Rekindled Humanity

Summary: Nearly seventy years wandering one of the harshest cities in the world takes its toll, especially when you're the Prince; the ruler of all kindred inhabiting the city. Rosalynn knows all too well the pains of governing the unruly nightwalkers – or at least trying too. For thirty years she has existed as the Prince, and for thirty years she found herself raging a never-ending battle to retain power and maintain order. The reckless Anarchs and brutish Sabbat threaten the Masquerade, whilst the demonic Kuei-Jin subtly slips under the radar to plot how to eliminate their western brethrens' rule over the city.

However, when news of the fall of the important vampire-inhabited city of Los Angeles to Anarch rule which threatens the Camarilla hold on California reaches her ears, Rosalynn finds herself on a journey to discover who she really is… and rediscover what it was she actually lost, in signing her existence over to the Camarilla. In travelling west, she'll discover much more of her past than she ever expected… leading to a rekindling of her lost, human soul.

The time has commenced, setting up one of the most epic showdowns between kingship rule and socialist freedom… with the most personal story entwined in history, forcing a Prince and a rebel to confront the same torturous past…

What will happen when she discovers that the only one she truly loved in life has now become her single greatest enemy in death?

Disclaimer: I do not own or created any of the characters or recognisable plotlines from Vampire: The Masquerade Bloodlines, nor do I claim any affiliation to the creators.

Note: I started this story several years ago, but discontinued it when I ran out of inspiration. I recently rediscovered it and decided to continue, so I'm posting it back up. The story continues on after the conclusion of the same, and is going to delve in the past of several main characters.

CHAPTER ONE

A crisp breeze nuzzled her neck as she gazed around the empty parking lot. It sure as hell smelled a lot better then those damned sewers, but even so – that wasn't saying much. Two piercing blue orbs cast a mean glare around the lot, from behind askew strands of deep red hair. It was dead quiet. That is, except for the constant droning and wailing of police and ambulance sirens in the distance, but that wasn't anything new. In fact, such distant sounds were commonplace nowadays, following the waves of so-called 'gang-related' violence that had gripped the city in recent years. At least, that's what law enforcement had termed it. In truth, they had no idea of the more sinister nature behind the bloodshed. Some even pegged it on Satanic, or occult practices following the revelation of some disturbing evidence that came in the form of blood-drained corpses left to rot in the street.

Rosalynn. That is simply what she was known as to her fellow kindred. No last name; no identifying written or legal documentation of who she was and the nature of her past, and that's the way she enjoyed it. Keeping someone from knowing your past was a sure-fire way to keep that person at a distance. If they don't know anything about you, then they cannot possibly know you, right? It made survival in this hostile world all the more bearable with no strings attached. No more of that. She was going to be no one's puppet. Always keeping her cards close to her vest, she kept herself under the cloak of an aura; one of mystery that kept her friends and enemies at a firm distance.

Standing stoically over the open sewer entrance, nonchalantly adjusting her black gloves, the Ventrue Rosalynn's calm expression did not reveal the depth of her anger that was boiling through her veins like liquid fire. She had long mastered the unsettling skill of hiding any thoughts, feelings, or emotions that threatened to dispel her reputation amongst her kindred as the ultimate cold, badass bitch of the New York kindred.

Her thick red mane of hair cascaded down to the small of her back, curling loosely with locks of it dancing in the wind behind her, framing her ghostly pale, heart-shaped face. Her slender frame was cloaked in dark blue jeans, a long-sleeved, v-neck black top and knee-length leather jacket. Overall, there was nothing about her other than her deathly discoloured flesh that stood her out from the usually colourful New York kine, anyway.

Rosalynn's lips parted, an almost like a seductive dance her tongue darted out of her mouth, into the thick, musty New York City air. She gagged on the disgusting taste and erupted into a violent coughing fit. Motor oil, decomposing garbage, blood, rotting corpses, and other unclean material carelessly discarded by mostly kine. Kindred were always far more careful in their steps.

"Ugh… foul little rodents, the kine of this city may as well be," Rosalynn muttered, though no one else was around. She was alone.

