PART THE NINTH

I'm Sebastian LaCroix, The Destroyer of Egos!

Jack's cellphone vibrated furiously on the coffee table, rousing Jack from his sixty minute slumber. Groggily, he reached out a hand and slammed it on the wood, trying to fin the device. After a few moments, his fingers close around it, and he flipped it open, bringing it clumsily to his face.

"Juh... Jack speaking," he groaned, not quite awake.

"Good. I want you at the Ventrue tower immediately," came the Prince's crisp English voice.

"Whatawhat?" mumbled Jack.

"This is the Prince, Jack. You owe me your service, if you recall?"

"Oh." said Jack, coming around. "Do I?"
"You swore fealty to me," the Prince sighed, irritated. "I won't waste time. Come the the tower now. This is a matter of some importance." The Price hung up, and Jack tossed the phone onto the floor, dragging himself off the couch. He groped the wall until he found the key rack near the kitchenette, and grabbed his car keys. Stumbling out the door and locking it behind him, he made his way to the elevator.

He drove up to the tower, only half-aware of his surroundings. The Prince was a fascist asshole, granted, but he didn't have much of a choice now. It was do, or probably die. Frankly, he didn't want to be dying. He'd been close once, and it wasn't a pleasant experience. It involved a gang of pissed off junkies and baseball bats.

Vampires were more creative than junkies.

He ambled into the building, yawning as he reached the desk. "LaCroix wants to see me," he came out with, his words encumbered by exhaustion. The security guard gave him a strange look, but pressed a button, shaking his head. Jack shuffled to the elevator, lazily hitting the PH button.

He had nodded off in the elevator, but the *ding!* had returned him to the world, slightly annoyed. He walked into LaCroix's penthouse and approached the desk.

The Prince stared at Jackson's pants.

"What are you wearing?" he asked, looking as if he was holding back a snicker. Jack looked down and reddened slightly, remembering that he had not changed out of his pajamas. The were a pastel blue, with yellow rubber duckies on them.

"Uh... You woke me up..." he said quietly, his cheeks burning. LaCroix closed his eyes and sighed, nodding his head slowly.

"Indeed," sneered the Prince. "I require a service from you-"

"Look, I gotta be back home by four to say goodnight, or good day, or whatever-" interrupted Jack. This elicited a fierce glare from the Ventrue, silencing him immediately.

"You will perform the service I ask of you, and complete it, no matter how long it takes. You do not have a choice in the matter, Jack. I now own you."

The last statement made Jack cringe slightly, but he nodded. "What do you want me to do?"

Prince LaCroix sat back in his cushy chair, pressing a pen to his lips and chuckling. Jack did not like the sound of his laugh. "I have heard of your introduction to the Count of Hollywood," he said smugly. A shiver ran down Jack's spine, and the red returned to his cheeks. What do you say to a Prince about things like that?

"I sold him silver bullets," he said in a clipped tone.

"Oh?" said the Prince, amused. "I heard you gave him much more than that."

"I didn't screw him, okay? He frickin' violated me!" Jack clamped a hand over his mouth, seeing the Prince's eyebrow raise.

"I meant nothing by it, kine. Only that you provided my Count some entertainment."

"Wasn't exactly 'entertaining' to me, Prince," growled Jack.

LaCroix waived him to silence with a self-important air. "That is besides the point. I want you to deliver this to him," he explained, handing a folder to him. It felt heavy with paper.

"I am NOT going into that place again!" protested Jack.

"You will do as I say, slave!" snarled the Prince, his silver eyes boring into Jack's.

"I will do as you say," he echoed hollowly, turning and walking back out to the elevator. The Prince sat back again, a smirk on his face.

"Much better," he remarked, returning to his paperwork.

Jack drove numbly back into the strip club's parking lot, dreading every step he took towards the door. It was still empty - they were 'closed' on Sundays. He opened the door gingerly, to find Adonis pressed against some woman against the wall, his face buried in her neck. She was moaning, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. He was getting messy, and blood was staining the woman's white blouse. Jack turned away in disgust. He'd been around vampires, sure, but he'd never watched them feed. Abstract Addy made it a point to feed as far away from Jack as possible, and he really didn't spend that much time with anyone else. This... this was just icky.

Adonis was making strange sounds, like he was getting off. The woman looked like she was about to climax. Jack felt like hurling. He turned towards the wall, feeling the bile rise in his throat. Adonis was sucking the blood out of that woman's neck. And she thought it was sexing her up.

