Andromorphia: Roleplay Vampires, Demons, Angels, Lycans and Fantasy Stories. Fantasy, SciFi & Horror Roleplaying & Writing.

« **Reply #15 on:** 12/06/2008 23:34:29 »

Long had Squig wondered at the madness of timeless decadence. His world, and probably the entire world, was all about it. But this particular vampire - the Marilyn Manson archetype - was proving himself weird upon weird. Which, of course, meant a part of Squig liked him. People usually hide their weird. Not Marilyn - um - Alastair. As a matter of fact, Squig was of the opinion that the old boy was so personally fucked up and out of whack with reality that he was probably bait for interesting times. Of course, we all remember what the Chinese mean by ‘interesting times.’

But in the final analysis, a man is worth nothing if he is not devoted to his friends. It is both a selfish and a selfless tenant. You give where you are fed and take where no one is looking. Fantine was, in Squig’s jaundiced eyes, one of the few givers in the vampire community. Oh, not so much as to be a fool. Just enough not to be an idiot.

So, Squig had to wonder if Alastair was an idiot or not. He seemed focused on taking all and everything for himself. Yet, and this was perplexing, he also seemed to know how to give just enough - not enough to twig the demons who invaded his decadent mind, but just enough to not spoil his chances at debasing his feed bag. Squig wondered about it. Either Alastair was a walking douche bag filled with blood and too much power for his own good, or he was one of the clever ancients who knew how to feign the worst parts of humanity just to be dramatic. Worse yet, he might actually be completely insane. There was only one good end to insane immortals - and that was dead, dead, dead for fucking ever. Squig, as humble a servant as he could be, and yet never was, knew just how to dispose of dead stupidity. Not that he was going to entertain the thought anytime soon.

Still, he DID have that ancient East Indian dagger ... more than a thousand years old and worth more than Einstein’s cranium on a platter. The Vedas seemed to suggest ...

“Ma’am,” Squig brazened to interject into the matters of immortals. “The man seems not to care about either the coat or the girl. But if I may be so bold, Ma’am, I need the book she possesses. Would ye be pleased or angry should I beg your leave for that endeavor?”

Such delicate words Squig reserved for few but Fantine. And there was natural fear in his voice. Not of the ancients but, strangely, of not fulfilling his promise to Big Boss Delaney’s need. And not of fear of the Boss, either. What he feared most was missing a good payday and the raunchy and debasing celebration that would inevitably follow.

« **Reply #16 on:** 12/10/2008 04:22:33 »

Fantine examined Alastair for a moment before looking back to Squig.

We shall go together, if you shall lead us, dear Squig.

She smiled up at the man, her fangs barely showing in the light of the remaining candle. A wind came by and snuffed the last candle out. Fantine gathered her cards and pulled her shawl tighter about her shoulder. She left the globe and the candles on the small table. No one local would touch them, and no one not local would really see them.

Are you ready, Alastair? We have a girl to put out of her misery and a cloak and book to save.

« **Reply #17 on:** 12/12/2008 22:26:35 »

Squig was really going to have to get over his fascination with Fantine. He’d stood behind her most of the time and didn’t, even once, feel like a lawn ornament. Which was what he thought he was when he thought about ageless dead things with active brains. That description seemed rude and unnecessary when in her presence, but fairy facts never much bothered him. What had actually bothered him was his view down the front of her blouse. It was all wrong and all right at the same time. Vampires shouldn’t be so attractive. They should all be like Alastair - grossly perverted in appearance and attitude. That was a hell of a lot easier to both understand and to deal with. Fantine was like blood honey; you wanted to lick it but you knew it was going to end up badly.

He wanted to say that he’d lead and she could be in charge. Or maybe I can lead a Vampire to water but there’s no damn way she’d drink it. Or maybe just Yes Ma’am and be done with clever and pointless repartee. But he simply nodded. She could not see him with her eyes, but she had seldom seemed to act like that mattered. It was that touch of royalty in her that made her simply expect what was happening, or foresee it, or just plain not care one way or the other - as long as Squig was willing to pay the price for his moment of hubris. He wasn’t in a particularly arrogant mood - a few glimpses at her caramel breasts notwithstanding.

But he wasn’t looking at Fantine at that moment. He was looking at Alastair. He damned himself for not paying closer attention before then. Sure, he’d seen the surface of the vampire and, frankly, didn’t much care for him. He’d seen mobsters with more obvious intelligence and moxie. But now that he looked at him he managed to see something more. Probably not a lot, but more than before. The thought that the girl might be innocent meant nothing to Alastair. Innocence to something so obviously perverted by and ignorant of humanity no doubt saw innocence as nothing more than low hanging fruit. Bang it, beat it and eat it. Light on the banging part, no doubt.

That wasn’t all he saw. It wasn’t like he’d never met a vampire before, or that he’d never had an argument, or that he hadn’t killed more people than his fingers could count. It wasn’t any of that. It was Alastair’s incredibly stubborn arrogance that impressed him. It was like he feared nothing and expected the world to spread its legs for him. Squig had seen the man’s human analog so often it would make a Teamster puke. But that wasn’t what made Squig think twice. It was Alastair’s giving in to something. Something ate at the old vampire, and it made him give in a little. It was like (and Squig could not know this having not been privy to Fantine and Alastair’s previous conversation) Alastair had given up, didn’t care, and maybe even considered dancing with the idea of permanent death. Squig’s forehead creased with sudden deep thought. It occurred to him to wonder why two ancient and virtually eternal walking dead would be interested in his own endeavor to get a book. Perhaps, Squig thought, none of it had anything to do with Squig, the girl, the book or Big Boss Delany. Maybe it was all about two dancing vampires, frolicking with bloody ribbons tied around a fragile human May Pole. Dancing the midnight boredom shuffle. The end of any conscience blues.

He shook his head. Too damn much thinking. It never amounted to anything. It was almost always complete bullshit. Squig took a last, quick glance at Fantine’s caramel candy breasts and took strength from the fleeting image. Even her fangs seemed unimaginably attractive at that moment. But he wasn't lost on the thought that he was just a thief. He could steal a look, but he'd never be able to wear the goods.

“Of course, Ma’am", he finally broke his silence. “We have a girl to put out of her misery.” This he said with as little irony as he could muster. By then, Fantine was already rising from the table.