Your relevance is assured as I see it, all that is needed is perhaps a touchstone to this age. But then mon Dauphin, is that not the real reason we Sire? To keep refreshed and abreast of the world and times? In most cases it can not be for companionship, how many who sire would actually sire the same person if had to do over?"

A very gallic shrug of shoulder and pffting of the very idea punctuated her words and she moved around the table toward him. "I have no desire for love. I have no desire to be at another persons beckoning, dance upon romantic strings. Why? I have my Sire, my Blood, and my Work. I am as Death, and you are enough for me." she paused again, her curtain of ebony hair slipped down her shoulder as she stopped before him, her hand gently resting on his forearm "Let me be your lodestone. Let your Blood be your now. We will become you greater."

She smiled then, a subtle curve of ripe lips that held both respect and earnestness. "First, if I may be so bold... I am French, forgive me this bit of pique, we need to readdress your wardrobe choices."

Noemi was nothing if not practical and an able teacher, start Dauphin with something underwhelming as she taught the overwhelming the entire time.

There was much for her to press upon him while addressing his woeful image. Sadly, those of their kind were nothing if not shallow and were impressed not with brilliance and experience, but with couture and genitalia.

She harshly laughed as she said "The vampire world has become French. You chose your childe well Sire."

Noemi turned then and opened her mind so that he could understand the scathing joke as she sent out a short texting to others of her bloodline the SOS of sorts. Death help her in this, how did one go about teaching your teacher?

[Aaron Hunter]

Aaron Hunter raked a masculine hand through his thick, dark hair, causing the end of his shoulder length mane to brush across the collar of his weathered black leather biker jacket as if he were dusting it clean. He didn’t actually ride a motorcycle, but the chubby old woman standing adjacent to him was clearly not an NBA All-Star either, yet she wore her woolly Toronto Raptors hat with pride. Perhaps Aaron should invite her to shoot a few hoops with him once he’d finished browsing the shelves of the bookstore? Delving into the back pocket of his faded jeans, the jobbing photographer withdrew a couple of $20 bills, then spun on his heels and wandered towards the checkout till, a copy of Shot By Kern, by Richard Kern, tucked under his arm. Aaron had a thing for Taschen books; he liked their artistic layout and general feel of their titles. He’d bought a copy of A History of Photography a while back, loving the glossy front cover depicting a bullet piercing an apple. There was something so effortlessly cool about the German publishing company.

As was customary upon visiting the store, Aaron had already sifted through the comic book section, or graphic novels, as he continually told those who mocked his fascination for the colourfully illustrated works of fantasy fiction. Nothing had caught the killer’s eye this time around, but as he approached the bleach-blonde teenager behind the cashier’s desk, Aaron noticed a picture of some kind of pyramid-type structure jumping out at him from a book at the end of a row in the history section. Changing direction like a yacht blown off course in a storm, the intrigued native New Yorker meandered to the unfamiliar area of the independent literary outlet, rolling the $20 notes around his knuckles like drumsticks. He was in uncharted waters; history just wasn’t his thing.

Pyramids were from Egypt, surrounded by golden deserts of endless sands. Aaron had seen The Mummy, and similar movies, he knew the score… or so he had thought. It turns out that America had weird and wonderful temples and tombs of its own, as Aaron was slowly discovering. Since his transformation into a bloodthirsty vampire - a creature of nightmares - and his assimilation into a new family called Acheron, Aaron had made an effort to at least try and learn about his “new” heritage. He was struggling! He hadn’t a clue who was what. He didn’t know his Incas from his Aztecs, and had watched Mel Gibson’s epic film, Apocalypto, in an attempt to get a rough idea of his vampiric ancestry. However, having assumed that he was on the right track, the geography novice later discovered that the Oscar nominated masterpiece was based on the Maya civilization, or was that Mayan? He didn’t even know the difference. It’s all Central America, right? Or were the Inca from South America? **** this ****! Who cares? Why couldn’t the big daddy, Ambrose, have been Japanese instead, some kind of awesome samurai warrior? Slashing around the caverns and sewers with a katana would be amazing! Aaron bunched up his hair, creating a makeshift trendy topknot, like a bastardized chonmage, often seen in chambara style jidaigeki movies. If only he could see his own reflection then the pseudo-samurai could gauge how cool he looked.