Out it came. Jack hurled onto the wall, alcohol and Count Choculas burning on the way up, leaving that foul, acidic taste in his mouth... And blood. He was losing some of his domitor's blood. It had made it's own special pool among the brownish-tan liquid spewing out of his lips.

Adonis's head shot up, and the woman dropped the the ground unconscious, her breath coming in shallow gasps. He smiled.

"Nice pants," he sneered. Jack ignored him. "You retched on my wall, kine," His voice was playing tricks on his senses again. Jack didn't turn around, instead staring at his own vomit, debating wether or not to lick the blood back out of the puddle. His breath came too unevenly for him to be able to speak right away.

"I... I got a delivery for you... from... from LaCroix..." he finally gasped, his voice hoarse. He held up the folder, trying not to turn and look at the vampire. It was lifted out of his hands and thumbed through lightly.

"I had not realized you worked for the Prince," said Adonis quietly. "You should have enlightened me of that fact earlier."

"What, so you wouldn't have copped a fucking feel?" growled Jack, trying hard not to vomit again. He took a couple ragged breaths. "It's a temporary job."

"I disapprove of your attitude towards me, little Jack," breathed Adonis. Jack was acutely aware of those sickeningly long moments were Adonis closed the distance between them. He was afraid that if he leaned back, he'd suffocate the vampire in his hair. Oh, right, he thought gingerly. Vampires didn't suffocate. Shame.

"Tell it to the Prince," rasped Jack. Adonis stopped dead in his tracks. So maybe there were some perks to working for a fascist asshole, he thought smugly. Adonis stepped back a couple steps. "What, big bad vampire like you scared of Sebastian LaCroix?"

"I'd watch how you speak of the Prince, kine," he hissed. "You have finished your task. Leave."

Jack was all too eager to oblige, almost running out into the lot and back to his car. His heart almost stopped when he realized it wasn't there.

He scanned the parking lot, crestfallen. How the hell was he going to get back home now? And quite a few of his guns were in that car. Not to mention it was a Benz.

"Motherfucking cocksuckers," he mumbled sadly. He sighed, even more depressed, when he realized his cellphone was on his apartment floor.

It was turning out to be a very, very bad night.

Meanwhile, in Santa Monica, Abstract Addy answered Jack's phone.

"Bram Stoker Pizza Service, how may I help you?" she asked cheerfully.

"This is Jackson Hill's cellphone, isn't it?" huffed an irritated voice on the other side. The accent immediately identified the caller as the Prince.

"It certainly is!" she said, joy still radiating in her voice. "But he's quite gone at the moment... I can take a message!"

"Who is this?" demanded the Prince.

"I'll give you three guesses..." she said slyly, enjoying the irritation she inspired in the Ventrue. The two had a long history together... most of it was her finding little and obscure ways of annoying the hell out of him.

"I don't have time for this!" he cried, exasperated. "Where is Jackson?"

"No clue," hummed Abstract Addy.

There was an angry 'UGH!' from the other side, and a click. She giggled merrily, and closed the phone, placing it carefully upside down on the floor where she had found it. She was about to turn away when it started to vibrate again. This time, when she checked the number flashing on the front and didn't recognize it. She opened it tentatively.

"Santa Monica Society of Sucking, how may I be of service?"

"A. I'm calling from a pay phone."

"Jack?" her voice had lost it's impish glee, now reverting to worry. "Are you okay?"

"Someone stole my car."

"The Prince just called your cell," she sighed, shaking her head. Only Jack would let things like this happen to him. "He sounded really insistent. What did you do?"

There was a long pause.

"You know when you went missing?"

"Yes?" she urged, obviously concerned.

"I asked the Prince for help. I, uh... I agreed to be his do-boy."

"You what?" she whispered. "Why didn't you tell me? No, don't answer that now. How did your car get stolen?"

There was a long, depressed sigh. "I was running an errand for the asshole, and I came out to find the Benz gone. I'm in Hollywood, A."

"We don't have another car," she observed.

"I don't have money for a taxi," he replied dryly.

"You have a special way of getting yourself into these kinds of messes, Jack," she sighed, sounding weary. "What do you want me to do?"

"Look, the Giovanni ain't gonna pick up if I'm calling from a pay phone, 'kay? They're too cautious for that. Will you call them from my cell and ask Nico to come and get me?" His voice was hushed, embarrassed. Abstract Addy raised her eyebrow.

"Fine."

"Thanks."

