A Question, An Answer, A Reappraisal (Ambrose)

[Maddra]

Backdated to January 25th

Ambrose Acheron: Tizoc had taken to wandering the streets of Harper Rock, keeping his ear to the ground as the saying went. It was amusing that saying was still used even today. It had been first brought to his attention in New Orleans after he fled the destruction of his sire along with the rest of his line, the Tozoztontli. It had been used to locate Buffalo and other herd animals, the rumbling audible to the ear to the ground. Ambrose instead reached out, touching minds every so often when someone seemed the type to interest him. So far this evening, nothing. It seemed that the dredges of society, the criminal element was busy with matters indoors. It could very easily be the storm keeping them in.

The wind was blisteringly cold. Ambrose was dressed warmly and kept moving, the dead blood in his veins being kept in motion so as not to freeze. He felt the cold in a different way that mortals did. He never shivered, the nerve endings not firing the same way. He knew that extreme temperature posed a threat to him though. Frostbite would heal readily enough but it was a painful process. Especially if digits fell off. He wasn’t taking that risk tonight.

An added benefit of being bundled up was the illusion of extra bulk and one's face being covered, preventing easy identification.

He looked out over recently ploughed streets already filling back up with the onslaught of snow. Snow was an issue he had dealt with in New York, briefly. He’d hated it then. Time had not changed his sentiments toward the winters of the north. Coahoma’s voice filled his mind suddenly. “T atacapitz ueli in tlalticpac.” Truly this was the time to be hoarding, he agreed but did not speak or answer.. The vampires in the past age had their stables of human retainers, people they had either enslaved or bought who could sustain them through the harsh winter months. Ambrose had Moema. She was a good thrall, a childhood friend of one of his childer, but far from enough to sustain the brood for months of difficult hunting. The modern world had forced the old vampire to evolve in his hunting methods.

Moema was willing enough to stick around even when released and Ambrose frequently did so, never letting her know when he was using supernatural compulsion on her. Several times now he had enthralled another only to return to the factory with the new thrall in tow for religious purposes and find Moema there, cleaning the altar with the oils Ambrose had shown her and on one occasion in his West Tower apartment watching television. Her mind was an open book to him but he never asked her why she stayed. He assumed she was waiting for Nakoma to return. Ambrose had not seen the young vampire in some time and he thought of her frequently. Vega had returned from wherever she had been off to soul-searching. Some of the Brood left and returned, others it seemed simply… vanished.

Flexing his fingers in the thick gloves Moema had picked out for him Ambrose decided to find shelter from the elements for a time to let his body warm back up. It wouldn’t do for people to find him frozen out in the street like an all-too-realistic snowman. He headed toward the nearest building with an open sign… an internet cafe, Jose, his first thrall upon his return from the Shadow realm had called this type of place, and reaching the door, pushed his way inside out of the cold.

He brushed some snow from his jacket and stomped his feet to rid his boots of the snow before pushing back his hood and looking around the place...

Maddra: It had become a routine. Kill, loot, auction and repeat. Sure, routines could be bad, really bad if you were being watched. But Maddra almost relished the idea of someone trying. Maybe that would ease some of the anger she felt. The irony was, she didn’t know why she was so angry. It wasn’t directed at a person. No one had really ever hurt her, at least in this new life. If anything, everyone was almost too nice.

Taranto was one. He always went out of his way to speak, and be kind to her. Wolffyn as well, though she was probably still annoyed at Maddra, because Maddra wasn’t the sort to pick up the phone and call to shoot the breeze. When Maddra came back to the city, Wolffyn thought she should have called. Riiight. And say what precisely? “I’m back.” Followed by an abundance of dead air? Yea. That’s why she didn’t call. What was there to say? Then there was Jonah, her sire. Granted they had had their moments. He killed himself.. came back as something .. weird; and their estrangement grew. But even he had shown back up and had been.. nice to her.

It was like they all knew something about her, that she didn’t know. In her human life, no one was ever nice to her. They overlooked her, they ignored her, made fun of her, but never was anyone nice or kind to her, for no reason. The few times that kindness was shown, was during the endless funerals or extended hospital stays that her family was destined for. So why were people that owed her nothing, nice to her now? What did they get out of it? What was the point? There had to be a point, and she couldn’t figure it out. Frustration coupled with anger, had to have an outlet. And that outlet was killing hunters. Kill, loot, auction and repeat.

Making her way to the Station Net Cafe, she entered, stomping the caked up snow from her boots, before she headed to her usual computer. Her steps came to an abrupt halt and her lips curled into a frown. Her usual computer was taken. Some generation Xer with his unkempt beard, was sprawled all over it. She liked that computer. She liked the way the keyboard keys sounded. She liked that particular mouse. Huffing in annoyance she moved to a foreign computer. Sitting down, and resting her fingers briefly on the keys, she knew immediately, she hated this computer.

So she moved, from one computer station to the next, wanting to find one that met her approval. After three more tries, and three more fails, she knew Gen Xer had to go. Stalking over to usual station, she dropped the heavy duffel beside it. “You’re in my seat. You need to go. Now.”

Ambrose Acheron: The elder watches from the side of the entry as a woman, one of his own kind enters the establishment. Tizoc feels a momentary sense of embarrassment internally as his eyes alight on her legs and the shape of her buttocks as she walks past. He has managed to get used to cars going past him on the streets, light without fire, even great metal birds soaring overhead with people in their bellies. The sight of a woman in pants still vexes him and immediately sends images of smooth thighs and soft curves into her mind.This age is beyond baffling. It is full of men who wish to be women and women who wish to be men and some of each who wish to be both. Things light up. Almost everything lights up. The gods have been replaced with the Google, no long do men turn their eyes to the heavens for answers and you can seen all the way up between a woman’s leg with nothing but a thin layer of fabric between reality and imagination.

His old friend Ambrose, his namesake would have sighed, shook his head and bemoan the fact that society had become positively indecent. He was dead though. He bemoaned nothing but that he was captured and trapped within the shadow, slowly being devoured, fading away slowly if he had not already done so.

Like her. Like Tizoc’s Coahoma.

