Chapter 1
Hey there. Was replaying Bloodlines and had a hankering to write a little something. Just a heads up I know the LA By Night actual play is a thing and I think it uses characters I'll be using in this story but I havent seen it because actual plays arent my jam so dont expect any plot points from that show to be brought in this fic. All the lore is from Becketts Jyhadd Diary, Bloodlines and my pre-existing knowledge of Vampire.
Like if you like, review and tell me what i did wrong or right.
Sebastian Lacroix was dead. Ended by his own ravening ambition, a clever trick and a little helping along by Arthur, a kindred who should've died that night two weeks ago. He wanted to laugh when he thought back to how much had happened in those two little weeks.
He was just a wannabe rockstar from England trying to make the big leagues in America. Already pale in life with a mop of black hair and striking blue eyes, he thought he was the best thing since sliced bread, he had the looks, the easy smiles and complete desperation, he had banked everything on success in LA.
But, as it turned out, his looks didn't count for shit when it came time to perform.
He was going to be living on the streets, or worse living back with his parents. Until he met her.
She was drop dead gorgeous. A tumble of blonde hair, full red lips and flawless smooth skin. She laid it on thick, saying how he was the best damn thing since the Beatles and had the potential to be even greater, she said how she had all these connections and could help him out. Lavished him with nice things and love.
Right up until the night she killed him, drained him and turned him into this. A blood addicted monster only good for killing. Part of him wished he could just ask her why? Why him? What did he do to deserve it?
But he supposed it didn't matter anymore. She was dead now. So was the one who killed her.
The only thing she left him was the clan she belonged to, Clan Toreador.
Arthur strummed the beautiful black wood guitar awkwardly with his pick. He hadn't touched it since he was embraced into this life. It was difficult to describe the feelings he felt when he just looked upon it. The purest joy, the darkest rage and an overwhelming sadness all at once.
A strange euphoria quickly overtook him though. He found himself totally enraptured simply from the strumming of a few notes. Sparks of color burst in his dead brain, a wave of emotion taking control, was he going to cry? He hadn't done that before in this new existence.
The more he played the stronger it grew, he thought of growing up, the laughs he had with friends and the nights with lovers. The fights with his family, all the shitty test scores and participation trophies. And her.
A fat red droplet of vitae formed at the corner of his eye, slowly beginning to trail down past his aquiline nose and settling at the top of his thin lips. The taste was like seasoning on top of this experience.
He didn't know how long he was there, outwardly his face was frozen like a marble statue but inwardly alive like a raging inferno. When he did snap out of it, the blood trailing down his cheek was dry.
He tossed the guitar to the side on his bed. Blinking a few times as it took a second to recognize his surroundings. He was in his bedroom, in his apartment given to him by Prince Lacroix for good service.
The room was dimly illuminated by a table side lamp. Stray bits of clothing were scattered across the carpeted floor. Arthur himself was sat on the edge of his four-poster bed, with its lavish sheets and delectably soft pillows it was out of place in the mostly bare room, but it helped him feel like he had made it.
Arthur rose, rubbing his head like he had a hangover. Trying to fully banish this mental fuzziness from his mind.
Staggering over to the bathroom connected to his room, he blindly flicked on the light casting his bathroom in a sterile white light. A large mirror covered the wall just above the wide sink. A splash of cold water hit him, a refreshing jolt that washed away the blood on his face.
Arthur gave himself a long hard look in that mirror, cold water sliding down his neck onto his exposed chest.
This wasn't the first time he had lost himself. It had happened before to a song on the radio of all things, but that was measured in seconds before he shook it off.
He figured it was a result of his Toreador side. The clan of degenerates had an inbuilt affection for all things beautiful, an unusually romantic gift for an undead monster and if he were able to sit around writing songs it would be a helpful one.
But his existence had been a literal fight for survival from day one. And in a fight a split-second distraction is the difference between ripping the heart out of the son of a bitch you're fighting and getting your own heart ripped out.
Arthur needed to deal with this, though he was loathe to ask for help from any of the Toreador he knew in this city. Partly because of his ego and partly because showing any weakness would only lead to him being taken advantage of.
