A/N - Alright. So. To start off, I would like to say that this story is really starting to get to me. Like, the characters are creeping around my head constantly anymore, and while I had wanted to wait and make sure I have enough chapters out to create a release schedule, I fear I simply cannot keep from posting this any longer. I realize that I don't have the greatest track record with unfinished stories, but I assure you, I WILL finish this one. I've already gotten up to about half way through chapter nine, and I fully intend to keep going.
That being said, I want to establish what the updating schedule will most likely be. Right now, I'm thinking every two weeks. That way, it allows me to focus on school work and my grades while still having enough time in between to work on the next couple chapters. I realize that there is always a possibility for something to turn up unexpectedly, but I promise I will always work to keep updating this, and will give an ETA if and when the schedule might need to be temporarily altered. I also realize that this story is likely not to have a very large following, but I still feel that this is necessary for me to put on myself, so that I actually finish a story for once. A personal goal, if you will. And if any readers benefit from this schedule, then well! Good for that too! :) I'm thinking that, while this is actually a Tuesday, I will update every two Fridays. That way, it gives me some time at school to work on it as well, as strangely that seems to be the only times I get large amounts done.
And now that that's out of the way, I hope you enjoy!
1. Who Mourns for Cammies?
It was cold. Like, really cold. Cold enough to instantly freeze a horse in his tracks as he tried to run down from Russia to France. But fuck if Dean cared. Pretty little babe strapped to his side for dear life, the full moon casting just enough light for him to see perfectly, and enough booze in him to OD three cows - he was happy. Fuck, it was his 63rd birthday - man was allowed a little shit-facing at this age. But… Jesus, it was cold.
"Darling," he mumbled, his mouth having almost frozen shut without his noticing. How could it be so cold without it snowing, or icing over somehow? He brought her closer to him with his arm. Though, of course it wouldn't help any, seeing as his body temp was just as chilly as the rest of the world. "You cold?"
It took a moment before she replied, as of course she would be feeling the cold a lot more than he would be. "Mhmm…" she murmured into his side, trying to dig in further to find the warmth, though he had none. He had forgotten just how fragile humans are. Fuck, if he thought about it, she might even be hypothermic.
"Hold on hun, we'll be back at my place in a minute," he tried to reassure her. She didn't answer, but only leaned farther into his neck. Shit, he needed to get her inside. If he wasn't careful, she would start to freeze - and no one likes deep frozen meals.
When they finally got back to his rented room in the nearby motel, he ushered her inside and wrapped her in a thick blanket as soon as he could. Some birthday snack this was turning out to be - who wanted to nurse their treats back to health? But she was shaking like a leaf, her skin as pale as the oldest Elder he'd seen, and her lips a swollen purple. Strangely attractive, to be honest, but he was everything but a monster. Well, a kill-on-an-everyday-basis kind of monster.
He decided snuggling up close to her was a fairly terrible idea, seeing as he was still probably just as cold as it had been outside. So he sat on a chair across from the bed she was on, watching to see when she would stop shivering. He tried talking to her, but she either was ignoring him, or was passed out sitting up or something weird. He gave up. Another half hour later, she still wouldn't talk. He sighed and stood up, walking over towards her and sitting next to her on the bed. He could see now that she was wide awake, but was refusing to talk to him. He reached up to touch her shoulder, gauging just how cold she was. Still icey, but not dead.
He, however, was now quite warm, and so he wrapped his arms around her slowly, a bit afraid that she would just run off it he startled her. Food was often very skittish, even if they didn't know they were food yet. "Are you doing okay now, Sweetie?" he asked tentatively, rubbing his hands up and down her arms.
It was then that she turned her sharp gaze toward him, her eyes piercing through him. God, was she actually mad? At him? "Still cold, you bastard. This is not with the $50."
Little bitch was really going to throw that in his face when they hadn't even gotten to do anything? Did she even know that he wasn't planning on fucking her? Doubtful - she was a whore, anyway. "Excuse me?" he finally retorted, backing a few inches from her.
She scoffed, turning her back to him. "You heard me - I was payed to fuck some random cutie, not freeze to death in a ratty motel." She then took a long sigh and laid down on the rough mattress, the blanket still wrapped tightly around her.
