~Author's Note~
I'm back! And I'm really excited to be writing again, cause I really missed it. Thanks to everyone who didn't hate me for leaving you, and thanks to anyone who is reading this for the first time. I'm feeling a lot better now and writing for Newsies (especially vampire fics, hehe) feels just awesome after having been down for awhile. Anywho. Please read.
And if you read, please review!
lovelovelove,
Julianna.
November 19 1904
Violet lay awake for an hour the next night, her vision flitting in and out of red blurs. She was freezing cold, huddled under the fleece blankets, but whenever she touched two fingers to her forehead it felt flush and feverish.
A sweat broke out over her neck and chest as she kicked off the covers and surveyed the dark room. Her eyes didn't take even a split-second to adjust to the darkness (although she didn't notice this) and they seemed to glow almost red at first glance. But Violet couldn't see this and her actions were becoming startlingly less hers and more primal.
She reached under her bed and pulled from it a wooden box. Placing it on her lap, the bed springs creaking, she opened it and extracted a shining silver knife encased in a leather holster, only about six inches in length, but sharp as a hawk's eye and glimmering as fresh blood.
She set this beside her, along with some cash. She replaced the box back to its hiding place and extended a pale arm down the bed to her trunk. Opening it silently she pulled out her clothes for the evening: a tight corset and a lacy top which was originally an undershirt but would serve its purpose as a shirt tonight.
Slipping these things on with a bit of tugging, Violet stood and fingered the knife carefully before sliding it, and its leather case, into the warm nestle of her brassiere. Next she slid the money in.
Stopping to peer out the window, Violet picked up the candle holder with a flickering, melting candle in it and headed toward the exit of the dormitories. Slipping through the curtain, the flame of the candle sputtering, she glided toward the end of the hall and the heavy oak door there.
Once on the street, Violet set down the candle on the steps leading to The Convent and it guttered out in seconds in the cold rain and wind around it. Not knowing exactly where she planned to go, Violet let her feet guide her and found herself heading in the direction of her half-brother's apartment.
When she arrived, she knocked on the door, her bony and pale fingers making a harsh noise on the wooden frame. Her brother's sleepy and shuffling form came to the door and she didn't say a word to him, sliding into the room.
There was no furniture except a small mattress with a blanket which still held his form.
She looked up at him, the exposed bit of her chest washed in moonlight as it splayed across her ivory skin.
"I need…" And then, reaching into her corset, not saying another word, she extracted her blade and slid it from the case, allowing the silver to glint to its full potential in the ethereal moonlit glow.
Her brother took it in his gruff hands and looked at her. She was not startled to see him with both eyes revealed, even his gruesome-looking left eye which he normally kept hidden under the eye patch. It was white, totally empty, with no iris, the strange repercussion of an accident involving a fire poker when they were younger.
He gave her a strange grin, the points of his teeth seeming longer and somehow more hazardous than they did normally. She took a step closer to him, laying a hand on his bare chest, her heart thrumming, and tilted her face upwards.
He drew a clean, swift line down his forearm, which was muscular and upon which a long vein protruded. The little droplets of blood were immediate, and beautiful, and Violet dipped her head, her lips skimming the cut, the metallic taste filling her mouth, this time with sweeter undertones.
He put a hand on her forearm now, gripping hard. She knew she would bruise purple there.
"I need more," she said suddenly, his blood still on her lips, glistening. "I need more blood." She sounded almost animalistic and gasping, a tone of terror underneath the crimson glint of her eyes.
Her teeth shone with her brother's blood as she spoke, the sharp tips annunciated.
His right arm moved again along his left, and this time the cut was deeper and wider and even more of the precious garnet liquid leaked out of it. Moaning softly, she pressed her lips to it and drank.
"Thank you." She ran her tongue along the row of bottom teeth, spiky with her increased desire.
Her head spun suddenly and she began to fall, her vision fading back to normal colors, no longer singed with redness.