She let out a wistful sigh, and swept her flowing hair behind her ears. The night was still young and her energy levels replenished, sequestering her inner beast to the depths of her corrupted soul for yet another night. Not that it took much trouble finding suitable prey in this city, with nearly 10 million tasty morsels to choose from. However, been the target of a city-wide assassination plot forced her into the trenches of the sewers, where all the fledgling and less powerful kindred, as well as the Nosferatu clan used to make their travels wherever they needed to go, at least in New York, had forced her to make a quick escape from her haven in a nearby hotel where she had dwelt for several years now.

Her youthful beauty was encapsulated in her delicate features; her wide blue eyes and petite nose, and full red lips contrasted her paleness, enhancing a dark beauty that many women envied and many men desired – both kine and kindred alike. Behind the innocent façade, however, lay a deep-seeded danger that had been nurtured through the decades which she faced without age or fear of death. After all, the dead cannot die twice, right?

Rosalynn glanced down at herself, giving herself a quick once-over inspection. She had emerged from the sewer relatively unscathed, except for the bottom her jeans and shoes soaking wet.

"Goddamn it," she muttered, shaking out her legs. "Fucking sewers - made for those Nosferatu vermin."

She had barely managed to escape the initial onslaught of about fifty of those Sabbat assholes who had launched a brutal assault on a nearby vampire-controlled apartment block, long since abandoned by kine, in attempts to find her. It was another in an increasing number of brushes with Final Death. Well, being the Prince of New York City had its downfalls – but it had taken her a hell of a long time to climb to be the pinnacle of the Camarilla of New York, so she sure as hell wasn't about to give it up without a damn good fight. In 1978 she ascended to the top, to assume her rightful position after having single-handedly led the Camarilla charge to wiping out both the Kuei-Jin and Anarch movements that had converged on her territory – not to mention the Sabbat problem that was gripping the city – her city.

As she stood in solitude in the parking lot, Rosalynn couldn't hide a satisfied smirk that slowly appeared on her lips when she thought back to her moment of declared victory, after having been the one to decapitate the leader of the Anarch's, the Brujah Jordan Malovski, in an epic battle that raged for hours all around Central Park and ended in her taking a fire axe to his neck. To date, he had been her most formidable opponent, and since his time the Anarchs and the Kuei-Jin have failed to re-establish themselves as any real threat, though on numerous occasions both factions tried to raise their own 'revolutions', and each one was unsuccessful. New York City had been one of the first cities in America to fall into Camarilla hands following the Second World War, and it hadn't changed since. The horrific, bloody battle, in 1978, had solidified Rosalynn's power and dominance along the entire eastern seaboard. The kine were left dumbfounded, and without an explanation until someone labelled it the work of psychopathic serial killer who had since vanished into human legendary, along with such killers as the Zodiac Killer, and Jack the Ripper. It seemed to satisfy human curiosity, in explaining away the increasingly violent 1970's, were vampire activity had been accumulating to almost explosive levels – all of which, by sheer dumb luck, hadn't been picked up by mortals. That was a time when the vampires were more reckless and didn't take as much care in protecting the commonsense rules that governed them and made up the Masquerade. Now, Rosalynn enforced the Masquerade with an iron fist, and unleashed waves of brutal consequences on the kindred who opposed her or the laws that protected them all.

Usually she didn't leave her haven without tight security, since her head was the envied trophy prize of every Anarch, Kuei-Jin, Sabbat, and vampire hunter in the city. But the unexpected attack had quickly separated her from her elite team when she had retreated to her bedroom, and jumping into the sewers had provided her the only means of escape. Needless to say, it was the closest she had come to Final Death since 1978.

Emerging alone from the sewer, she relied upon her extraordinarily potent perception to scan the environment for the detection of a hunter's heartbeat, or the soft whispers of conspirators, or the scent of another vampire's blood. Luckily for her, the coast was clear. Or so she thought.

"Miss Rosalynn?"

Rosalynn screamed and spun around. A figure emerged from the shadows, and upon stepping into the dim street lighting, the she sighed in relief and shot the person a damning glare.