He took a moment before replying, but when he did, he smirked, laying down right behind her and wrapping his arm around her waist. "I'm sorry, Sweetie. I didn't mean for this to happen…"
She hesitated before nodding quietly. "I know. I'm sorry for snapping. It's just that freezing isn't exactly on the payroll," she said softly, chuckling a little.
He began stroking her shoulder. "You're just saying sorry so you still get your $50."
"Oh no, I wouldn't do that…" he could almost see her smirk.
"I'm sure," he murmured softly, trying to ease her back into a false sense of security. "But I do so feel bad about your freezing. How about I… make it up to you?"
She seemed hesitant, but nodded in the end and let out a small "Mhmm."
Then, ever so slowly, he began to kiss her delicate shoulder, then a little bit towards her neck, kiss by kiss. He heard her sighing as he did so, and she squirmed ever so slightly, her skin warming up under his touch. Finally, he reached her neck, and planted a sensual, languid kiss along that ripe vein. Then, slowly, he opened his mouth to uncover his fangs, and plunged them into her neck.
She jumped, obviously not expecting the sharp pain accompanying a bite such as this, and a small whimper fell from her delicate lips before it changed into a soft sob. He knew that a vampire bite hurt like hell - he himself had been bitten before, obviously - but this seemed almost unnecessarily painful for his lovely little flower. Honestly, though… he didn't care too much. She was delicious, and he wasn't necessarily going to kill her.
After taking enough blood to satisfy him for the next night or two, he ran his tongue over the wound to close it up. He lapped at the blood that hadn't quite gotten into his mouth and had gotten all over her shoulder. When he was done, she was already asleep. Being bitten usually did leave you quite weak, and most kine fall asleep afterwards. He didn't mind; it left time for him to clean up after his mess before leaving.
He walked into the bathroom of the small motel room - the only other area in the whole place - and grabbed a towel from the rack above the toilet. After a moment, though, he grabbed another for good measure. He soaked them both in warm water and walked back towards the bed. He started to wipe off the blood from around her neck, which was surprisingly a lot. Had he been so messy?
Shaking his head to try and clear the thought, he finished cleaning the area around her neck and the mess along the sheets. He was surprised at himself for being so messy, but really he shouldn't have. He was never one to really try to be better at anything, and vampirism was no different. Well, at least, not too different.
Fishing around in his shirt pocket, he pull out his wallet and flip through it. He tossed a $50 next to her, along with a pack of cigarettes as an apology, and walked out the door.
The night was still young, and he had yet to party with anyone as he had originally intended to. Maybe he'd even be able to grab another doll before going back to the motel room. Then they could have their own little party to themselves, he thought.
Dean started walking towards the downtown area. Maybe a nightclub or something… or maybe just a dingy bar. Either sounded great. Flipping his phone on, he dialed in the number of one of his good friends. It took longer for him to pick up, which was unusual for the energetic guy. "Y'ello?"
Dean smirked. Sometimes his friend was a bit… camp. Though, it had always been the thing that made him so fun to hang with. Well, one of the things anyway. "Heyya Knoxie, what's up?" When he hesitated, Dean went ahead and spoke up. "It's my birthday, man, and well… I was wondering if you wanted to come hang out. Grab a few drinks, check out the ladies…?" he drawled, as if trying to tempt Knox more than he knew he already was.
"Uh…" his stomach plummeted at the sound. Really? He was going to ditch Dean now? "I'm sorry, D, I'm sorta on a job right now, and I can't… leave. I'm sorry, man! Man…"
Damn. He had really been looking forward to hanging out. And he couldn't really be too mad at him, because, well, he did sound a bit disappointed. And he couldn't really blame him if Tung had him out doing stuff. "Well, alright. What exactly are you doing, though? Tung got you out scouting or something?"
He seemed relieved that Dean hadn't gotten mad. Understandable, as Dean knew he had a bit of a temper when it came to humans, even ghouls. "Actually, yeah. He's taken a liking to some new kin around Santa Monica. Says she's pretty popular so far, and he wants to track her and make sure she isn't a threat. Also, we've got a bit of a Kue-jin problem…"
"Ouch. Sorry, Knox, sounds like you and your master have got your hands full. I'll, uh… call back later. Maybe we can hang out in a week or two."
