The Vampire Sands and the Blood Brotherhood
A continuing story by KazrenElf and Roosterroo
What if Agent Sheldon Jeffrey Sands was a vampire?
Sands and Victoria Night 2 part 1
Sands: My feet take me back to Carnegie. Tonight is the last performance of La Triviotta. I am across the street, on the roof, watching the Hall. The wind is up again. Though I don't really feel the cold, the thermometer in Times Square said it was almost freezing. For effect, and to look cool, I wear a long black leather coat I took off the body of a German tourist. He was hitting on me. Imagine that. Give the boy a cigar for stupid.
I sense werewolves not far away. I can't tell which ones from up here. They're mixing in with the humans. Desert mixing in with the main course.
I sense her. She's nearby. I stare down, looking, searching. My vision focuses in on her. She stands out. Why can't the dumb humans see that she doesn't move like one of them? Hers is a dance. They stumble in their short-lived clumsiness. Time to party.
Victoria: I couldn't sleep. That vampire was in my thoughts. Who was he? A hunter? He appeared as much. Perhaps he will return to the opera, it is after all the last night of La Traviotta.
I step out of the cab, in a swirl of silk and pull my fur about my shoulders to simulate that I am cold. I can't feel a thing actually. The street is crowded this evening. So many humans, and wolves too? An elderly couple bids me good evening and I incline my head to them.
He's here. Slowly I turn. He is very close, but where? The lights dim and then return to full brightness. A clue for the patrons to move inside and begin to find their seats.
Sands: The fastest way down is almost like flying, my black coat trailing out behind me. I land and go into a crouch. Then I'm up and moving faster than humans can follow. Across the street. Dashing through the slow- moving cabs. A blur to most of them. I have to get to her side. She's already gone into the building.
A man holds the door for a woman. Thanks, bud. I slip inside and move by instinct. By scent. She is there, near the doors. Hesitating. She knows I'm here. Slowly she turns to face me. Her skin is pearl-pale. Her gaze rakes over me. I like it. She's tall, not as tall as me, but tall. Or maybe it's the heels. I circle around and her eyes follow my trail.
When approaching another vampire, it's always safe t assume she's dangerous. Like another C.I.A. Agent. Like a well-armed Mexican whore. The silk. The jewels. The elegance is what tries to fool the eye. I must not lower my defenses just because she's gorgeous enough to stop a train. Stop a vampire.
I'm glad I wore a turtleneck tonight. One more layer to take off if things go right. Sheldon Jeffrey Sands zeroes in. I stand, looking innocent. I know they always think I look innocent. Just like a cobra.
Victoria: I enter slowly giving the vampire a chance to find me. I know he is near, I feel it in my blood. We can all feel the presence of one another. Sometimes the connection is very intense.
I linger by the entrance hoping for at least a glance before taking my usual seat. A small gust of wind blows in through the door. The patrons shiver and comment on winters' hastening approach. I know it's not the wind. He's here and he's bold. I like that.
He circles around me slowly, as if I am his prey. A faint smile emerges; I am. He's giving me a chance to see him, to smell him. He's taller than I and his hair flows around his face and shoulders, like something from one of Botticelli's' paintings. I stand still allowing him the same courtesy. I hold the fur about my form and then allow it to slip exposing my neck and shoulders to him.
"Good evening," I say seductively. One of the ushers comes forward.
"Excuse me miss. Last call for your seats. If you don't go now, you'll have to wait an hour until the intermission." He is uneasy, he knows he is interrupting something between the two of us.
I turn my eyes back to the vampire in the black leather coat.
Sands: The question is, who is seducing whom here. I see her. I want her, but I don't know her. With her coloring she might be one of the Enemy. One of the Vascendi clan. Or a von Strom. Caution comes first, though my mouth waters at the sight of her. Sleek. Classy. Skin like satin, I imagine. And I can imagine what she might taste like, too.
Too late to put on my shy act. I smile back at her, imagining what she'll look like with the fur beneath her and the dress lost somewhere.
Training kicks in. Survival instinct and all that. Look at her rings, anything that will tell me her clan. Friend or foe, baby. What are you?
I haven't even heard her voice yet. I wonder what it sounds like. And her speech, is it accented? Curiosity can kill. I've learned patience. Especially after Mexico. Especially after Ajedrez. The bitch. Just the thought of her cools my libido. It's hard to get horney when someone's drilling your eyes out.
I have to force that memory out of my mind. It makes me crazy. Crazier. Fuck, this woman is beautiful. I want to play. I want to take a chance. Does she?
I move toward the door, pause and look back inviting her to follow. Now the ball's in her court.
Victoria:
He's inviting me to follow. I've seen Traviotta before. Why not? I nod my head and let my eyes speak for me.