He chewed on what to do while he dressed, sliding into a pair of black jeans and buttoning up a red shirt. Putting just the correct amount of gel in his hair to slick it back and a few tasteful puffs of a French fragrance he enjoyed around the neck and wrists.
Time to start the night.
Heather Poe was laid across the couch, her head laid on the armrest and her arms wrapped around a square pillow she clenched tight to her chest. Heather had that girl next door look, short red hair, a button nose and a nervous nerdy demeanor emphasized by the thick framed square glasses she wore.
The large flat screen on his wall, the only light source in the dim room, was switched on the news channel. A smart dressed woman was interviewing some ex-FBI agent about the 'terror attack' at Lacroix's building.
An open pizza box was set out on his coffee table with a half-drunk sprite next to it. He missed a good pepperoni pizza.
Heather noticed him enter the living room and was scrambling up in a flash.
She was wearing a yellow tank top stained with sprite spills, underwear and a big genuine smile, he could smell the greasy pizza on her breath from here.
Arthur accepted the quick hug she gave, trying to push down the bubbling guilt that rises whenever he lays his eyes upon her. She didn't even flinch at the coldness of his flesh anymore.
"Heather" he said nodding his head.
"Hey! They uh- they're talking more about the terrorist attack" she gave him a wink when she said terrorist attack. He gave a weak smile in return. I'm an awful person the thought penetrated his head suddenly.
"And I heard you playing, it was soooo pretty, I didn't even know you did play guitar. Are you like some secret famous musician or something? Cuz I just think that's so cool, and I love th- "
"Heather." He cut her off, giving her a knowing look.
"Right, right yeah we talked about this" she said inhaling then exhaling a big breath, trying to calm and restrain herself. Asking a ghoul to fight against the emotion brought on by the bond was like asking a dog not to bark, but he had to try for her sake.
Heather was a living breathing moral predicament for him. He rescued her from a terrible fate of death from internal bleeding by feeding her some of his blood. It saved her life, healed her up and he thought that could be the end of that. But naturally the blood turned into her new crack cocaine, and he was the dealer she came to for her 'fix'
This blood bond had completely overtaken her life. She dropped out of college; all her relationships had withered until the calls of concern from her friends had dried up completely. All she had in her life was Arthur, and thanks to the incredibly strong feeling the blood bond inspired, she wouldn't have it any other way.
He guided her over to the sofa, sitting down and rubbing her back.
He should've cut her off when she tracked him down to beg for more blood. But he was lonely, and stupid. Maybe he still was.
"Oh, and I did that thing for you" she stared straight ahead at the T.V as she spoke. Doing her best to hold down the urge to treat him with devotion, the emotion in her voice was plain as day however.
"Where's the stuff?" Heather looked back toward the kitchen island. A black gym bag lay on top of it. As well as a bundle of rolled up 100-dollar bills.
"He gave you a discount?" Arthur asked, raising an eyebrow and moving to unzip the bag, revealing an assortment of ammunition with a kukri machete laid on top.
"He gave it all for free when he learnt who sent me. Please be careful around that guy he was saying all these nice things about you and asked to meet you, I think he wants some of your… blood" She hesitated to say it. Whispering the word in an almost sultry way, filled with desire. Arthur picked up on some jealousy there as well. Last time she guessed someone wanted his blood was when the pizza delivery girl smiled at him when he gave her a big tip.
A genuine smirk broke through his stony exterior at that.
"Hah, usually I'd say you need to rein in it but with Mercurio I think your spot on" Mercurio was a rare combination of a loyalty and talent, guy had contacts that could get you just about anything and he'd saved his ass when that snake in a suit Lacroix turned on him.
Though with Lacroix dead he was in the same position poor Heather was close to being in, no more source of blood.
"You're not gonna actually give him some right?" She sounded offended at the very idea. Arthur gave the machete a few experimental swings. His last one broke off in the skull of Prince Lacroix's right hand man.
"I might, why? Jealous?" She choked on her words, scoffing while her cheeks adopted a pink shade.