The woman made her way over to claim a seat which was taken. Tizoc wasn’t sure of the protocol but the woman did say that the chair was hers. Tizoc had no reason to disbelief her. The man should probably move for her. Then again these modern people were odd. Like when the little man in the slums had told him to give the man his money. Tizoc did not wish to give away that which he had earned. He had told the man to earn his own and a fight had ensued. He wondered if a fight would ensue here.

Instinctively he appraised both of them and found the male lacking in a physical contest. She would easily be able to claim her chair that he had taken.

What though, if she were like the man in the slums? Would they do battle here for the chair? Looking around Tizoc saw many other chairs, all the same. This little stop to get warm had turned into a chance to learn more about the modern ways. He gave a small smile to himself at the opportunity to gain some further insight into the strange creatures the once formidable paleskins had become.

Maddra: Gen Xer gave her a blank look. He looked around the room, and then looked at her pointedly, saying nothing, but intimating she should move on. The Gen Xer’s response to her request, displeased her. He should have been a gentleman and done as she asked. But no. He had to be an *** about it.

Her hands fisted and unfisted, as she tried once more. “This is my station.” The words were uttered slowly and clearly, as though maybe he was simple minded, and he needed it explained to him slowly. “You.. Need to move.” Her voice had even taken on a softer, though somewhat more threatening hint to it.

The male was unmoved, by her newest request. He sighed and pulled out the earbuds that had been hidden by his beard and mangy head of hair. “No. This is mine. Go get your own.”

“That is what I am trying to do. But there is a thick headed oaf in my way.” Her voice lost the softness, all pretence at patience forgotten. “I am particularly fond of this station and it displeases that you have your greasy hamfisted mitts all over it. Move .. or I will move you.”

Based on size of himself versus the woman, the male knew the woman could try to move him, but she wouldn’t be successful. His response was to laugh, reinsert his earbuds and go back to doing what he had been doing before she interrupted him.

Jaw clenched so tightly, one might think she could crack her teeth, she growled in frustration, pulled a boot knife from inside her boot, swiftly inserting it between his fourth and fifth rib in an upward motion. The dazed and dying look on the male’s face phased her not at all, as she shoved him out of her seat. She tentatively laid her fingers on the keyboard, only to pull them back in revulsion. His grime had already migrated to her keyboard. Fumbling for a small bottle of hand sanitizer and tissue out of her vest pocket, she started cleaning the mouse and keyboard.

Once she was satisfied that the germs and grime had been cleaned away, Maddra logged into her auction account and started listing her items. She would deal with the body in a while. What was one more death in the grand scheme of things? Nothing much really. At least nothing in her mind. For the next several minutes she studiously listed item after item. Once she got to the last item she turned her attention to body. Sighing with a droop of her shoulders, she sent Taranto an apology email, with a request that he erase the video tapes. If he didn’t so be it. The cops shot her on sight as it was.. what will one more death do? Make them shoot her faster? Right. She absently rubbed at the wounds in her gut, that were still leaking from her last run in with a cop. Bastards.

Sliding out of her seat, she shouldered the duffel bag, and then leaned over to grab Gen Xer by his collar. “Come on Ralph.. You’ve had enough to drink.. let’s get you home to sleep it off..” She gave the guy by the door a baleful look, as she dragged her ‘drunk boyfriend’ home.

Ambrose Acheron: Tizoc watched the altercation with a mild interest. The man’s infraction seemed initially to warrant death. He had understood this. A village could not survive if one of the members was taking what would help others to survive. Death was a typical punishment for those who broke the laws. The pant-clad woman had gone on about he business, which Tizoc had found slightly odd seeing as how she had just executed the transgression. Surely there were ritualistic formalities to follow such an action.

Tizoc knew that when he killed someone the people with the blue clothes showed up with the lit up vehicles and then stopped other people from perhaps desecrating the bodies of the fallen. This woman seemed to not care much if the body was tampered with.

Tizoc took the chance to touch minds with the dying man. He watched the highlight reel of the man’s life, a wife, his job, his dream job, his children…

On and on the slideshow went, Tizoc standing quietly absorbing it until finally the light started to fade from the criminal’s mind. Odd. He had seemed like a hard working person, not a layabout or thief.

He was ready to shrug off the entire thing when the vampire woman rose from her seat and started dragging the man away. She called him a funny name. A name he had heard meant someone was sicking up.

That wasn’t the man’s name. He also hadn’t been drinking. Tizoc was suddenly confused. As the woman moved to pass him he stepped into her way. “The thief’s name is Stephen, Maddra, Necromancer of the Vedarian Bloodline. He has not drank in six months since his wife told him not to.”

Tizoc was half-wondering if she killed the wrong man. Perhaps the altercation with the chair was a ruse, smoke and mirrors. Maybe he had wronged her another time.

“There is a blue-clad man in the car outside. The type with the lights. You should use the exit in the rear to take Stephen to his resting place.”

Maddra: As the man spoke to her, about his name and his not drinking she intended on ignoring him, until he used her name. Her eyes narrowed, the baleful look deepened. Guilt? He was trying to guilt her? “He was in my seat. He wouldn’t move. I moved him.” Her tone was adamant and yet, slightly defensive, perhaps a hint of guilt. Once more she was going to head on her way, when he mentioned the cops. “Blue clad?”

She hitched the body up some, as it started to slide downward. Maddra looked at the man. He seemed mostly nondescript, but she knew him to be a vampire. The chiding she received from him, annoyed her. So many others had done worse than her, and yet here he was chiding her. “Cops. The blue clad men are cops.” But she took his advice and turned to leave by the rear exit. She half carried half dragged Stephen, toward the back, pausing to toss a half-hearted “Thanks.” over her shoulder to the man.

Alright, maybe she had over reacted. But dammit, he wouldn’t move. If they had gotten into a fist fight, word of him having his *** handed to him, would have gotten out eventually. She came here a lot. She was sure to be spotted again. He would want revenge. Of worse, he and his grimey bearded friends would want to start something. No. All in all, ending it quickly was the way to go. No muss, no fuss. She could have done without knowing he had been married. Yuck. She made a face as she imagined having to kiss that bearded face. She told herself, she had done the wife a favor. They would have eventually ended up hating each other, and getting an acrimonious divorce, fighting over who go the house and car, and who paid the attorney fees. Yes. She had saved the woman all that grief. This way, he died always loving her.. unless he was a ne’er do well womanizing ********.. then she really did her favor. The wife was welcome.