I hesitate once outside the door and raise my hand in a motion for him to wait. I saunter over to the stand-by line where the impatience wait and wonder if they'll ever be let in. I hand my ticket to a well dressed gentleman. He is surprised and thanks me profusely as he rushes inside the door. I turn hoping the hunter will still be there. I know he will be, something about the way he looks at me. Those dark, boyish eyes. Tempting, very tempting. The leather coat fits him well, not my style but good for him. I look him over carefully trying to see if he is one of my own, but he doesn't wear any symbol of his allegiance. That's smart, neither do I.
I walk over to him, the silk gently swaying with each step. "Where shall we go from here?" I ask formally, a little bit of my old life slips through with the words. That sweet mixture of English sprinkled with those gentle Arcadian tones.
Under the strong light of the marquee we can see each other more clearly. I run a hand against the side of my head, checking to see that my carefully up swept hair is still in place. I must be careful, you can never tell when you meet our kind what our intentions might be; he may wish to slit my throat and drink me dry for all I know. Then again he probably is wondering the same thing about me. Let's see where he takes this.
Sands: She knows she's beautiful. Her eyes are a very unusual shade of green. Pure. Emerald. She's got the coloring of a Celt. She raises a hand, signaling for me to wait. What's she up to?
I cast a cautious look around the city street. I don't sense others of our kind. Nowhere close, anyway. I like the way she moves. She's got the moves of a ballerina.
I wonder why she gave her ticket away. Was there some meaning? Or perhaps the human was a friend? Some of us have human friends. And lovers. When we can control ourselves. It took me years of practice. Practice makes perfect.
She turns to look at me again. I have to smile for her. On cue. I know my part. They all judge the book by its cover. This cover has no words, only leather. If she doesn't give the game away, I won't.
I flash her a quick smile. Our eyes lock. We're both careful. She's smart. I watch her approach, wondering what it feels like to run my fingers through her hair. To pull those pins out. To help her out of that very fashionable dress. Not that I know much about fashion these days.
I'm still not sure about her. There's a touch of something foreign in her accent. A hint of Greek? I can't quite place it. I still don't know if she's friend or foe, but all the signs are . . . interesting.
"Why don't we take a walk?" I suggest. To show I have no intentions of harming her - at least until I know which clan she's with - I shove my hands in my coat pockets. Oh, I've got a big gun in the right one. I almost forgot. My werewolf special. I like guns. One can never have enough guns.
"So you like Opera?" I ask. Great opening line, shithead. Now I am embarrassed. I'm such a fuckup. I look down at my feet as we begin to walk, hoping my hair hides my chagrin. To Be Continued
Sands and Victoria Night 2 part 1
Sands: My feet take me back to Carnegie. Tonight is the last performance of La Triviotta. I am across the street, on the roof, watching the Hall. The wind is up again. Though I don't really feel the cold, the thermometer in Times Square said it was almost freezing. For effect, and to look cool, I wear a long black leather coat I took off the body of a German tourist. He was hitting on me. Imagine that. Give the boy a cigar for stupid.
I sense werewolves not far away. I can't tell which ones from up here. They're mixing in with the humans. Desert mixing in with the main course.
I sense her. She's nearby. I stare down, looking, searching. My vision focuses in on her. She stands out. Why can't the dumb humans see that she doesn't move like one of them? Hers is a dance. They stumble in their short-lived clumsiness. Time to party.
Victoria: I couldn't sleep. That vampire was in my thoughts. Who was he? A hunter? He appeared as much. Perhaps he will return to the opera, it is after all the last night of La Traviotta.
I step out of the cab, in a swirl of silk and pull my fur about my shoulders to simulate that I am cold. I can't feel a thing actually. The street is crowded this evening. So many humans, and wolves too? An elderly couple bids me good evening and I incline my head to them.
He's here. Slowly I turn. He is very close, but where? The lights dim and then return to full brightness. A clue for the patrons to move inside and begin to find their seats.
Sands: The fastest way down is almost like flying, my black coat trailing out behind me. I land and go into a crouch. Then I'm up and moving faster than humans can follow. Across the street. Dashing through the slow- moving cabs. A blur to most of them. I have to get to her side. She's already gone into the building.
A man holds the door for a woman. Thanks, bud. I slip inside and move by instinct. By scent. She is there, near the doors. Hesitating. She knows I'm here. Slowly she turns to face me. Her skin is pearl-pale. Her gaze rakes over me. I like it. She's tall, not as tall as me, but tall. Or maybe it's the heels. I circle around and her eyes follow my trail.
When approaching another vampire, it's always safe t assume she's dangerous. Like another C.I.A. Agent. Like a well-armed Mexican whore. The silk. The jewels. The elegance is what tries to fool the eye. I must not lower my defenses just because she's gorgeous enough to stop a train. Stop a vampire.
I'm glad I wore a turtleneck tonight. One more layer to take off if things go right. Sheldon Jeffrey Sands zeroes in. I stand, looking innocent. I know they always think I look innocent. Just like a cobra.