"N-no its just like, he's like a criminal!"
He gave her a disbelieving look, gesturing to the piles of ammunition she had just bought for him with the machete she bought for him.
"Oh, but like, you don't like to hurt good people though right" Her voice betrayed the fact she was trying to convince herself of that just as much as she was trying to convince Arthur.
"Look what I did to you" The words left his lips before he realized what he was saying. Her face scrunched up in confusion. Arthur cringed at himself. No need to air that can of worms, he thought. But it was too late.
"What? You saved me what are you talking about?" That's what he said to himself when he first witnessed her slavish devotion, to make him feel better about things, the lies we tell ourselves to go on are remarkable.
"Nothing. I'm being silly." He said curtly, lifting his shirt and sliding the machete down his pants leg. Can't be too careful.
"Yeah, you are, you're a good person I swea- "
Arthur held up a finger silencing her like she was a well-trained dog.
"Stop talking" He gave her a look that was cold as the grave. He wasn't going to let himself be deluded by her or by himself that he was in any way noble or on a moral path, kindred with a sense of moral righteousness have a bigger capacity for evil then almost anyone else.
After all, if you're always in the right, any action against the 'bad' people is always justified, no matter how depraved. Just look at the Sabbat if you need a walking example of that.
Heather limply nodded, shrinking back into the couch and turning her gaze back to the T.V.
Arthur sighed. He didn't want to scare her, but he walked a tightrope across oblivion and even a tiny shift in mentality could send him careening down into a place he'd never come back from.
"I…" he started. A million thoughts were flying through his head, should he apologize? She wouldn't understand it. Should he just end it now and let her go? Her family is gone, she doesn't have anyone, and she dropped out of school.
"I'm heading out." Was what he settled on. The sound of her goodbyes getting cut off when the door closed behind him as he left in an unnecessary hurry. He'd killed Ming Xiao, The Sheriff and many more besides but he didn't have the balls to talk frankly with his own Ghoul, he knew he had to eventually of course but until then he had business to take care of so he pushed the painful topic from his mind.
The Kindred of L.A had been under a self-imposed stay home or stay low order since the incident at Lacroix tower. It was bad for the masquerade to have such massive explosions of violence occurring so frequently. The hope that there would be a lull in the violence for at least a few months seemed a vain hope though. The warnings from the cab driver still bounced around in his head "Conflict is always an eventuality in the life of an Anarch"
He was determined to make sure they won in the end, no matter how long it took.
"There he is! Hey, brother!" Skelter greeted him vigorously the moment he entered The Last Round. The smoke-filled bar was sparsely populated tonight, and he wouldn't be surprised if the few patrons they had were Ghouls. The music was still blaring, and the bartender still looked attentive however, sort of like they were playing at running a bar.
"Yo Skelter!" Arthur reciprocated with a firm handshake. Skelter was a big guy, muscled and square headed. He was wearing a tight army green T-shirt tucked into his worn-out jeans, the pair of black boots he wore gave him the height advantage over Arthur. The hair on his head was completely shaved, leaving a dark, shiny bald dome. It was like he never left the military.
"No trouble on the way here?" he asked, looking over Arthur's shoulder.
"Nah, and I weren't followed either don't worry" The streets of downtown LA were still abuzz with theorizing about who could've bombed a skyscraper in the heart of the city. The consensus from the layman and experts alike seemed to be the Taliban.
The only thing different he noticed was there was a few more boys in blue patrolling the streets, other than that, the homeless still littered the alleyways, the prostitutes still plied their trade, and the rich went on pretending they weren't there.
"Jack still MIA?" Arthur asked, looking over to his usual spot, the back corner of the bar near the dart board and posters of esoteric rock bands.
Skelter nodded.
"Yup. The guy probably got bored of LA and went to go cause a little trouble for those cammy fucks somewhere else."
"Amen to that" Arthur had a lot of questions for that guy. Big questions. He better show his face again sooner rather than later.
The sound of a familiar women's voice yelling out from upstairs startled him before he could ask more. Damsel?
Skelter didn't seem concerned.
