Rating: PG-17, just to be safe. Strong language, and a few "mature subjects".
Note: This is based on a four-issue comic series by Cailber/Chaos! Comics, called, The Lost. The Lost is a horror story, set in the modern times, about Peter Pan as a vampire. The comics are for Mature Readers.
The true story of Peter Pan: by: The Reaper, also had this premise. The Lost is what I was talking about in my review.
Keep in mind that this is only one version of the Peter Pan story. The comic was written and drawn with great respect toward J.M. Barrie's creation, and by no means claims to be the "real" story of Peter Pan.
Disclaimer: Except for the new Lost Boys, the vampire Petra Pan (You knew there was going to be one, right?), and a few unfortunate victims, I do not own any of the characters from either Peter Pan or The Lost.
The boy sat on top of the roof, watching those below go about their business. The night wind blew his blonde bangs across his face, his blue eyes bright and intense. He was watching for something to come to the doors of the run-down appartment building that he had choosen to perch upon.
Or rather, someone.
For several nights in a row, Peter Pan had sat on this roof, watching the events unfold. He had his reasons, he told himself. He told this to Wendy and the others, as well. He was not sure if they believed him.
Peter was not sure that he believed himself.
Peter's clothes were far from the leaves and tree sap that he traditionally wore. He wore a fishnet shirt, through which you could see his chest. His short pants --coming just above his knees-- was black leather, and a black, leather jacket covered his shoulders. On his feet were black, leather boots. He looked more like a gangbanger than what he really was.
Suddenly, Peter caught sight of the person he was waiting for. A man --"drunk to the gills", as Captain James Hook would have said-- came staggering up the sidewalk toward the building. People on the street avoided him, giving him looks of disgust. The drunk managed to drag himself up the stone steps in the building's front, then pulled open the doors. He staggered inside, the doors automatically slamming behind him.
Peter knew what was about to happen. It was almost like clockwork. The old man would manage to make it to the old, rusting elevator, and by lucky chance, punch in the right button for his floor. He would then get off the machine, and stagger to his appartment, fumbling with the keys. He would manage to unlock the door and get in. He would send the babysitter home. She would not even be halfway out the building when the yelling would begin, and the beatings soon after.
The man lived with his young daughter, a child of about nine or ten, and he had a habit of verbaly and physically abusing the girl before falling into a drunken stupor. When he awoke the next morning, the man would forget what he had done the night before, and leave for work, leaving the babysitter to stay with the girl. He would then stop off at his favorite bar, have enough drinks to get himself drunk again, stagger home, and the yellings and beatings would start all over again.
Not tonight. Not if Peter Pan could help it.
I'm becoming a damn hero! Peter thought. He floated to the window where the appartment where the girl and man lived was located.
He got there as the man whipped off his belt and began the night's beating. With a roar of rage, Peter crashed through the window's glass, throwing himself at the man.
As he lept, Peter changed. His skin --which was a pale Caucasian skintone-- became a sickly green, and his eyes changed from blue to black, the "whites" becoming red. His ears lengthened a little, becoming pointed, and his fingernails hardened into claws. Fangs grew from his perfect upper teeth.
"Good Lo...!" was all the man could get out, before Peter slammed into him. He seized the man's neck and squeezed, locking it in an immpossibly strong vise-grip.
"Wrong!" Peter grinned. His other hand joined the one at the man's throat, increasing the pressure on the his windpipe. "Dead wrong!"
Peter's vampiric strength was far superior than that of the puny mortal adult, and in mere moments, it was over. The man laid dead at Peter's feet.
Throughout the attack, Peter had smelled the man's breath, and he nearly choked at the foul odor of alcohol. Peter hated the smell --and the taste, for alcohol lingered in the blood-- of anything stronger than soda. He hated drugs and tobacco in the same way. Alcohol, drugs, and tabacco tainted the blood, and caused any vampire drinking it to suffer many of the same effects of the substances, as if the vampire had drank, or took drugs, or smoked.
Ricky was the only one of his Lost Boys that smoked, and Peter let him, but only because Ricky was his loyal second-in-command. But Peter had hated the taste of Ricky's blood while the immortal boy was turning the other into a vampire.
Now, Peter turned to face the little girl. She was cowering behind the battered couch, peeking over the back of the piece of furnature. Her hair was dirty and oily, and no real color could be determined. Her eyes were leaf-green, and her clothes was a torn t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers.
She would never come to him willingly, now. He had transformed himself into his full-vampire form, and she was frieghtened. He would have no choice then.
Peter reverted back to his "normal mode", and stared into her eyes, snaring her mind with his own.
"Don't be afraid," he whispered gently. "I won't hurt ya."
Hypnotized, the girl approached him. She stood in front of him, as unmoving as a puppet, her eyes blank and staring.
What to do about her? Peter never killed children. He either left them alone, or sired them into vampires. And he could not leave her alone. She was a witness to Peter's attack on her abusive father. That left only one option.
"What's your name?" he asked gently, his eyes not leaving hers.
"Reva Kerry," she answered woodenly. It sounded like she said "River".
"Then I'll call you, 'River'," he smiled. Then, he knelt down and bit, begining the siring.