Victoria: I enter slowly giving the vampire a chance to find me. I know he is near, I feel it in my blood. We can all feel the presence of one another. Sometimes the connection is very intense.
I linger by the entrance hoping for at least a glance before taking my usual seat. A small gust of wind blows in through the door. The patrons shiver and comment on winters' hastening approach. I know it's not the wind. He's here and he's bold. I like that.
He circles around me slowly, as if I am his prey. A faint smile emerges; I am. He's giving me a chance to see him, to smell him. He's taller than I and his hair flows around his face and shoulders, like something from one of Botticelli's' paintings. I stand still allowing him the same courtesy. I hold the fur about my form and then allow it to slip exposing my neck and shoulders to him.
"Good evening," I say seductively. One of the ushers comes forward.
"Excuse me miss. Last call for your seats. If you don't go now, you'll have to wait an hour until the intermission." He is uneasy, he knows he is interrupting something between the two of us.
I turn my eyes back to the vampire in the black leather coat.
Sands: The question is, who is seducing whom here. I see her. I want her, but I don't know her. With her coloring she might be one of the Enemy. One of the Vascendi clan. Or a von Strom. Caution comes first, though my mouth waters at the sight of her. Sleek. Classy. Skin like satin, I imagine. And I can imagine what she might taste like, too.
Too late to put on my shy act. I smile back at her, imagining what she'll look like with the fur beneath her and the dress lost somewhere.
Training kicks in. Survival instinct and all that. Look at her rings, anything that will tell me her clan. Friend or foe, baby. What are you?
I haven't even heard her voice yet. I wonder what it sounds like. And her speech, is it accented? Curiosity can kill. I've learned patience. Especially after Mexico. Especially after Ajedrez. The bitch. Just the thought of her cools my libido. It's hard to get horney when someone's drilling your eyes out.
I have to force that memory out of my mind. It makes me crazy. Crazier. Fuck, this woman is beautiful. I want to play. I want to take a chance. Does she?
I move toward the door, pause and look back inviting her to follow. Now the ball's in her court.
Victoria:
He's inviting me to follow. I've seen Traviotta before. Why not? I nod my head and let my eyes speak for me.
I hesitate once outside the door and raise my hand in a motion for him to wait. I saunter over to the stand-by line where the impatience wait and wonder if they'll ever be let in. I hand my ticket to a well dressed gentleman. He is surprised and thanks me profusely as he rushes inside the door. I turn hoping the hunter will still be there. I know he will be, something about the way he looks at me. Those dark, boyish eyes. Tempting, very tempting. The leather coat fits him well, not my style but good for him. I look him over carefully trying to see if he is one of my own, but he doesn't wear any symbol of his allegiance. That's smart, neither do I.
I walk over to him, the silk gently swaying with each step. "Where shall we go from here?" I ask formally, a little bit of my old life slips through with the words. That sweet mixture of English sprinkled with those gentle Arcadian tones.
Under the strong light of the marquee we can see each other more clearly. I run a hand against the side of my head, checking to see that my carefully up swept hair is still in place. I must be careful, you can never tell when you meet our kind what our intentions might be; he may wish to slit my throat and drink me dry for all I know. Then again he probably is wondering the same thing about me. Let's see where he takes this.
Sands: She knows she's beautiful. Her eyes are a very unusual shade of green. Pure. Emerald. She's got the coloring of a Celt. She raises a hand, signaling for me to wait. What's she up to?
I cast a cautious look around the city street. I don't sense others of our kind. Nowhere close, anyway. I like the way she moves. She's got the moves of a ballerina.
I wonder why she gave her ticket away. Was there some meaning? Or perhaps the human was a friend? Some of us have human friends. And lovers. When we can control ourselves. It took me years of practice. Practice makes perfect.
She turns to look at me again. I have to smile for her. On cue. I know my part. They all judge the book by its cover. This cover has no words, only leather. If she doesn't give the game away, I won't.
I flash her a quick smile. Our eyes lock. We're both careful. She's smart. I watch her approach, wondering what it feels like to run my fingers through her hair. To pull those pins out. To help her out of that very fashionable dress. Not that I know much about fashion these days.
I'm still not sure about her. There's a touch of something foreign in her accent. A hint of Greek? I can't quite place it. I still don't know if she's friend or foe, but all the signs are . . . interesting.
"Why don't we take a walk?" I suggest. To show I have no intentions of harming her - at least until I know which clan she's with - I shove my hands in my coat pockets. Oh, I've got a big gun in the right one. I almost forgot. My werewolf special. I like guns. One can never have enough guns.
"So you like Opera?" I ask. Great opening line, shithead. Now I am embarrassed. I'm such a fuckup. I look down at my feet as we begin to walk, hoping my hair hides my chagrin. To Be Continued