Having exited the building from the rear, she headed north to the farms. Her sire had a farm there. He raised pigs. Pigs would eat anything. Her steps faltered as she got closer. She couldn’t dump Stephen on Jonah’s farm. There was too much chance one of his farm workers would stumble on it and get Jonah into trouble. She gnawed on her lower lip, as she pondered her options. To keep Jonah in the clear, she needed to stay away from the farms, all of them, just in case. That meant she had to go with her old stand by. The water treatment plant.

Ambrose Acheron: For a few minutes the elder stayed where he was, pondering. The vampire woman was not in the man’s memories. There could not have been bad blood between them. He had stolen her chair, true. Chairs seemed plentiful though. There were many of them lined up in front of the computers, the altars of the Google. He narrowed his eyes as he looked each one over, walking through the room and noting there was no difference between one chair and the next.

The man had not earned his fate perhaps… not by any laws. Then again Tizoc had known many vampires through the course of his two centuries before the time of the Fade. There were none he would really consider sane. Perhaps she had killed him because he had infringed in her territory. Perhaps he had been wearing a symbol that reminded her of an enemy. He has picked his first thrall upon his return thinking the man a Paladin., one of the tattooed warriors of old.

The once great religious order now dwelled in the darkness of the sewers with the rats. It was fitting in Tizoc’s mind.

Regardless, there was more to learn from the younger vampire who had just left. The blue-clad men… (cops?) were unaware of what had happened. Tizoc was certain they would not follow the woman. Still, she was a woman dragging a body through the snow…

Making his way to the back door he saw her trail through the white covering, already starting to fill in with the fresh flakes bombarding the earth from the heavens. Once more he pulled his jacket tightly around him and plunged into the winter’s icy grasp.

He wanted more answers. He wanted to understand.

She had gone north, the trail easy to pick up and follow even when she crossed streets which had been ploughed. The storm’s accumulation left no breaks in her steps, no chance for evasion and the occasional hint of the scent of blood clawing at his senses, driving him onward would easily have been enough to follow even if the trail had been broken. He fought against the desire to rush forward, to run headlong toward the source. He was well fed, There was no need. Human battled monster, each backed up to an ever shrinking precipice behind them, one had to fall, one would rise and overtake the other.

Body on autopilot the long in the tooth vampire continued to follow, several minutes behind his quarry.

Maddra: The trek to the water treatment plant was longer than she would have liked. Plus she would have to backtrack. No it was best went the way she normally went. The sewers. Settling Stephen up against a tree, she scouted ahead, to make sure the way to the sewer was clear. It was late and cold. Most everyone was off the streets, but if anything were to catch someone’s attention, it was dropping a body into the sewer, versus dragging home a drunk friend.

Maddra awkwardly climbed a tree, once she got closer to Cherrydale. She was by no means, an outdoorsy type of girl but she appreciated the vantage point that height gave her. She stayed unmoving in the tree for several minutes, as she carefully watched and checked each building for moments in the windows. Finally assured it was as quiet as she could expect, she jumped down from the tree, easier than it had been for her going up. Collecting Stephen, she crept toward the opening that led to the sewer entrance.

Just as she was about to make her dash, headlights swept across the road in front of her. Quickly she pulled back into the darkness of the shadows provided by the forest. More cops. They were doing a long slow sweep of Cherrydale. It would be better to wait for them to finish their circuit before trying anything. Glancing at her watch, she knew it would take about ninety minutes to get from Cherrydale to the water treatment plant in Coastside. Ninety minutes if there were no interruptions. When had that ever happened? Never. Paladins roamed the sewers like roaches in a cheap roadside motel. Better to allow for a full two hours, just to be safe.

“I hope you appreciate the effort I am going to for you Stephen.” She whispered to the body. “If I had been a bad mood, I would have left you in a dumpster and leave you to be dumped into a landfill. But no, I have decided .. you are going to have a burial at sea. Do you realize how difficult it is to get a burial at sea in this day and age? People consider it barbaric. I call it the circle of life.”

Watching the taillights of the cop car disappear toward Westside, Maddra waited until it turned out view, then she hitched Stephen up and over her shoulder for the short dash to the sewer. A quick flip of the lid and the body was dropped down, followed by Maddra. It looked easier than it actually was. Practice made perfect. Maddra knew the sewers like that back of her hand. The lid was slid carefully back into place and she dropped to the ten feet to a watery splash. Grasping Stephen by the collar of his fleece jacket, she began the tedious trudge.

Ambrose Acheron: The woman was being secretive. Now the scenario was clear. This was not a killing before the gods. It was a murder. He had been present when one of his consanguineous had done murder. Eztli had taken the man under the chin, brought him face to face. None of us had understood exactly what was happening. Eztli had read the thoughts from the young vampire’s mind when he fed from him. He had been able to do that. “Acan atl ic timaltiz, ic timochipaoaz. “ He had said to the ancilla. “There is no water anywhere with which you can wash and cleanse yourself.” Had the victim been mortal Eztli may have simply waved it off, but the vampire had killed one of his own. One of Mexica blood.

Eztli had then opened his mouth, all of his teeth suddenly like a sharks and he had torn out the throat of his childe. He had pulled out his onyx blade, the same one Ambrose carried now and had taken his childe’s heart while he thrashed impotently on the ground, bleeding out.

Killing one’s one blood, be it bloodline of one’s own people was forbidden. Tizoc knew enough about the paleskins to know this was not the case with them. They murdered each other with impunity in wars. They had been doing so for centuries. They did not kill to protect their own, they did not kill for their gods. They killed for paper-money and the dirt beneath their feet. In this case, the chair beneath her bottom.

As Maddra dropped into the sewers Tizoc debated if following was worth it. The blood trail would be gone by the time the snow melted, shovelled out of the way by the great ploughs attached to huge automobiles, shovelled away by shop-keeps clearing a path to their stores to allow customers to get in to browse their wares…

There was no chance the attack would be linked to vampires, it was not done within his territory, it was not his business.He realized though that he wasn’t concerned about the human. He was concerned with the vampire woman in the pants. He wanted to ask her questions. He wanted to know what she did. Perhaps they could learn from one another like he had once done with the ancient Greek vampire, Ambrose when the man still lived, before Tizoc had seen him die and had fled New Orleans to New York.