"Goddamn it, Lucas! Don't fucking do that, I'm on edge as it is! It's chaos out there and you're out stalking the shadows like that?"

The handsome kindred offered her an apologetic smile. His shoulder-length black hair was tied in a simple ponytail, allowing the light to fall across his face; his chiselled cheekbones; his deep-set emerald eyes; and his square jaw gave him the perfect image as a seasoned warrior. The deep scar etched into his right cheek attested to the silent tale of many bloody nights fighting the enemies who threatened the stability of the Camarilla and their government of the rest of the kindred.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am," The subordinate replied, and bowed his head in humble respect. "But you said to meet you here."

Rosalynn pouted, remembering to the brief exchange she shared with the Tremere Lucas McMahon, her second-in-command who she relied on to help her carry out the daily activities of being leader, as well as issuing commands and enforcing the rules down the ranks. He was her 'enforcer'. Lucas had managed to escape the nearby Camarilla vampire haven and made it to Rosalynn's private haven in time to warn her of the Sabbat's revolt, before she sent him back to help assist as many of the other Camarilla kindred out.

She was glad to see he made it out. Rosalynn relaxed and returned to him a curt nod before reaching out to him, and hooked her arm over his shoulder affectionately. Despite her keenness to keep her distance from all vampires, Lucas was one of the only vampires on the planet she trusted with her entire unlife. As a youthful thirty-five year-old looking vampire, he had been with her since her embrace, although was not her Sire. Since then, Rosalynn sought to make it her personal mission to ensure his safety.

"I'm so glad you made it out, my friend," She replied.

"Not unscathed, I'm telling ya now…" Lucas joked, and gestured to his arm which was bleeding extensively. "But I've suffered worse."

Rosalynn stood back from him and saw the wound, and cringed. "Ouch. We gotta get you cleaned up. Is the emergency haven prepared?"

He nodded. "Yeah… just in time, too. The car's waiting around the corner there. Come on, we can't wait. You need to get out of here; the Sabbat is tearin' up lower Manhattan."

In no position to argue, Rosalynn nodded and allowed herself to be led towards the sidewalk. She knew they wouldn't be left alone for much longer, as in no time they would be discovered – and there was a good chance it may be the Sabbat who gets to them first. Gazing out through empty eyes, she sank back into her own thoughts and wondered how the hell any of this could happen. This was a disaster. How could the Camarilla be taken so off-guard by an attack by the mindless brutes that craved to destroy the foundations of a well-governed society, all in a bid to stop this supposed 'Gehenna' from occurring? Rosalynn knew it was a load of nonsense, and she had spent thirty years proving why it was nonsense.

Lucas escorted her around the corner and into the adjacent street that connected from the parking lot. Not far away, Rosalynn spotted the black Lincoln town car directly ahead of them, that was her primary means of transportation around the city – it even afforded her some travel during dying sunlight, as the windows were so heavily tinted and she always had the privacy screen up to block direct sun contact. Though she wasn't exactly dressed to impress as the Prince of New York City, she was still the primary target for the attack. Now they were off-guarded and vulnerable, something she rarely had been since assuming her position of power – she usually was constantly surrounded by her elite security team that Lucas had all but said had been obliterated. After all, if they were still around, they would've made haste to join Lucas' side in escorting their leader from the grasp of danger.

"We must hurry. Daylight strikes the horizon in thirty-six minutes," Lucas informed her, breaking the silence, with a slightly panicked edge in his tone. "Are you sure you're not injured?"

"I am fine, just a little shaken…" Rosalynn answered, just as they reached the car.

Lucas hurriedly threw open the backseat door and held it open for her. Without stopping, she ducked down and stepped into it, and the door was then slammed behind her. She flopped down in the seat and let out an exhausted sigh, and raked her fingers through her hair.

Ahead of her, she saw the driver's door open and Lucas slipped into the seat. Normally she had another driver, but unfortunate circumstances dictated speed as a necessary part of getting her to safety, and not entrusting his leader's survival to the hands of a lowly weaker vampire, Lucas had insisted transporting her by himself.