"Bye."

*Click*

Abstract Addy scrolled down the contacts list, laughing at some of the names Jack had saved.

"Fascist Twinkie?" she giggled. "Ooh, that one's good. WHISKEY. Why is it capitalized?"

She focused back to the task and scrolled back to 'Giovanni'.

There were six, and read as follows:

"Giovanni Big Banana. Giovanni Grease. Giovanni Guns. Giovanni Recover. Giovanni Silky. Giovanni Zombies." She observed each for a couple minutes, trying to decipher which one was Nico. Big Banana was certainly Augusts, patron of the family in Los Angeles. Grease? All of the men in that family had greasy hair, so that didn't help her much. Guns would be Valentino. She remembered the cocky Italian boy boasting about how he hand-assembled each entirely on his own. Recover? She had no clue. Silky would be Silky, daughter, childe and lover of Augustus and the diplomat of the family. Zombies? One of the family's many necromancers, no doubt. That left the choice settled between 'Recover' and 'Grease'. She tried 'Recover' first.

It rang for a while before picking up. "Ciao?" a rough, male voice answered.

"Is Nico there?" she asked hopefully. There was a long pause.

"Nico?" the voice asked. "Nico... Nico upstairs." Obviously not a fan of English.

"Wrong number." *Click*

She tried 'Grease'.

"What do you want now, Jack?" answered Nico's voice, irritated.

"It's Abstract Addy."

"Oh." There was a pause. "This was Jack's phone," he said, cautiously.

"Yes. He left it here, and got his car stolen. He needs to get back home, and he doesn't have money to procure a taxi. Can you help him?"

"Um..." said Nico, sounding as if her were scratching his head. "Maybe. Where is he?"

"In Hollywood somewhere."

Nico scoffed. "That's helpful."

"It's all he told me. He was doing something for the Prince..." she stopped mid-sentence, seemingly listening to a nonexistent voice. "At a strip club? What would the Prince want him to do at a strip club?! He lied to us, didn't he?"

"Strip club?" asked Nico. "Adonis's club?"

"Oh," she said quietly. "That makes a little more sense, I suppose."

"I'll get going, then," he sighed. "Before the idiot does something even more stupid."

Jack sat on the curb, staring forlornly down the street. He wanted his car back. He had some magazines in that car that he'd rather not have random car thieves see. Interesting magazines, to be exact, that involved women and guns. Not necessarily in a violent way.

He heaved a sigh, wondering if his domitor had actually called like he'd asked, or if she'd simply forgot. He began to have extremely violent thoughts about Trent and a machete. A silver machete.

His thoughts were interrupted by a white mustang convertible almost running over him. Jack looked up, got a whiff of cigarette smoke, and smiled, rising to his feet.

"Nico-" he started.

"Jack, this is fuckin' ridiculous," he interrupted. "Get in the fuckin' car."

Jack obliged quickly, jumping over the door and into the seat. Nico had two cigarettes on his lips. He was apparently smoking both of them at once. "I wonder if vitae prevents lung cancer?' he mused.

"Whatever," hissed Nico, throwing the car into drive. "Sylvia'd just give me new lungs anyways."

"Is Sylvia's a necromancer?" Jack asked, wondering exactly how much fun Nico's aunt had with corpses.

"All the chicks in the family can do some," he replied casually, "But Sylvia and Tina are the best."

"Do they ever fuck the zombies?" Jack asked, fascinated. Nico answered him with a silent, disturbingly wide smirk. Jack swallowed. "Woah... You're family's got more kinks than the Marquis de Sade."

"You actually read books?" asked Nico, impressed.

"Just the dirty ones," shrugged Jack. "I wish I had a family full of incestual necrophiliacs."

"No, Jack, trust me. You really don't." Nico turned onto the freeway. "You goin' back home?"

"Actually, no," admitted Jack. "I need to go back to Downtown."

"Back to Downtown?" questioned Nico. "Downtown is yuppie central. What the hell were you doin' there?"

Jack's cheeks reddened slightly. "Don't tell your family alright?"

Nico looked at him strangely. "If it's somethin' you gotta hide from the family, I'm not sure you oughtta tell me-"

"It's just temporary, alright?" Jack said quickly, waving his hands. "The Prince has got me running stupid errands for him."

Nico's cigarettes dropped out of his mouth and landed on his lap, going out instantly. "You're working for the Prince?" he asked, each word slow and pronounced.