He pulled the lid from the sewer entry aside and stepped onto the rungs leading down. Sliding the lid back into place he dropped into the stench below.

Heading south along the corridor he stopped, looking left and then right at the first branch off.. Fifty fifty chance. He chooses left, heading east along the tunnel wall.

Maddra: Maddra was stronger than she looked. But dead bodies were unwieldy and dead weight. And the wetter the body got, the harder it was to drag. Her energy was flagging. She had just spent a long time killing and looting before she ever made it to the Station Net, and now she was dragging a dead body through the sewers, which tended to let people know you were coming. Therefore she couldn’t really ‘sneak’ up on hunters that prowled the sewers; but they could sneak up on her.

The pig farm was looking better and better. But she had made her decision and she was sticking to it. As turned a corner, she ran right into a waiting paladin. Normally she would take them out with a sword, but to be honest, she didn’t feel like even messing about. She dodged the first swing of the hunter’s blade, while pulling her .44 and firing into the paladin’s left eye. The back of the paladin’s head exploded, as did the sound. Having better hearing than humans, had the downside of loud reverberating reports like that from a .44 bouncing off the narrowed tunnels of the sewer, causing a sharp pain to the vampire’s ears.

Stopping only to loot the body, Maddra trudged onward toward the water treatment plant. The rest of the trip was mostly unremarkable, apart from passing a few fellow vampires that was resting in an alcove. How someone could rest down here, still amazed her. Hunting yes. Sleeping? No way. Give her a comfy bed any day over a sewerage soaked alcove.

Exiting the sewer at the back of the water treatment plant, Maddra made a beeline for the cesspool tank. A minute later, Stephen was dropped in, the tank closed, and she was headed back toward Cherrydale, and the Asylum.

Ambrose Acheron: The sound of gunfire halted the elder in his tracks, the tunnels made a mirage of the sound, amplifying it and throwing it all over the place. Nonetheless it was enough to tell Tizoc he was not on the right track. He turned and headed west, now rushing. His footfalls bringing him to a fallen body. One of the tattooed assassins of old. Now a sewer dweller. It was sad how the mighty had fallen. The echoes of the shot had long faded and the burning scent of the cordite was all but imperceptible in this place. Still, Tizoc believed he detected it in the rancid air of the tunnels. The blood scent was more pronounced and for a moment he had to fight back a frenzy. It was always easier when he was fed fully. Easier, but never easy. He stepped over the bleeding paladin and followed the direction of the tunnels south.

Only one hunter bars his way as he follows. Tizoc would normally dispatch them by blade or bullet, claw or fang. This time though, being short on time he reaches out with his mind as the man rushes him and shuts off the aggression the fool has toward him for whatever reason. “Run.” Tzoc slams the frail mortal mind with a dose of terror, striding past the man as he turns, fleeing screaming down a corridor to the south. The old vampire keeps going, making his way through the murky tunnels. Eventually he turns east and sees at the bottom of one of the manholes a pool of blood. Dead end. She had to have gone topside here.

Tizoc grunts and sets himself to climbing.

As luck would have it he emerges just in time to see her shoot out the door. The vampire nearly cursed his luck. Had he not gone the wrong way he would have caught her here already. He was getting tired of the chase. He reached out with his mind, concentrating on her. “Maddra, Necromancer of the Vedarian Bloodline, return to the building for a moment. I have questions I hope you can answer.”

Maddra: The voice in her head stopped her cold. Keara was the only one who ever spoke to her telepathically, so for the man from the internet cafe to do it, was a bit shocking. She knew the ability was easy for types of vampires, but for her it wasn’t anything remotely akin to her abilities. It was clear he had the ability to read more than most vampires she was acquainted with, because he knew her name, her lineage, and her special skill set. She looked toward Cherrydale and then back the way she came. All she really wanted to do was to get back to the Asylum and hunker down, alone and in peace. But… she did have a niggling sense of curiosity digging at her.

Who was this guy, with his formal and yet strange ways? Men clad in blue.. that were cops. Why didn’t he know this? He knew that Ralph was really Stephen.. but he didn’t know Cops were cops? Almost reluctantly she retraced her steps back toward the water treatment plant. Maybe he was trying to set her up. He had followed her, that much was evident. But what sort of questions did he have? And why ask her? Of all the people in this city, she was by far, the least knowledgeable and friendly. One would think he would want to pick someone’s brain who had something to offer.. so why her? Unless it was to her detriment.

Stopping briefly, she set her duffle bag down. She checked her .44 and refilled the chamber. Then she rummaged in her duffel for her .308, Making sure it had a full magazine, she tucked it inside her jacket. If he was setting her up, she would fill him and whoever was with him, full of holes. Zipping the bag shut, she shouldered it on her left shoulder, and headed into the building. Stopping just inside the door, she called out. “You know my name.. what is yours?”

Ambrose Acheron: The vampire waited quietly. There was no answer. He didn’t know if the woman had rushed ahead or it she had stopped and returned. Any number of possibilities were possible until the moment the doors opened back up and she reappeared. He was sure she was armed. It seemed all vampires in the city were armed. He was not without his own weapons though he had chosen to leave the rifle crafted by Lecovio at home tonight. He was carrying only his obsidian dagger and that when used as a weapon would be laughable to some.

They’d never seen an Aztec priest at work. Death was a necessary gift when life depended on pleasing the gods. The most precious gift was blood and to withhold it for even moments was to risk a horrific end. The Priest could remove the human heart in mere seconds. A cut, a hand shooting out, a retraction of that hand. His people had sacrificed over twenty thousand people a year to the gods. Tizoc himself had killed substantially less, but over his decades and decades of worship had offered hundreds of victims to the gods if not thousands.

He had never counted. The only thing he could say for sure is that none of those victims had been of the blood. No other servant of Tezcatlipoca had been killed by Tizoc. His sire had been another story. He and the elder members of the lineage had swept through the southwestern portion of the U.S. and murdered any Spaniard vampires they came in contact with. Eztli had at some point decided that by imbibing the blood of these murderers, the Spanish, he could gain power over them. What followed next was a purge of the line when it was found out that Eztli was a Necuratist.