Lucas pulled his door shut and revved the engine into life. "We should get there in about fifteen minutes, if traffic is kind to us."

Rosalynn snorted and tried to stifle sarcastic laughter. "Sure, in New York, traffic's no problem," She mocked.

"Trust me, ma'am," Lucas replied, and slowly drove the car out onto the main street. "I'll get you there in time."

"I have no doubt about that, my friend."

They settled into a comfortable silence; Lucas concentrated on the road, and every so often glanced into the rear-view mirror to glimpse at Rosalynn, but noticed that she was concentrating on something else. Rosalynn heaved a deep sigh and rested the side of her head against the window, and stared out at the streets as they went flying by.

"How the hell did it come to this…?" She lamented, capturing her friend's attention.

Lucas glanced into the mirror. "What do you mean?"

Squeezing her eyes shut, Rosalynn pinched the bridge of her nose as though trying to fight off an imagined pain. The full weight of the night's attack was settling in her, now she had time to reflect. Her closest colleagues and most trusted companions – destroyed. She still had close allies who were out of town to meet fellow Camarilla members – mainly the New York City primogen, but they would not be reachable for another few nights… which meant, with her organisation crippled at least temporarily, she'd need to get out of the city until her Camarilla kindred could regroup. Unfortunately, there was no way to do that at the moment with the Sabbat launching all-out warfare across the entire city.

"I mean, how the hell did it get so bad with me that I didn't even pick up on the fucking warning signs that the Sabbat was planning this shit?" She asked him, opening her eyes.

"Miss Rosalynn…"

"I've been a good leader, right? I mean, I give these people the freedom to do as they please and I forgive many transgressions to maintain the peace, and grant every faction – the Camarilla, the Sabbat, and the Anarchs – all the same rights! I don't trample on the freedoms of any of them, and yet they still rebel against some imagined 'doomsday', and blame it on us?" Rosalynn ranted, not understanding why her efforts were so reviled by many of the kindred. "Tell me, Lucas… has anything I've done in the last thirty years made any bit of difference?"

Lucas hesitated in his response. He didn't know how to answer her. To answer in the positive, he knew she would automatically assume he was humouring her. To answer her in the negative would do nothing but send his leader into a downward spiral and possibly enrage her.

"I believe so, ma'am," He cautiously replied, and refocused his attention on the road. "You've done more than you've needed to, to show these ingrates that you are more than capable and genuine to govern them. But they're like spoilt teenagers, rebelling against parental authority. They need to be dealt with as such. Sooner or later, they'll get it."

It was the best he could come up with. Daring to glance at her through the mirror, he noticed her saddened expression hadn't changed. No doubt, she was contemplating her past and consulting her archives of memories, trying to figure out what went wrong.

"You've done everything for them. And may I be as bold as to say… there is no reasoning with the Sabbat. They're animals. They can't reason." He added.

His words did nothing to bring comfort to her. It was bad enough being the most despised, distrusted vampire in the city. What made it worse were the constant attempts on her unlife, even though in her position obviously brought that necessary evil with it. But it was more than that. It gave the appearance that she was falling under the pressure of anarchy, letting the different factions run their own games, and that she lacked control over her own city. Other Princes did not look favourably on her efforts or skills as a result, which could encourage a takeover by an ambitious Prince seeking to expand or move to new territory. It made for a burdensome existence – one plagued by constant fatigue and stress, requiring her to always be on alert. Sometimes Rosalynn couldn't help but wonder whether any of it was worth it, but then she supposed that greatness had its own burden to bear, and price to pay.

Settling against the backrest of her seat, Rosalynn pondered her doubtful thoughts and gazed vacantly out the window. It was a struggle to remember the reason she agreed to fight for the Camarilla to begin with at times – although she would never let herself admit such a vulnerable secret to anyone. Such painful memories should remain hidden, to the betterment of everyone.

Rosalynn sighed wistfully, and closed her eyes once more. All she needed at this point was a decent day's rest.

Note: Will post up more shortly.