"College girl has been at it all damn night; you know how she gets" he said with a roll of his amber eyes.
"Figured she'd be happy Lacroix's dead. The hell she angry about?"
"Come find out yourself" He turned, gesturing for Arthur to follow him up the staircase sticky from spilled drinks.
At the top of the stairs, he was greeted with the sight of Nines Rodriguez leaning over a pool table. The Anarch leader eschewed his usual blue denim jacket, settling for a stained white tank top though keeping on his silver chain and his necklace with a fancy medallion.
Nines had closed cropped black hair, a slit in his thick eyebrows and a wiry frame. The wounds he sustained from fighting off that werewolf had healed completely, even his goatee had grown back where previously half his chin was hanging off thanks to the beasts' deadly claws.
Standing off to the side of the table was a heated-looking Damsel. She was sporting her signature beret with a red star on the front, the dyed red hair beneath hung just above her shoulders and her lips were covered in a layer of bright red lipstick. Her T-shirt continued the revolutionary aesthetic with a red fist graphic on the front.
Her face was twisted in anger, like usual, though more surprising was the fact it seemed targeted at Nines. A man she told Arthur she would die for.
"Why the fuck not?! We have them on the run, if we don't take advantage, we're fucking stupid!" she ranted, waving her hands around in gestures and taking a step closer to Nines.
Nines didn't seem angry himself, just annoyed.
"Because Vannevar Thomas isn't Lacroix, he's been around longer, and he has San Francisco on the war footing." She scoffed at that, beginning to pace back and forth in annoyance while Nines smoothly hit one of the balls, it slid down the hole in a satisfying clunk.
"Hey 'bout time you showed up" Nines greeted with a nod which he returned, Damsel on the other hand didn't waste time with hello's jumping right into business.
"Maybe you can fucking convince him" she spat.
"Hello to you to Damsel" Arthur responded cheekily, leaning back on the pool table with his arms crossed.
Skelter didn't seem too impressed with her outburst, he stood beside Nines like a loyal soldier.
"Maybe you should show a little more fucking respect" he shot at her.
"Oh, fuck you! Go back to fantasizing about killing babies in Vietnam, you fucking bootlicker!" That really got Skelters goat, if he were alive, you would surely be able to see a pulsing vein in his forehead.
"The hell you just call me you spoiled little bitch?!" He roared out, taking a few steps closer to her, the move was matched in kind like things were about to get physical. Arthur saw the fangs appear in their mouth.
Nines stepped in. Holding out his pool cue like a barrier to keep them separated.
"What the hell's wrong with you two? Lacroix may be dead, and the Cam knocked on its ass in this city but that's no excuse to start going for each other's throats, we stand together, or we fall alone, understand?" The words came out firm but fair.
"Skelter, let her speak her piece, I don't need defending. Damsel, Skelter has been by my side in this fight longer than you have and he's no bootlicker believe me" He reprimanded them like they were arguing children, if it was anyone other than Nines the two of them would've buried their fists in his chest, but he was the boss for a reason.
"Shit, my bad Nines" Skelter mumbled.
It took Damsel a second but even she let out a sorry, might not sound like much but for her this was like a long heartfelt apology.
"And the revolution survives another night" Arthur remarked dryly, a hint of a smirk on his face.
"Now someone wanna fill me in on what the disagreement is here?"
"Planning for the future. With Lacroix gone Damsel here wants us to leverage the victory, gather more to our banner and march on San Franciso, currently held by one Prince Vannevar Thomas, a cockroach clinging to that city like shit to a stick." Nines explained. Damsel looked ready to interject if she thought her argument was being misrepresented, fortunately he summed it up charitably.
Arthur nodded along rubbing his chin.
"Not the worst plan I've ever heard, why are you opposed?"
"It's too risky. We barely survived the beatdown the Kuei-Jin put on us a few years back, and to be real we only won this fight because of you. We just don't have the numbers to go on the offensive" Damsel did find something to disagree with on this point, however.
"Oh bullshit! We have a fucking Gargoyle on our side, we can take 'em!"