"Yeah, man! And don't worry, this is nothing me and Bertram can't handle. We'll be drinking up the Asylum in no time," He said, sounding extremely excited about it. Then again, Knox always sounded excited about things. Then he hung up.
Walking onwards toward the more gritty areas of downtown LA, Dean realized that he had entered the more populated, city-like area. He hadn't been to this particular side of the city, and it seemed like a really interesting place to be, honestly. Skyscrapers lined each side of the street. Large buildings that held thousands of apartments and rooms for the wealthy stretched upward, and there were a couple swanky looking nightclubs dotted about the place. He wondered how many kindred lived in this area of town.
He headed towards the even more dingy area a few streets down, walking under a bridged area. There were homeless hanging out in the underpass, and an alleyway that seemed to hold even more of them. Santa Monica had its fair share of homeless, but this was a bit ridiculous. He kept from meeting their eyes, as he knew they would take one look at him and ask for his cash - which he didn't have much of.
On the opposite side of the infested alleyway was a tiny building, barely two stories high, with a worn, wooden sign lit up by cheap lights. "The Last Round…" he murmured, reading it. A bar? He guessed there was only one way to find out.
He walked towards it and could already hear the deafening noise of rock music. This seemed like his kind of place! Intrigued, he stepped on through the shabby door. The music instantly filled his head, making it difficult to think. Not quite what he was used to, but he could easily adapt. Besides, this place looked exactly like what he was hoping for.
As Dean made his way inside, he tried to take in the sights and was hoping for a bar. Then, directly on his left, was one of the grittiest and most disgusting bars he could ever hope to see. Excited, he sat down and ordered a beer. he enjoyed the few minutes he had to myself until…
"New kid in town, right?"
He swung around in his stool to see a fairly similar-looking man. He had a dark blue shirt over a dirtied, white tank and some shaggy jeans. His hair was a messy dark brown, and he had a fancy little goatee going on as well. It was almost like looking in the mirror - that mirror having a bit more tidy facial hair, that is. "Uh, not really. Been here about a year or so."
The mirror looked perplexed. "Really? I haven't seen you around here," he mumbled, almost to himself, before taking the seat next to Dean.
Dean let out a soft laugh. "Yeah, I don't get out much. Not really in my nature."
The mirror smirked, looking at Dean through the corner of his eyes. That look said a lot, but Dean couldn't seem to figure out any of it. "Really? I would think that your nature would compel you outside quite a bit."
Now this intrigued Dean. Was this guy kin as well, or was he just a good judge of character? "Well, I don't get out much in the day, anyways. I tend to stick to my little apartment in Santa Monica."
The mirror nodded then, licking his lips before gulping down what was left of his beer. "Yep. Almost everyone here is like that, too. Even big Benny here," he said, a little louder while raising his now empty bottle. The bartender sulked over, scowling as he handed Dean's mirror another one, then walked back to his group of chatty cathies on the end.
"So you're all…?"
"Kindred, yeah. You couldn't tell? This is basically the Anarch base here in Los Angeles," he said, looking almost skeptical of Dean's lack of knowledge.
"Well, naw, I couldn't really tell. I wasn't lying when I said that I don't get out much. I hang out with Knox and Trip over in Santa Monica, but really I don't get deep into the gritty LA, if I can help it. I know the kind of political shit that's always going on down here, and I don't want any part of it," Dean told him straight. If he let the mirror know that he wasn't interested in hearing the Anarch-ian plight, then maybe he'd fuck off about it.
Dean got a bit of the stink eye before the mirror turned from him, took a huge swig of the beer, and then turned back to Dean, looking refreshed. "So, you're name, newbie?"
"Dean McMaron. Call me Dean. And you?" he held out his hand.
The mirror took it, shaking it roughly before grunting out, "Nines Rodriguez."
There was another long, comfortable silence as they both took a while to drink at least half of their beers. When the blaring music started to drill into his head enough that he didn't really notice it much anymore, he glanced at Nines. "So. You're an Anarch, then?"
"Yep."
Blunt. Okay… "And what clan are you?" Clans had always fascinated him for some reason. He knew that they were strangely important in knowing, so you knew how to deal with some people. Every kindred was different, of course, but a lot of times they were easier to handle if you knew just a little of what to expect from them.
"Brujah." Oh, great, a rabble-rouser. Dean should have guessed, him being an Anarch and all. But you know, you can never know. Or whatever, you get it. "Yours?"
