Sanguine Vitae

Pounding erupted on one side of a metal door. It was one set of double doors that swung inwardly to a lesser-known bar down town. Bar...that was one of the words used to describe it. The ankh sigil spraypainted on the outside was not the work of hoodlums. This was a den of the devil. It was blazing hot outside this 'bar' and the alley was no comfort from the waves of heat being generated by this demon sun. Summer was upon the land and locusts were already calling the trees and grass their homes. The buzzing and clicking sound they made was all-too-often associated with immense heat and sunshine. Trevlac stood before this humble and run-down building, shielding his face with his gloved hands, long black leather coat, and sweating all the while. If he did let his skin touch the sun...there'd be hell to pay.

After the resounding knocks, a voice floated across the gleaming gray paint of the door. "What is the color of night?"
Trevlac winced at the grating hiss of a voice and replied without cracking his voice, "Sanguine, my brother." It could not be farther from night, though. he thought as he spoke. At once, the doors jarred as they were unbolted from the inside and someone strong slammed their shoulder into the release bar, throwing the doors open. A slow, repetative, beat thudded from behind another set of double-doors. The first closed behind him as he was greeted by a mousy man with hardly any teeth, except two long fang-like incisors, and a grin that was a little too wide to pass the creepy test.

Once the overwhelming ker-chunk of the doors had faded into silence, the man ushered Trevlac in through the second set of doors. Trevlac tipped his hand at him in thanks and was greeted by a wave of hardcore techno music and flashing red lights. Inside, every kind of social deviant was dancing maniacally and drinking a thick red substance from various sinister-looking glasses; every kind of sin and debauchery existed here. The drink bar was directly in front of Trevlac and he casually walked over to it. A man with a bald head, pointy ears, paper white skin, and horrible bulging eyes asked to take his order. A Nosferatu...I hate these guys. Trevlac's mind went over the man's visage before finally answering with a yell: "No thanks, I've been invited by Countess Caro." But as soon as he said "Count-" the barman waved his hand toward the farthest corner.

Trevlac sighed heavily and attempted to make his way through the loud and dirty dancing crowd. Someone spilled a small shot of blood and whiskey on the shoulder of his coat. He raged inside but ignored them. A woman wearing a miniskirt and a tight shirt rubbed her crotch against his leg...except he realized she was not a woman. Trevlac fought the instinct to recoil from the sexual advance. Two women ahead actually grabbed him by both arms and shoved him onto a glass table where a man was hitting lines of cocaine and proceeded to undress his coat and lick his neck. Trevlac flipped off of the table and muttered "not now" to the girls, who looked taken aback. He made his way through a group of people with blades out and sharp spikes on their clothes, luckily without a scratch. Trevlac went unharassed for the next few feet until he reached a dark corner where no one stood. He was supposed to stand here and wait. Putting his fingers in his ears, Trevlac tried to look above all of the bobbing and swaying heads for the rest of the group that would come to this meeting.

Everyone who showed up was bound to be interesting in some way...

The afternoon sun baked a red-clad priest alive as he stumbled through the deserted city in a daze. his entire body felt like microwaved jello and his two layers of clothing like molten lava. He ran his fingers through matted hair and replaced his beloved fedora. It was much too fucking hot to be thinking about anything other than ducking into shade. He slithered into a local alleyway, hoping to find solace, but only discovered a set of menacing iron doors, and a seething crackhead sleeping halfway in a dumpster.

Ordin approached the door apprehensively, hoping it was unlocked and also unguarded. Once more, he was foiled, discovering it to be not only locked but also guarded by a thumping bass that sent waves of pain through his ballsack.

Pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration he pounded on it. A feeble voice called out "I am the fetid stain that encroaches the morning moon, what am I?"

"You're fucking dead if you don't open this god damn door I'm gonna blow it the fuck open."

There was two or nine beats of silence, Ordin lost count, and the voice appeared again.

"Oh, Gastorix, you old coot. You never change."
There was a groaning creek like angsty iron bolts being drawn back and the hinges began grinding open. flecks of dust and rust floated through the air and the threshhold opened, emitting a refreshing gust of sub-zero air and a highly de-freshening explosion of shitty techno.

A tiny man with a flurry of frownlines assaulting his forehead appeared in the shadows. Ordin gave his eyes a moment to adjust before stepping forth. The man's face sank as he stared up at the giant, seemingly both disappointed and utterly terrified that he had misconstrued the new guest. His beady eyes rest upon the smorgasbord of religion paraphernalia adorning the Priest's neck.

"Yes, yes," Ordin bellowed over the drowning tunes, "I won't speak of this if you don't."
"Why are you here?" the cretin groaned, still staring frightfully.
Ordin was taken aback. Sure, he realized he was walking into a vampire hell pit, and sure, he knew they'd eat him alive simply for being human. He thought quickly, what stupid vampire cultural icons could he use to his advantage?
"Oh, uh.... the count summoned me. I've manners to attend to that are not of your concern."