Tizoc had not followed in his sire’s footsteps. He wasn’t a pacifist, he was pragmatic. If there was a reason to kill another vampire he would and could do so, but without a damning heap of evidence, words were the way to go. Teaching once was usually more productive than 100 whippings without cause. Wisdom was earned through tolerance and patience. Mistakes needed to be made to be learned from.

“I am…” he pauses, considers… “Ambrose Acheron, Allurist of the Acheron Bloodline. This is the name I go by now in this time. My name before this you would not be able to speak.” He makes a motion for her to come closer. “Please, come. Speak with me. Draw closer that I need not shout.”.

[Ambrose Acheron]

Maddra: ‘Draw closer, he says. So I don’t have to shout, he says.’ She muttered to herself. ‘He doesn’t have to shout, he can talk into my head.’ Ever the suspicious one, she eyes him through narrowed lids. She weighed her options. She was curious. But, with curiosity came risk. Just how much risk was she willing to take on? Her voice louder, meant for him, “I find I like it right here, in this precise spot, just fine. There is a door for easy egress, should I need it, Ambrose Acheron, of the Acheron Bloodline.” See, she could do that too.

What really made her nervous was the allurist bit. Of the allurists she did know, she didn’t trust them. They always had to try to get the upper hand. Always had to dominate. Push their view on to you, whether you wanted it or not. For the most part, she had put it down to ‘shits and giggles’ by most allurists; but that was a deadly power they wielded. They could impose their will on others. Try to make them do things the person wouldn’t normally do under normal circumstances. The one time the power had been forced upon her, it had been for a lark, a joke. But she never forgot it. It was galling how easy, they had been able to make her do the opposite of what she wished. Galling and humiliating. It was not an experience she wished to repeat.

“Ask your questions. I will be as open and truthful as possible. However, I reserve the right to decline questions which I deem inappropriate. So what is it you wish to know, Ambrose Acheron?”

Ambrose Acheron: If the elder catches the facetious way she uses his name and lineage it doesn't show. Caution was a virtue not usually held dear by the young. It spoke well of this woman's breeding that she would show a cautious restraint when alone with a stranger. That she was aware of her own safety spoke highly to Tizoc. She was basketable. Cofferable. She would not be plucked from safety. Consulting the Google, he found these terms archaic and frowned slightly to himself. He pauses a moment as he considered his words. Even his care in trying to use correct terminology did not necessitate success. The elder knew the language barrier combined with hundreds of years of slang terms on top of it meant that he would speak differently than those of this age. He only hoped that the meaning of his words came across correctly.

As she spoke Tizoc nodded. This was an age of gentleness. An age where causing offense was all too easy and offense was taken where it could be. It seemed people prided themselves on the thinness of their skin. The more the could be offended over, the more enlightened they viewed themselves as. Now Tizoc found himself in a conundrum. With the difference in their generation and speak patterns one was surely to offend the other. He wondered if he should feign offense at something she had said in order to relate to her but waved the thought away. He wouldn't know what was supposedly offensive and may make a misstep.

“Fairly spoken. I wish to know of you and your… time? Your age? The world. What it is now compared to then. The… year of your Lord. Eighteen hundred and twelve.”

He thinks a moment. “Eighteen twelve. Forget the Lord. A.D. What do you know of now? What do you know of Crow? What elders still walk? I have met Elizabeth Naarc. Who else?” He has temporarily dismissed Stephen

Maddra: Maddra’s brow furrowed ever so slightly. He was an elder? Confusion crossed her face as she tried to make sense of it. She almost smiled, as she recalled being newly turned and how she and Wolffyn set out to interview all the elders to learn their history. To learn. But the elders apart from Keara had been vague and stingy with their knowledge. Well, he being an elder, explained why he didn’t know what a Cop was. It explained his unique speech patterns as well.

“Keara is an Elder of the Vedarian line. She still walks. Elizabeth Naarc.. I am surprised you coaxed her out of hiding. If there are other elders that are awake.. they are more of a deficit than an asset.” She pause, he may not be familiar with those terms. She had been trying to be polite, and not say they were a waste of skin. She gnawed unconsciously on her lower lip as she tried to think of another less insulting, though accurate expression he might be familiar with. “The elders that sleep.. stir occasionally. They wake long enough to see what has become of their line, they castigate it, and fall back to their slumber.”

She could have elaborated about the efforts she and Wolffyn went to, in order to find out and educate everyone. But if she had elaborated, all she could say was the majority were blow hards that merely liked to hear themselves talk, or they were intent on destroying one another. Of all the old lines, so many had cut themselves away from them, because the elders wanted speak, but offer no proof or power to their words. They wanted to be worshipped for being old, when they had done nothing to earn it.

Perhaps that was why the majority fell back into sleep. Because people, human and vampire alike, did not believe just because they were told to. Actions speak louder than words. And if an elder could not back up his actions. Why believe him or her? But not Keara, never put on airs. Keara considered herself like the rest of the non-elders. Someone merely trying to learn and make their way in this world, without causing any disruption.

“Next question.”

Ambrose Acheron: Tizoc’s mind remained linked to the computer deity, the Google. Words were phonetically spelled out, autocorrected, referenced in dictionary and thesaurus and cross referenced to make sure he understood. It was a full thirty seconds of silence from the old vampire spent in careful consideration to assure what he had heard and what he meant to say was not misunderstood.

“The elders… they do not teach. They… show displeasure. They offer no advice… they… cause dissention?”” He was puzzled. At the same time he could relate. The centuries in the fade, a full two hundred years had left him waking to a world he did not understand, a people totally alien to his own time. Opinions, clothing, government's, country borders, gender lines, religions and their importance, everything, literally everything had been destroyed and altered, weakened or brought to a point of near worship by these modern beings.

It was a much different world than when he had left it. He imagined it was much the same for the others. He had been taught to respect those closer to the source of the blood. The closer the generation to the first of their kind, the more respect due. Those elders had survived centuries because of what they knew. Then the Apocalypse began, that knowledge lost and the respect that had been given throughout the ages… vanished.