"I don't exactly have his best interest in mind, if that's what you mean." Jack pouted. "I'm not a fucking Cammy. I just made a stupid deal."

"And now Prince FuckYoutroix has you licking his shoes."

"Yeah."

Nico turned off the freeway and into Downtown, heading for the Ventrue tower. He heaved a sigh. "How can you be so fucking clever, and still be so unbelievably stupid?"

"Yeah, A says things like that, too," frowned Jack.

"No, I got it, I got it. You're a teenager."

Jack gaped at him. "That's never been a problem before, you... you... old man!" he stammered, not quite sure how to insult him.

"I'm twenty seven, kid," he growled.

"Going on sixty six," Jack added dryly.

"Yeah, which makes me your superior, bitch, so shut the fuck up." With that, the argument ended.

There was a long silence, and finally, Nico spoke. "How'd you get ghouled, anyways? You never told me."

"I told you I worked the black market way before I met A, didn't I?" said Jack sheepishly.

"Yeah. You ran that street gang-"

"The Foxes," answered Jack.

"Stupid name, but yeah, go on."

"I had sold some tweakers a fix. They followed me down the alley, practically beat me to death, and took my wallet. They bashed my face in with bats, and left me to die there. A came, fed me vitae, taught me how to heal. I didn't know anything about vamps back then, except what I got out of Dracula and 30 Days of Night, so I thought I was in love. I begged her to let me follow her home, and after a bit of an argument, she let me. I started paying for the apartment, she fed me her blood and told me about all this supernatural shit. So here I am, a month later. I can tell you, I ain't getting smashed around by druggies anymore," he said with a wink. "But what about you? How does a Giovanni tick?"

Nico seemed to ponder this for a moment, but looked up when he saw their destination looming before them. "How 'bout I tell you at the diner tomorrow, eh? Right now, you got a dictator to deal with."

Jack looked a little disappointed, but nodded, climbing back out over the door and onto the sidewalk. "Are you gonna take me back home?" he asked hopefully. Nico rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, fine. I'll just wait here for your sorry ass."

Jack wandered back up to the penthouse, opening the door tentatively. He was answered with a pacing, very angry Prince.

"Where were you? It's nearly four o'clock!"

"Eh... My car got jacked. Pardon the expression."

"Nevermind," he huffed. "Did you finish your task?"

"Yeah." Jack stood a little straighter, but he wasn't sure why. "Can I go home now?"

"No." The Prince's voice was cold, almost petulant. Jack suppressed a giggle, imagining the Ventrue as a whiney fifteen year old getting slapped by his mother for back talking. Man, he thought smugly, raising him had to have been a fucking nightmare.

"Um... No?" asked Jack, pressing for information. "I did what you asked, Prince LaCroix."

"It wasn't in a timely fashion," huffed the vampire, his arms crossed.

"I'm SORRY that some jackass stole my car, okay?! It wasn't my fault!"

"Your excuses do not concern me!" the Prince screamed back, silencing the ghoul. Jack stared at his bare feet, and observed the bubbles on his pajamas. Little rubber duckies and bubbles. It probably detracted from his credibility.

"Look, I don't know if you bloodsuckers ever get tired, but I've only gotten one hour of sleep in the past two and a half days, so if you could let me go home now, I'd be REALLY appreciative, okay?" He was being stupid, he knew. He didn't even resist when the Prince's hand rocketed across his face, sending him crashing against the hardwood floor. He didn't even get up.

"Don't talk back to me, worm!' he shrieked, his usually immaculate orange-blonde hair sticking out in strands. "You are my servant, and will follow my orders without question!"

Jack rolled over onto his stomach, his face stinging. He felt as if his jaw had been knocked out of place. "Yeah, yeah, I get it! I surrender! Just don't hit me again!" He was trying to roll onto his knees, at least, but gravity was feeling especially effective on him right now, and he found he didn't have the arm strength to pull himself off the floor. There was a long silence between them, Jack feeling the blood pool out of his mouth and on to the floor. He lifted his head, watching the red drops swim in saliva. "Ugh, I'm bleeding," he said, maybe a little too loudly. The Prince's head snapped up, and Jack covered his mouth defensively.

"You may go," he said quietly, turning towards the window.

"I can?" asked Jack, confused. "But you just-"

"You've been dismissed," snarled the Prince. Jack didn't waste any time scrambling to his feet and leaving the penthouse.

A/N: Poor Jack, entertainment to his friends… car resource for the world… Next up: LOTS OF DIALOGUE!