Shit. He also should have known Nines would throw the question back at him. "Um… well, it's complicated, really."
That got him to look at Dean, bringing his beer from his lips and his head tilting, almost as if he was exasperated. "Shit, don't tell me you're dhampir or a thin-blood or… something. We don't need another half-twit here, goddammit."
Dean let out a laugh before looking him in the eye. "No, I'm not a half-breed. Well, at least I'm pretty sure I'm not. Just Caitiff is all."
Surprisingly, Nines let out a sigh of relief and returned to his drink. "Thank god, man. At least you're actually a vampire. Jesus." He looked at Dean through the corner of his eyes, noticing his confused expression. "We get a lot of weirdos around here," he explained further.
Dean laughed out loud at that, taking a swig of his own bottle. "Yeah… Hate to break it to you, bud, but you're in LA. You're going to find a lot of weirdos."
Sneering, Nines turned to the side, looking away from Dean and at some couple in the corner. When he looked back at Dean, he seemed a lot more aggravated. "You think I don't know that?" He looked back in the corner again before growling and getting up. "Hang on a minute…"
Dean watched as Nines stalked over towards the couple, who he was now taking a good look at. There was another guy there, average height with a disgusting, kind of cool beard. It looked like he was wearing strictly black denim, and showing as much body hair as was possible in a public place. Next to him was a short woman, wearing a t-shirt and capris. What stood out most was her army hat, though, and that ultra-bright red hair, with lips to match.
Nines was talking to them now, seeming very angry for some reason. Dean tried to tune his ears to their conversation, but to be honest his hearing was never very good, even now that he'd been a vampire for 40-some years. Plus, the music wasn't helping any.
They talked for quite a while, and Dean decided not to stare like an idiot and turned back to the bartender to grab another beer. After around 5 minutes went by, Nines was finally coming back to the bar, with his two friends in tow. None of them looked too happy.
"Hey, Dean… We need to ask you a few questions," said Nines, sitting back in the stool next to him, his friends filling on either side of us.
"Uh… sure."
"Wasn't really a question, McMaron." The woman with red hair said from her spot on the other side of him, snarling. What was this?
"What the hell, guys?"
She ignored him, and when he looked towards Nines, he simply seemed indifferent. The chick was barking at Dean again. "We hear you been hanging around Knox."
What the…? "Yeah, he's like my best bud. Why the fuck is that important?"
She ignored the question. "You been hanging with his master, too? What about the other Santa Monica ghouls? Buddy-buddy with them as well?"
Anger started rising, quicker by the minute. "Fuck you say? Why would he hang with any of those pricks? All they do is moan about shit they gotta do," he growled at her, getting ready to up and leave the place. She narrowed her eyes, seeming to not believe him. "Why the hell is that important, anyway? Shit, you act like they're out to get you or something. Jesus."
Finally, Nines spoke back up. "They are. All of them are Camarilla pawns, don't you get it? They could have sent you to spy on us, or even attack us."
"Wouldn't survive it, anyhow," Red pitched in.
"You can never be too cautious in this world, you know?" The hairy guy finally said, sitting on the other side of Nines so he couldn't see him well.
This was crazy. "You can. It's called being paranoid." It looked as if Nines was going to start up on his soap box again, so Dean cut him off. "You know, I just wanted a fun night out with my best friend, Knox, but he was too busy! So I come here, looking for a beer and maybe a babe, but I must have been taking a piss if I thought I might get a bit of a break on my 63rd birthday! Fucking hell, this isn't worth my night…" he started to get up and leave, but Nines grabbed his arm, strong enough to stop him but not enough to keep him there. Dean tugged it from his grip and sneered at him, willing him to just leave him alone.
"Look, Dean, I'm sorry. But Jack's right; you can never be too careful. At least, if you're rolling with us. We're the minority anymore, and the whole world seems to be against us. Especially in LA, 'cause honestly, there's only like fifty of us. And, what, a couple hundred Cammies?"
"Goddamn Capes everywhere…" murmured a still angry Red next to Dean.