Now it was as though knowledge was irrelevant. Vampires survived because they could not die. They would return over and over. There was no survival based on wisdom, careful attention to secrecy, there was survival because it was impossible not to survive.

“Who teaches the fledglings… the childer? The elders slumber, who teaches? What of Crow? He gathered them, the elders. Where is Crow now?”

Maddra: What happened to Crow? That was a very good question. She wasn’t sure she knew that answer. But first things first. Who teaches the fledglings. That was a loaded question and answer. She looked over the distance toward him. “At first, the sires taught their childer. My sire taught me. He was careful and patient. I appreciate him. Most are not as fortunate as I was.” She paused and shook her head sadly, “Turnings became an epidemic. Instead of choosing someone who would uphold the sanctity of the obligation, almost anyone was turned. Teenagers, that barely knew how to handle their emotions, are given the gift of eternal life.. and what do they do? They sired left and right. They don’t know how to control their own powers and they make more vampires, who in turn, do not know how to control themselves.”

Maddra stopped and took a moment to get back to question, without letting her ire and disgust get the better of her. “So because there were so many, irresponsible vampires out there,.. Crow placed bounties on the offenders. How else were we to stay safe and secure, if we do not police ourselves? So we punished the masquerade breakers. We sent them to the shadow realm. Tytonidae was born. A well oiled bounty hunting machine. They became too good. They sent so many to the fade. All with justification. But when you have a small group bending a large group to their will .. there will be an uprising. And there was. The majority of vampire rose up against the Crow. I do not know if he left, or if he was banished. I only know he is no more. Perhaps he is watching from afar. I do not know.” She gave a bitter laugh, “The irony is.. the majority of vampires do not think beyond next week. It is live for the moment. Maybe a handful are preparing for the upcoming storm.. when mankind finds us and eradicates us again. But the majority, want to party. To have fun. Humans are harmless. They do not see the big picture. That the vampires are like Tytonidae, and the humans are the vampires that turned against Crow. It is inevitable. It will happen. They are just too blind to see it.” She smiled ruefully.

“Next Question.”

Ambrose Acheron: ”All will die. When the door is opened and closed enough, the hinges will wear away. The door eventually falls off. Then there is nothing barring what should be kept out from coming in and what should be kept in from getting out... “ Tizoc shakes his head as he thinks. This entity, Crow set bounties. Vampires died, vampires returned. It didn’t stop the killing with a few examples. It had been ongoing…

“Eventually the passage of… souls, spirits, shadows… back and forth between Shadow and this…” A pause as he figures the word. “This physical world. Sundering. A rip. The two become one. All die. The shadow here, the here in the Shadow. Too many holes in the barrier. All die. Do you understand?”

Tizoc looked to the younger vampire, his face solemn. “Secrecy… a tool to be used. Breaking the barrier. The Crow wants this.”

He thinks the words convey the right message. Without the young one being close enough to touch though he can’t use the image telepathy he is used to using. Frustrating, yes, but he has time. Perhaps he can show her and others. Eventually. Hopefully in enough time. If not, the world had been broken three times prior and remade and it would be so again. He waits to see if the gravity of the situation settles in on Maddra.

Maddra: She shook her head negatively, no. What he was saying couldn’t be right, could it? “But.. Crow..” Her words faded. Had Crow been against them all along? There was that thought. That Crow never showed himself. Why did he hide? People didn’t hide unless they had something to hide. That meant they all just blindly followed him, but he was leading everyone astray the whole time?

“But..breaches were rampant. The city was on the edge of discovering us.. what else should we have done? If we had not have acted.. there would have been another holocaust.” Her voice was tinged in confusion and doubt, but there was the point, that if the planes between the world and shadow realm continued to weaken, the world would cease to be as they know knew it. Her voice faltered as she admitted, “We did what we thought was best..” But now she was not so sure they had done what was best afterall.

Ambrose Acheron: The elder vampire holds a hand up. “Peace. There is time. There is not a Sundering yet. The cracks… they were opening… I saw them, felt them. Surges in… power? Power, yes. Not long ago. In the fade I felt them. Followed them.” He grunts his disgust at his lack of mastery of what is now the most widely spoken language in North America. Who would have thought a small island country would leave such a mark? English. The thought baffled Tizoc beyond measure.

He took inhaled and exhaled a breath in a sigh. The gesture more a show of aggravation, unconscious, likely his Path to blame for it. He drew in a fresh breath before taking his time thinking. “You understand… “ He stops, the right words aren’t coming to him. “Smoking mirror? Duality? Reflections?” He doesn’t feel the meaning he wishes to get across is carried in the words. The distance between them is making it difficult but he won’t press for a closure of the yardage. He understands her trepidations and she is wise to have them. Who is he to eliminate a healthy fear? Vega, Machk, Kika, Nakoma, even his precious Coahoma had disregarded that healthy fear and paid a price. Had they learned the lesson this one already knew, they would be happy, healthy, mortal. All but Coahoma. She would be dead. Truly dead.

He refused to dispel that fear. This one had a strong will. Perhaps she could resist him even were he to try and affect her emotions, her thoughts. It didn’t matter though. He didn’t need to trick her. He needed her to see. To understand. To accept.

“I am a threat to you. All our kind… threats. I have knowledge to show. Visions. They need touch. It is up to you. Trust words I have given, or learn fact in visions. Understand?”

Maddra: That was a new one. Admitting you are a threat.. and then giving her the option. The skeptical Maddra was back. “I’ll pass. But thank you for the offer. I need time to digest what I have so recently learned.” It was true. Too much knowledge at once, too much stimuli. That was how magicians made believers. But magicians bread and butter were illusions. They didn’t want the people to have time to digest the scene, it was quick, in your face, with a dash of misdirection, then poof, a miracle happened. But it wasn’t a miracle, it was an illusion. A good illusion, but still just an illusion. Taken in bits and pieces, the truth would come out. Take a magician’s tricks in bits and pieces, the illusion dissolved, and the truth came out. The truth that it was just a trick, sleight of hand and nothing more.