She looked around her and saw the two long gashes on Blink's arm. Her knees crumbled beneath her. "What have I done?" she asked the floor.
Blink walked over to the mattress and sat down, wrapping a stray piece of fabric around his wounded arm. Her nose was almost touching the wood floor.
He chuckled. "It's normal," he said. "At first, you're going to want the blood of those who you're close to. It takes awhile before you can get away from that." He met her eyes. "It's sort of like mother's milk as a baby. It's comforting."
She nodded and ticked off in her head, stopping at—"Did you hear about what happened?" she asked meekly.
He nodded.
"Word gets around fast." Shaking his head, he said, "You'll have to be more careful. The Brooklyn boys can help you. If you want help." He grinned mischievously.
"Where are they now?" asked Violet.
"Probably Spot's." He shrugged. "Are you going to be okay for a little while?"
She nodded uncertainly and then asked, "How did this happen?"
"You came in contact with their blood, probably," he explained. "They've been this way for awhile now."
Violet nodded, something strange stirring in her. "I need to see him now, I think."
Blink's mouth opened and he looked a little frightened. "It's dangerous out there, kid. Especially at midnight."
A clock chimed somewhere, the resounding echo panging Violet's chest which felt empty. "I'll be fine." She turned to leave.
The streets were eerily empty, as Violet made her lonesome way, bound for Brooklyn. The light from the moon cast a bluish glow over the grey streets. Although it was freezing cold (it was a particularly nasty winter in New York), Violet did not shiver once. Her body was intent and focused on getting to Brooklyn as fast as possible, to reap what was hers.
When she reached Brooklyn, there was a strangeness surrounding her, like she was being followed. She turned quickly and saw nobody behind her, so she continued. The night was cold, and freezing rain was flung at her from every direction. But she neither noticed nor minded this.
Her focus was entirely on getting to Spot's apartment, as quickly as she possibly could, before she lost control again. Reaching his door, she knocked harshly as she had on her brother's.
Spot came to the door, looking tired. But Violet knew that he hadn't been to sleep; he was still in his clothes and there was a glow from inside the apartment. He moved aside to let her in, revealing three of the other Brooklyn boys; Leon, Vince, and Carmichael.
They were sitting on overturned milk crates arranged in a circle with one crate in the center, a lit candle and some playing cards laying face-down on its surface. Only, they weren't playing cards. They were, instead, looking at each other seriously; bruise-like shadows beneath their eyes.
Also on the crate they were using as a table was Spot's broken shard of mirror, Violet now noticed. The piece, which had at one time been gleaming silver, was scratched and faded. There were glimmering specs of white powder on its surface.
Leon, Vince, and Carmichael all looked up when Violet arrived, and did not ask her why she had come. It was understood somehow that she was here for food; for blood.
"We've been expecting you," Spot said in a gravelly voice, sauntering up behind Violet after shutting the door with a wooden clamp. "Come on, boys."
The others rose, and stood, bathed in moonlight. They stood tall and looked even more daunting under the guise of night which now revealed them.
The three turned toward the door and Violet began to follow, but not until Spot's arm was weaving itself around her hips and he had whispered in her ear that he would take care of her tonight.
The window was thrown wide open with a bang!, and in silence everybody climbed through it stealthily, stealing through the night like bandits—which is exactly what they were. Spot's arm was still protectively slung around Violet's body, as if she needed protection from anything. The idea of somebody trying to stop her in the state that she was in was laughable.
Being in New York City, it must be understood, there are no places to go and hide away, to perform sacred- or wicked-natured things in complete solitude. There is nowhere that one and one's followers can go to be alone, and act depravedly upon one another.
Brooklyn seemed lonesome that night, and maybe that aided in the desperation of Spot and Violet, and their friends. Or maybe, their need, their hunger was just too far gone to be ignored. Regardless, Violet and Spot were out for blood. This wasn't just about score anymore, it wasn't about sparkling white powder that made them feel unstoppable; it was about being unstoppable. The hunger was unstoppable.