Moments later, the two had left the building. It would be daylight when the babysitter would arrive for her daily stay with Reva. She would find the man dead on the floor, and scream. The scream would alert neighbors, even in New York. They would come, find the distraught woman and the dead man, then call for the police.
Upon investigation, the police would find a message, written in blood, carved upon the man's bare back by clawed hands:
Death to those who harm the children! Such grown-ups walk in Hell!
Little Reva Kerry would be missing. A fruitless search would be made for her in the building, then in the neighborhood, itself. She would never be found.
The body of the man would be taken, autopsied, but the mystery would never be solved. No one would know that a vampiric child had killed Tom Kerry, or had taken Reva Kerry to be yet another of his band of vampiric children.
The treehouse in Neverland was covered in graffiti, and looked the perfect place for a vampiric band of children. One wall was lined with shelves, and the shelves were filled with books. A ladder lead to someone's bed, a decapitated head hanging at the entrance to the "bedroom".
In front of the tree, standing guard, was Ricky. He wore his black leather harness, black leather pants, and short, black boots. On his right arm was a long, black glove, and on his left upper arm was a studded, leather armband. His hair was very short, except on top, where it was a bit bushy. In his left ear was a gold hoop earring. And, as always, he was smoking.
Wendy, who wore a black, leather top with a laced collar, leather hotpants, and tall, black leather boots, was argueing with Tinkerbell. The one, thin, long braid in her otherwise short hair bobbing in the air.
"Tink, stop being stubborn!" Wendy was saying. She was the latest in a series of girls named "Wendy" that Peter had brought to Neverland, and the first one that he had ever sired into a vampiress. She was used to drinking blood by now, when at first, she would shy away from biting another human being.
Tink glared at her, hovering at the girl's eye-level. The tiny fairy was green-skinned, and had a large mane of black hair. On her face was a tattooed outline of butterfly wings, making it look like she was wearing a mask. Except for several pieces of jewelery and a straggly skirt of long, thin ribbons, the little vampiric fae was nude. And as she had been with the Wendys before the current one, Tink was jealous of the girl's relationship with Peter.
Tink said something totally nasty to Wendy, who just glared at her.
This is how Peter found them when he returned to the tree house with River.
"Did I come home at a bad time?" he asked.
"No," Wendy answered. "Tink and I were just having a little --talk-- girl-to-girl. Nothing important. Well, nothing important enough to argue about."
"Okay," Peter grinned. "Brought you something," he told her.
"Oh?" she looked at him, bemused. He was always bringing her presents, little trinkets that he found somewhere --or was on the body of an adult victim. He once brought her a pair of studded braclets from an adult gangbanger that he had fed on. She wore them for special occations, like when they went out to "dinner".
"Yep!" Peter brought Reva/River forward to stand in front of him for Wendy's inspection.
Wendy studied the child in front of her. She looked about nine years old, and wore slightly torn clothes. Her hair was messy, and probibly had not seen shampoo in a month. She could tell by the eyes that the girl had been changed into a vampire. That, plus the fact that Peter never fed on children except to sire them, told Wendy that the girl was not food.
"Who is this?" she finally asked.
"River," Peter smiled. "River, this is Wendy. She's your new mother."
"Are you my new daddy?" the girl asked. Peter exchanged a look with Wendy, whose expression said, "Well?"
"Sure," he answered. "I'm your daddy, and Wendy is your mommy. Now, why don't you go and play with Auntie Tink for awhile, okay?"
"Okay," River answered. She followed Tink to a spot in the treehouse that had a pile of toys, and began playing with them.
"You really like letting yourself in for it, don't you?" Wendy commented.
"This is how it's always been," he replied. "Me, the father, and Wendy, the mother. The rest is our children."
"I hope you're not expecting me to do extra housework..."
"Nah," he grinned, floating crosslegged in the air and putting his arms behind his head. He leaned backward in the air, as if relaxing on a sofa. "River won't be any extra work."
"OW!" they heard from the toy pile. The two looked over at River and Tink.
"Auntie Tink bit me!" the little girl cried.
"Tink!" Peter cried angrly, flying over to the two of them. He changed as he went, a sure sign of his rage. River wisely retreated to where Wendy was standing, allowing the older girl to check the wound as Peter and Tinkerbell argued.
This is going to be an interesting family... Wendy thought to herself.
Next: Chapter 2: Rocky. Another Lost Boy joins the group. Peter begans to rebuild his band of Lost Children. Also, The Lost version of Petra makes her appearence.
As I only have issues 1 & 3 of The Lost, I'm making a lot of guesses on who survives by the end of issue 4. So consider this an Alternate Universe, where at least Peter, Wendy, Ricky, and Tinkerbell has survived. Hook and Smee might also show up. They, too, are vampires in the comic. Future "Mature Content" might include a little sex, and maybe some BS&M. In the comic, Peter's "favorite resturaunt" is a BS&M club called, of Human Bondage. Also, Peter's favorite trap for adults is to play "boy-hooker" (so he tends to target pediaphiles, which is not altogether a bad thing...). I'm thinking of writing him as the "Anti-Hero" kind of vampire, like Spike in Buffy's later seasons.
Review, but no flames, please. This is as true to the comic as I can get, given my limited access to the series. Thanks.^_^