Yes it was tempting to know what more he could show her. But the biggest drawback of it all, was that Maddra did not like to be touched. Perhaps it was a holdover from her human life. Perhaps it was a neurosis that she should get over. But the truth of the matter was, she was not ever going to be open to being touched, by someone she did not know. And Ambrose Acheron of the Acheron line, she did not know. She would mull over his words. Obsess over them, was a more likely scenario. Replay it in her head, over and over, to see what other meanings they could have. And she was content with that at the moment.

“Next question.”

Ambrose Acheron: She would consider his words. Good. Now it was a matter of either knowledge of the occult of how much studying she would do on the topic that would tell her whether she could believe what Tizoc spoke of. He was slightly torn at the caution. It was good. She would be careful. She may actually take the time to look into what he spoke of. At the same time he could have simply shown her what he himself had seen. Sometimes though a lesson could not be learned from the experiences of another. An admonishment that fire was hot was useless until one experienced heat. He hoped that the Sundering would not occur before the realization of the dire nature of the situation came to this one. He needed her to understand, to understand and make others do the same.

A forest fire was started with one spark.

“You ask. Have you any of your own questions?”

While he had his own barrage of questions he could ask, he had given her a subject which held enormous import. It was only fair to allow the younger vampire the chance to ask about the source of the knowledge. All she knew was a name and not even truly his own. Not that he was lying about his identity. He did see himself as named but it was out of respect. His name given at birth was much different.

Elders switch their names often. If they maintained human contact it was rarely more than a decade before they changed their names, relocated and became one of their victims or someone entirely fictitious. Tizoc thought little of taking the name of his gentle and studious mentor and giving it as his own. Truth be told he felt closer to Ambrose than he had Eztli.

Perhaps though he should clarify. He would wait for the moment. This one seemed sharp. Perhaps she would pick up on this on her own.

Maddra: Did she have questions, oh boy did have questions. How do you create relics? Could she create her relics? If so how? How do you pronounce the old language on the ritual altars? Were the symbols on the altars the full ‘alphabet’? How did the last holocaust start? Had he ever had a human thrall that was completely trustworthy? What do you look for in a human thrall? Why was she so obsessed with death and killing? Yes. She had questions.

Maddra took a cautious step toward him. One step. Her eyes narrowed, her head canted to the side as she looked at him searchingly. “How old are you?”

Ambrose Acheron: For a moment he thinks about the years. He didn’t know the Christian year back then and he isn’t sure what he knows it is now is necessarily cohesive with what he knew last. It’s much simpler to name times. “The Spaniards had taken Mexico City. My sire, he took his bloodline. They killed Hernan Cortez’s wife in her home then fled north. I believe the year I was born was 1615 by your calendar. Cinco de Mayo. May fifth. I was embraced into the chosen of Tezcatlipoca, made a vampire… Cinco de Mayo, 1649. A.D. I think you call it. My Sire…”

Maddra: Maddra interrupted abruptly. “Oh my god.. “

She stared at him. “That’s what happened to the Inca and Aztec Empires?! Vampires?” She stared at him for a long moment. “I did a thesis on the Inca Empire and it possible causes for downfall. I research weather patterns, and drought patterns over the Central America as far back as they started keeping records. I had surmised, that due to the growth of those empires, they way they hunted and took smaller tribes as sacrifice, the city grew, if they didn’t want to die. The bigger the city, the more deforestation, then coupled with the Conquistadors bringing their diseases.. that was what killed the empire. But .. I was wrong.. Vampires killed it. Damn.”

Ambrose Acheron: Tizoc only stood silently, letting the younger vampire speak. His mind connected to urls, manipulated them to speed things up, pushing her words out into translators and then pulling them back in Nahuatl before forcing them back into English in his own words and running them through a thesaurus. Back and forth until the meaning is as clear as it can be.

“Enemies. Spaniard, Native, disease, vampire. European vampire. Night time attacks. diseases passed from bites. Fresh blood in mouth spewed into wounds by fang. You understand? Allurist enthrall our king. Making him… traitor. Friendly to Spaniards.”

Tizoc had seen it. He had never sunk that low in his own time as a vampire to pass along a disease to a mortal. His culture sent the fatally ill away lest the rest suffered. Those sick went willingly. It was a far cry from the now.

His hands move in front of him as he tries to translate his thoughts but apparently there are no words that fit correctly.

He lets them fall to his side and awaits further questions.

Maddra: Wow. She nodded that she understood. But diseases passed from bites? What was that? Could it happen again? Could it be a weapon against those humans that knew too much? That was interesting. The reason that the people turned against Montezuma was understood now. The dysentery disease commonly called Montezuma’s Revenge, could that have been the disease passed by vampire? She didn’t want to broach that subject with him. At least not yet. She sighed. She knew then she would eventually want to meet and talk to him again. Slippery slope that. First it would be conversation. Knowledge. But at some point she would let down her guard, and he would use that against her. It’s how it always happened. Better to just not let people close at all.

Maddra forced herself back to the original subject. His questions. She wanted to ask more. She had been animated and excited to learn the truth. But what did it matter. She would have no one to tell. And even if she did, she had no proof to back it up. It was a moot point. Her voice sounded deflated as she said, “Next question.”

Ambrose Acheron: Tizoc wondered if he had failed to translate his thoughts correctly. She didn’t seem interested to know what came before. Originally she had definitely seemed to be considering, thinking. He couldn’t help but do so when faced with the differences of the then and the now. Perhaps he was wrong in assuming people in the now had less a grasp on the then than he did on the now. Perhaps she knew everything he had to teach already. If that was the case though then why was the Sundering approaching. If the vampires now knew the risks, the result, why would they go forth with it.

Had the Fae found a way to gain control of his kind on a global scale? No. They didn’t need to. He himself had fallen victim to one of them recently. Why would any other vampire be different? He was meant to be older, wiser, stronger. He didn’t feel that way though. The fact that new powers were so easy to acquire told him the shadow was already much closer to the physical that it once was and this city seemed to be at the heart of that shift.