"Isacc has a Gargoyle" Skelter was quick to remind.
"And he's not going to go along with this, L.A is enough for him" Nines added on.
Damsel looked between the two of them frustrated and lost for words that weren't just insults before turning to Arthur for assistance.
"What about you? You on board with these two?"
Arthur didn't have to think too long till he came up with an answer.
"We should go kick the shit out of those assholes" Arthur had yet to find a challenge he couldn't surmount, a foe he couldn't beat to the ground. He had an ego, and he knew it, but you would too if you accomplished the things he had.
His words drew a smug grin from Damsel and a scowl from Nines and Skelter who expected him to slam dunk their argument for them.
"Hell, yeah, I wanna kick my feet up and enjoy freedom but the Cam are gonna learn about Lacroix, and if I was this Vannevar I'd be using his death as an excuse to beg for as much help as possible. Not to mention the fact that any Camarilla flunkie we missed is gonna be fleeing towards him. The help from the Camarilla out east and exiles we sent his way would swell his numbers, meaning no chance of taking that city for a long while." He rattled off his thoughts, it was a testament to the respect he gained among them that they hadn't cut off the silly Toreador or commented on the fragrance he used like when they first met.
"So, it's a risk. But if we pull it off, we're gonna be the most successful, famed group of freedom fighters this side of the Mississippi, probably the whole fuckin world." It was a bit of a ploy appealing to their glory seeking side, a tactic he picked up from his time working with the Camarilla, evil bastards they might be, but they knew how to play people like puppets and a part of that was admirable to him.
There was silence in the room as Nines and Skelter took in his argument. Damsel gave him a nod of appreciation which he returned in kind.
"If you can convince Isaac to loan us some of his boys and the Gargoyle, we go for it" It was a simple request on the surface with multitudes of complexity underneath. Isaac was an Anarch sure, but he had more Camarilla in him than he would ever admit, upholding a few of the traditions they claim to be against and ruling Hollywood with an iron fist dressed up in a velvet glove.
If this were a Camarilla domain a simple order from Nines would be enough but alas, freedom came with tradeoffs.
"Done." Arthur said without wasting a second. He'd done the impossible before, he could get an old Toreador to change his mind. Plus, he rescued his childe Ash from hunters, he owed him.
"Then we done here?" Nines asked, looking between the assembled Anarchs.
"We're done here" Damsel confirmed, making her way to the stairs.
"Torado-"she started, catching herself before saying "Arthur, with me" That was the first time she had called him by his name. Granted she did call him over like a dog but baby steps.
"You're not staying for a quick game kid?" Nines asked as he turned to follow her, holding up another pool cue.
"Duty calls Nines. We'll keep you updated!" he yelled that last bit as he was already halfway down the stairs trying to keep up with Damsels' determined march.
"Damsel slow your ass down a sec" He called out from behind her when they hit the ground floor. She threw a head over her shoulder, wispy bits of hair obscuring half her pale face.
"What is it? Quicker we get this over with the sooner we can have Cammy heads on spikes"
"It's just, you're gonna be tagging along on this? I usually work alone, you know." Not to mention the worry forming in the back his mind, if Isaac initially says no, as he most assuredly will, will she be able to keep her cool? If she flips her shit, it's over.
"Yeah, I'm tagging along. You're one of us now, you got a problem with that?" she asked accusingly, raising a thin eyebrow at his objection.
"I…" he started ready to lay out his case. But then he felt a throb of biting pain begin in his gums and spread to his head, like the beginning of a migraine. He was hungry, the beast in the back of his head started to rouse from its sated state.
"I'm hungry. Feed on the way?"
"Duh. We'll take my ride"
Once more he followed behind her, part of him looking forward to, and the majority dreading, a diplomatic mission with the most irritable, stubborn person he knew. Then thinking on further to the war on the horizon with a guilty excitement.
Here we go again.
Just a small introduction to the characters and setting up conflict. I'm decently happy with how it turned out though im a pretty mediocre writer so that might not be saying much. Either way hope you got a kick out of it and if you want more be sure to say so.
Till next time, bye bye.