Despite feeling an obligation to expand his knowledge, Aaron was still getting used to his metamorphosis into a bloodsucker, and found his priorities in turmoil. He wanted to hang out with his old band-mates, and try to resist the urge to sink his fangs into their juicy necks, or simply chill out in his apartment, listening to some vintage vinyl from the 1970’s. He needed his fix of punk rock as much as he required the rich, scarlet nectar. Aaron’s camera was rapidly gathering dust, and he hadn’t sketched much in weeks. His hobbies were becoming redundant. Were it not for his recently opened drumming school, perhaps even his beloved music would start to suffer? Then there was the rooftop redhead. If he ever had to choose between her and the family, then, well, he didn’t even want to contemplate the ramifications of that particular scenario.

Aaron reached out a hand and grabbed the first two hardbacks from the shelf. One had the drawing of the ancient buildings that had initially attracted his attention like a beaming lighthouse, flashed across its sleeve, while the other had a rather graphic depiction of a human sacrifice gracing its cover. Surely some fun-filled bedtime reading was contained within each volume? There was only one way to find out, buy the damn things.

Steering himself back on course, Aaron anchored his sturdy boots in front of the blonde assistant, cash in hand and ready to pay. The young employee was new, having only started this week. A face adorned with stubble sent a smile in her direction, as Aaron handed over the books to be scanned and bagged. He wasn’t going to bite her, not in her first week; that would be rude and inconsiderate. The previous shop assistant, a woman in her twenties with short cropped spikey hair that was dyed bright crimson, had strangely disappeared last month. The problem with fake redheads is that they never taste quite as luscious as the real thing.

[Kitchi]

Change. It found its way through the cold nights that reoriented him to his current surroundings. Like a lifeline unseen the cold air flowed in through the open window and tugged at his prone bare body until it stirred on the bed beneath it. The stretch of a long was followed by the other digging in at the knee and pushing down. His body lifted up and his weight slid to the edge of the bed. Each hand curled at the edge of the pillow topped mattress that didn't offer up half the comfort that he expected to receive. The throbbing beneath his lips was instant and the distant reminder of dryness at the back of his throat spoke volumes of his appetites. It was rising with him stronger than ever.

The conflict of old and new was a war brewing within and it was digging in to deepen its hold. It likely had always been there but nothing like it was now. He had a few ideas why it was getting stronger. The world around him was changing faster than he found simple to keep up with. He was fighting wars for pieces of land that no one would truly ever own. He had the ancient blood and generations of history in his head that taught him as much. His truths he lived by had not changed but the ways he was left to exist had. He arrived with an abundance of both and the war came with.

Sacrifice. It could be considered vain if it was not for the fact it symbolized so much in his culture. His open hand lifted and pulled over the surface of his neck. The length of black that covered his back had been taken from his head in ritual returned without time for the full recognition of its loss. He watched it return while standing in the shadows of the large open room he currently occupied. What took years to grow was restored in seconds, at least that is what it would seem like if he actually counted them. The silent fluid like shift was quick but not enough to go without notice. The thick strands descended over his shoulders and slithered downward to fall at the length it was before. If this was a curse or some power he was not sure. He wasn’t even sure if he would ask anyone. He reached for the blade on the nightstand and brought it to his open palm. A hiss of flesh parting gave him a sense of promise that the answers could perhaps be found in what began to rise under his constant dark gaze.

Blood. It seeped from the small fissure that had appeared beneath the retreat of the silver blade on the calloused surface of his skin. The perfect crimson bead that formed stayed put while the minor wound beneath eventually faded as each layer of tissue sealed from bottom to top. He was a walking wound not long ago and now it was as if nothing ever happened. Nothing seemed to surprise him anymore.

He set the blade back down and opened the recycled wood drawer to pull out one of the three pairs of jeans he had to his name. A charcoal t-shirt stretched over his head and covered his shoulders finally settling at his waist line. Boots formed around his feet and were tightened up at the worn leather laces. The routine he had followed through with since he arrived to Harper Rock continued uninterrupted. He was going to head for work. He certainly wasn’t paid for watching his hair grow back or his wounds healing. There was something coming. He could feel it as he closed the door of the apartment and locked it behind him. Instead of waiting for it to find him he was going to meet it head on.