The quarantine zone, the catacombs, already they were weak spots. The fissures he had seen opening and closing, some of them slamming shut, others seeming to drain away slowly… something was still promoting the weakening of the barrier. “The Veil”, he thought. “Eztli called it the Veil. When it is gone, then the dead will reign. The living will fall away.” Tizoc inhales sharply. Eztli was more versed in the supernal world than Tizoc could ever dream of being. He held secrets passed down for generations, supposedly from before the time the Others and the Vampires had been at war. Wasted. He had shared none of his secrets. He had taken them with him to the Fade, to the Void. Tizoc had searched for him and came up empty handed. Two hundred years wasted and now he was here standing with the unwitting on the precipice, woefully unequipped to deal with the looming threat.

What question mattered? The world was perhaps close to ending, the shadow lord, the Smoking Mirror on the verge of victory. Ambrose, Tizoc rather, worshipped this being. He sent him victims to sate his appetite. He loved the god of darkness and for his own good helped contain him. Such was the duality of the Aztecs. That would be lost on the woman before him perhaps.

What question mattered?

“If you loved someone could you kill them? Deny them that which they want the most?”

It was not as esoteric a query as it seemed. He had done this his whole existence. Would continue to do so until the end. He would either be punished for it or glorified for it in the next life. Regardless it was his place. It was his purpose.

Not for the first time since his rebirth Tizoc felt helpless, alone.

Maddra: She had not expected that question. But she answered immediately and defiantly. “In a heartbeat.”

What the man in front of her didn’t know was that had she been a stronger human, she would have killed her mother, to save her the pain and agony that her existence had become. And then Maddra would have killed herself. But she wasn’t strong. She had been weak and scared. Too afraid to let go of life. Jonah had saved her. But in a way he had damned her as well. Her humanity, that so many others told her she should still hold on to, was gone. Stephen was evidence of that. Life held very little meaning to her now. Yes she would kill a loved one, if she had one to kill.

“I have found that people that ‘think’ they want something, are usually wrong. And those that build their life around that thing that they supposedly want, become disillusioned. And most of the time that act of disillusion breaks them. And they remain broken. Never being able to regain any sort of quality of life. They dwell on the past. It’s better to put them down sooner rather than later.”

The words were to the point and flat. She brought herself back to the present. The past meant nothing.

Ambrose Acheron: The aged vampire ponders for a moment. The view borders on nihilism. Nihilism spoken fervently though. Dangerous ground. The woman before him had been through trauma within her short span. What vampire hadn’t though. Everything in the young vampire’s nights was traumatic. Trying to go home to find the pulse of a relative sparked a hunger like fire threatening to turn familial bonds into a murderous bloodlust. Suddenly finding oneself able to leap over huge tracts of forest, or buildings, able to speak into other people's head, read their memories, raise the bones of the sacred dead as pawns, draw the shadows around them as a blanket on a cold winter night. The absence or the twisted visage found when they glanced into a mirror.

And those were normally things experienced in one evening. It didn’t even begin to encompass the differences between the “who I was” and the “who I am”. that the neonates faced. Usually it took time, decades in most cases, to fully come to terms with the changes wrought by the process of turning a human into a vampire. Even then in days past the vampire would be quite weak compared to even the middle-of-the-pack vampires one could find in this gilded cage of a city. They were learning power without knowledge at an unprecedented rate. The barrier was so weak here… Tizoc could practically feel the Darkness humming in his bones at all times. It was one of the reasons he rarely broke away from his work at the altar. The gods were near. Tezcatlipoca was screaming for release and the world would more than likely feel his wrath soon enough.

“I battle daily against that which I love. Antiquity… I will not bore you. Gods, sacrifices. It is to hold them.” He pauses, seeking the right phrase on The Google. “Checks and Balances.”

He brings both hands up, looking to the floor, his fingers clawed as though they were digging into some imaginary globe before his eyes that only he can see. “We fight for an idea…secrecy? It only creates more damage. Pawns of those from the other place. We kill for an idea and by doing so we… make our fear come true. Perhaps it is good the weak and ignorant give up. The are only causing more damage when they struggle. Unguided children in a room filled with priceless artifacts. They do nothing but damage. Secrecy is a layer… it is a tool for… what is necessary. What has been will come again. Ignorant childer. Ignorant sires...”

Maddra: Maddra could reply to his spoken thoughts with supposition and conjecture that countered his point, not that she would believe them. But she could argue points to the point of death. But that would spark another conversation that would drag her back to the past. She did not want to get embroiled into another conversation about the veil and whether protecting the masquerade by killing offenders because it would muddy her thoughts. It was the illusion all over again. So she nodded as though she accepted his words. The truth was she hadn’t accepted his words. She hadn’t discounted them either. She would take the matter under advisement and until then, she would move on.

“Point taken. However, we have digressed. You have questions and you magnanimously answered mine. So let us move forward, not back. Next question.”

She fully expected him to ask another question that brought him back to the veil and the need to not break it.

Ambrose Acheron: Tizoc nodded, truly forward and backward were one and the same. It didn’t matter which way you went, there was a beginning, middle, end, and then a new beginning. At most one changed the perceived order of occurrence and even that was simply human perception. If he could show the woman what he had seen, see what she had seen they both would be that much further toward understanding this.

“When you kill, what do you feel?”

The younger ones always had varying reactions and answers to this question. The new generation seemed to gain powers faster than ever, likely due to the barrier being so weak, the Shadow Realm being so close. Tizoc wondered if the moral degeneration was a factor in this too.

The question may seem of a personal nature, but in truth the elder seeks knowledge of the species as a whole. They seem less prone to scheming and more likely to brandish weapons than ever before. Perhaps it is related to him having been able to return.

Maddra: She opened her mouth to speak, but then paused. Her gaze drifted off, to a location off in the distance as she thought. What did she really feel when she killed? It was too easy to say, ‘nothing.’ But that was more truth than any other answer she could come up with. She hadn’t ever given it that much thought. She did it to survive. To be active during her away hours so that boredom wouldn’t drive her back to the Shadow Realm. Killing had ceased to really mean anything to her, other than a means to an end to stave off boredom.

Her silence was telling, more to herself than to him. He could think she was mulling over his question thoroughly. But Maddra knew her pause was more because she had become so jaded that death meant nothing to her much anymore. Especially the death of others. When had she become so cold and emotionless? Her whole reason for becoming a vampire was to beat death.. And then she became what she had dreaded. She became death.

Focusing her gaze on him, her voice was clear and distinct. “Nothing. I feel nothing, except perhaps impatience.”