He still wasn't convinced that the whole reason they had ganged up on him was because they were 'paranoid'. They seemed like too cool of a group to be scared shitless of the Camarilla. Though, to be honest, he hadn't heard much about the Camarilla at that point, and didn't know jack shit who and what exactly they did. "Look," he sighed, turning back towards the rest of the crowd. "I'm not into sects, sides, or groups. I just wanted a bar to hang out at until the sun rose. If you're not going to let me do that, I might as well be outta here. 'Cause I don't want nothing to do with your shitty politics and fucking paranoia. Got it?"
Nines seemed to get angered - once again - by this, but the hairy guy - Jack, apparently - got up before he could say anything. "You're right, kiddo, we're sorry. Right, Nines? Damsel?" When they didn't respond, he nudged Nines harshly and gave Red - Damsel - the stink-eye. "Right?"
"Right," the others said in unison, as if being scolded by a cross parent. Strange, to see the two most temperamental Anarchs be sent to bed without dinner. Unwillingly, he let out a bark of laughter, which earned a searing glare from Nines.
Sitting back at the bar, Dean ordered one more drink before turning back to Nines once again. "So you the leader or something?"
Nines looked at be out of the corner of his eye, as if the entire interrogation scene hadn't even happened. "No. No one's a leader here, no one's higher up on the food chain, the corporate chain, or whatever the hell you wanna think up. We're all equals here. That's what we don't like about the Camarilla. That's what we fight for." He seemed so dedicated, so sincere about what he was saying that it almost made Dean feel bad about calling them paranoid earlier. Almost.
They had a few more drinks before Dean was ready to pack up and head out, back onto the streets of LA. He grabbed a beer to go and promised to return to the Last Round at some point in the near future. As if. That place was a nuthouse, even if the people seemed okay… ish.
When he got back to his motel room, it took him a bit to get get the door open, as the cheap lock was stuck. Again. He started to contemplate simply knocking the door in, but as soon as the thought crossed his mind, the lock relented as if it had read his mind. When he flipped the lights on, he immediately noticed that the chick from earlier was still laying on his bed, passed out cold. It had at least been five hours, what the hell was she still doing here?
He struggled with his inner beast for a long while, not wanting to give in to it, but also not wanting to pass the opportunity up. Dean was a handsome man, sure, but really he was considered lowlife among most, and it was rare that he found a willing victim, even if he have to pay her. It could be a hell of a long time before he was able to feed again.
The temptation proved too strong this time, and he snuck over to the bed, laying back down against her. He had to argue with himself again, in a last minute attempt for reason to try and stop hunger, but eventually hunger one once again. He placed his teeth in the same spot as before, reopening the newly closed wound. Instantly, a wave of blood poured into his mouth, and he had to wonder just how little he had originally taken. After a minute, the blood began to mix with the alcohol in his system, and was creating a strangely addicting buzz through his veins.
He realized, after a while of indulgence, that he was drinking quite a lot. It seemed, unfortunately, that this buzz seemed a bit too addictive, and he ended up drinking too much. Damn. Dean had to force himself to pull away from the weakened vein to look at the poor woman that had somehow become his victim. Her skin was as pale as snow, and her breathing was diminishing to the point of nonexistence. He watched as she opened her eyes, looked at him, and let out one more breath before dropping her gaze and letting loose her muscles.
Cursing again, he got up from the bed in a hurry. Why, he didn't know. Running his hand through his rough brown hair, he sighed heavily before turning his gaze back to the woman. he walked back to the bedside and lifted the poor girl's body up. He brought her outside, searching for a dumpster to drop her body into. After a moment or two, he found one in the back of the motel lobby and quietly lifted her inside. He felt bad. Really, he did. But there's only so much a kindred can do after the events. Besides, she was living on the streets. It's not as if anyone would notice when she was gone.
Dean walked back to the motel room, and started to clean up the rest of the blood that had been left after the second feeding. He dabbed at the sheets, and his own mouth, and soon laid down to sleep.
A/N #2 - Well! That was a bit of an introduction, huh? I know a few bits here and there are rough, but I lack a beta reader and my own scanning skills aren't what they used to be (so says the 16-year-old haha). I will likely go back and edit a few paragraphs that don't suit me, or maybe add a little more dialogue or something somewhere down the line, as I expect this to be my largest story yet, and I will probably grow a bit in style or otherwise as I go along.
As stated in the beginning, I will update this every two Fridays. So, that puts Chapter 2 at... January 24th, 2014. Hope to see you then! :)