[Ambrose Acheron]

Tizoc was well aware he didn't fit into the modern convention. Glancing over to his youngest childe he gave her a long, stony look. "The wardrobe can wait. The Brood needs to be brought together. That will require more than a change of clothing. They are of this new train of thought and many are not aware of what it is to be of my line. I need to speak with them, to hold a council with them. Then we can begin this work to... modernize me."

Ambrose reached out, first to Machk, then to Kika, finally to Vega. Speaking directly into their minds he sent the message out to them. "I need to speak with each of you about the future of our Bloodline, our future here in this city. Where the Blood flows into your veins from and the direction we would like to take it. Send word to me when we migfht met to speak of these things however is most convenient. You may bring your own childer to meet as well. It is time for our Brood to come together."

Placing his fists down on the altar, his head swimming with memories of the recent events since his awakening Tizoc once more glances over to Noemi. "Nothing can be done in unison without unity, childe. First we come together, then we can be strong."

[Aaron Hunter]

“Did you know that the Aztecs were a united empire,” announced Aaron Hunter, boldly like a university professor, “whereas the Mayans were not a unified society but rather a group of about twenty culturally similar, yet independent states?”

A strong set of fingers scratched the back of an intrigued head, the seated punk rocker flicking through several pages of a book on tribal history of Central and South America.

“I find that information very interesting,” continued Aaron, “because my new family is supposedly of Aztec decent, but it is most definitely not a united society, it’s more like a fragmented Mayan set up.”

Aaron placed the hardback encyclopaedia next to him on the weathered struts of the wooden park bench. A serious expression crept across his unshaven face as he began to stroke his stubble. It was as if as if he were a great philosopher from Ancient Greece, about to proclaim something incredibly deep and meaningful.

“What are your views on the matter?” asked Aaron. “What do you think about the relative merits of one large empire compared to several smaller factions?”

The stray cat, black and white, with a nasty looking scar across its left ear, stared back blankly at Aaron. It had been abandoned years ago by its owners, and left to fend for itself in the urban jungle of Harper Rock. The feline loner was hardly an authority on the subject of community and family.

“I guess this isn’t your specialist subject, is it, buddy?” added Aaron as he stretched out a hard and ruffled the fur on the cat’s head. “Maybe we should read up about what the Incan stand point was on society, or would you prefer to play with a ball of wool?”

A smile broke out upon Aaron’s face, the dull glow of a nearby streetlight momentarily catching his exposed teeth causing them to twinkle like tiny stars in the night sky. Turning to his right, the vampire picked up the book, tucking it inside his black leather jacket as he got to his feet. He gazed down at the scruffy looking cat as it butted up against his leg.

“Maybe you should join my family,” said Aaron, “what do you say to that idea?"

The rogue feline released a muffled purr, before suddenly darting away towards one of many areas of bushes and hedgerows that were liberally scattered around Thornside Park. Aaron tracked the cat’s movements; his vampiric eyes perfectly at home in the dim light of the evening. There was a rustling sound from the foliage, followed by the emergence of a triumphant looking hunter, some kind of small mammal lodged firmly between its jaws. The cat sauntered up to Aaron, proud as punch with his trophy, and dropped the hapless creature next to the rocker’s sturdy boots.

“So, what have we here?” enquired Aaron as he peered down at the fresh kill. “A mouse, a rat, a vole? Try for a zombie next time!”

Aaron chuckled while fussing with the cat, impressed at its hunting prowess.

“Oh yeah!” exclaimed the exuberant vampire. “You could definitely join the family with skills like that. We could use a member with your talents.”

Aaron was still getting to grips with his new family. The comings and goings of “brothers” and “sisters”, the petty squabbles as people tried to adjust to their crazy new lives, the general chaos involved with the transformation from mere mortal to immortal. Escaping into the relative wilderness of a local park was always helpful to Aaron, as it afforded him space and time to mull things over. He wondered what the future held for his adoptive tribe. His human family was nothing short of a shambles, but blood was thicker than water so they had muddled through hardships as best they could. Time would surely tell if vampiric blood was even more viscous.

Aaron crouched down on his haunches beside the vagrant feline, patting its scraggy head.

“I’m going to wander away now, Catty,” said Aaron, “but I’m sure that we’ll see each other around.”

Rising up, Aaron stared into the crisp night sky. There were billions of stars gazing back at him through the window of infinite space, but for this split second, Aaron was content to be alone. Spinning on his heels, the young immortal vanished into the darkness. There was business that needed attention.