The mousy vampire nodded solemnly and stepped aside. The priest delved into the darkness.

The old coat had been steeped in vamp blood a week. The pyromaniac vamp had sold off his blood for that military flamethrower without a second thought. It felt stiff from its recent clotted immersion. The rest was projection-the mixture of libertine-ism, boredom, and sexual promiscuity. Best to still be careful, though-she couldn't imitate the strength they had. A shove that would make a vampire laugh would shatter her spine. So she stood close to the speakers, where the crowd was thinner and less inclined to conversation. She's already seen Trevlac, a bit of a rogue agent, and Ordin, an entire rouge battalion drunk on kerosene and PCP.
The coat's pungent blood smell mostly covered the odor of the Package wedged under her left armpit. The equivalent to seven hundred pounds of TNT. Expensive? No. Free, actually. NSA need to change their locks and pay more attention to innocuous secrataries. The wireless trigger was currently squeezed between her two largest toes on her left foot.
Now, just where is this Count?

Hydrochloric acid sloshed sickly in Trevlac's stomach as the beat thumped ever on. If this Countess didn't get here soon he was going to throw up all over her clean, flat, burgundy carpet. As if thoughts could activate doors remotely, the club's metal entrance slowly groaned open. It took the patrons inside some time to notice a very regal-looking woman clad in illustrious emeralds and an elaborate dress who's color was impossible to say, but it was clear it was what green wanted to be when it grew up. A Ventrue, happy day! I hope she likes me. I hope I impress her. She must be the Countess. Alyssa? No, Alizad? Hell no. but just as Trevlac's mind began to ramble on, indecipherable, she turned heads and even got slight bows from some of the more sophisticated-looking patrons in the joint.

Her neck was long and remained that way--she didn't incline her head to anyone and pretended not to notice a mass of vampires gorging on blood, having public sex, and doing every kind of drug available and some that aren't. Gracefully, she swept across the room, blatantly eying a seven foot tall giant behind her clad in red with a huge hat. Ordin..what's he- But she had moved on and glanced at a woman wearing the most filthy and vile, ragged coat Trevlac had ever seen. He fought the impulse to run to Ordin and vomit on this woman. Countess Caro stopped dead at Trevlac and glared at him in the eyes, as if to say "Move, cretin." but she uttered not a word.

Trevlac stepped aside with the grace of a morbidly obese tap-dancing ballerina, extending his arm and bowing. "Countess, I presume." She ignored his hand but rolled her eyes at his gesture. Tracing her long, elegant finger over one of the Victorian floral curves upon the gray wallpaper, a clicking sound was heard even over the horrible and sickening music. A crack in the wall materialized and it swung inward. She led the way as though Trevlac were a dog that should heel to her. He did. The inside was lit with fluorescents (I fucking hate these lights...), and grody tiled floors. At the end was a simple wooden door, and Trevlac walked through into an elaborately decorated parlor.

There were trinkets of every kind, no doubt ridiculously expensive, and elaborate paintings that were sure to be originals. Behind an oaken desk sat the most ill-looking woman Trevlac had ever seen. She had her hair back, wore secretarial professional attire, and coughed every five seconds or so. Trevlac expected the Countess to walk past the secretary and into her office but there was no other room. Instead she suddenly bowed all the way to the floor in front of the desk and said "Your grace, most of them are here already. May I be excused?" and she backed away slowly and stood upright.

The woman behind the desk coughed and wheezed a little, but then said, "Yeah, go home and get some rest Minerva. You look sick as a dog." she had a rather stiff and raspy voice. The woman called Minerva replied, "Thank you, Countess."
Trevlac's jaw hit the floor instantly. Countess? She looks like the only thing she counts is invoices! I suppose I should be respectful nevertheless... his mind had jolted. Bending low, Trevlac muttered "A pleasure, Countess Caro." and he stood. She smiled faintly, wheezed once, and motioned to one of several seats positioned around her ovular desk. He took one and stared intently. She merely looked back down at her paperwork and set to writing again without saying a word to him.

The Priest trundled in, grimacing at a hideous woman clad in bling and dragon, who also grimaced at the patrons of the orgiastic vampire hell pit. He snorted at her, contorting his face at the back of her head. An explosion of blond hair across the room caught his eye and he noticed Trevlac. Why the fuck is it that that asshole follows me everywhere? Can't I get a moment's peace without him starting some shit.

The dragon lady and his old comrade snuck off through a hidden portal in the wall. The priest stayed behind, attempting to cool off. He found this task to be quite difficult as removing his large leather jacket would reveal a cacophony of extremely morbid looking tools of death. He elected to instead remove his hat and mingle about the drug abusing, sex-fixated group of swine.

He passed six old vampire men having gay old vampire man sex on a card table, spattering blood, saliva, and poker chips all about. He stared in bemusement, wondering how their joints could pop out of place like that when he smashed into a rather rotund brute with a bald head and fantastically Russian mustache. The whale spun around and glared at the harmless priest.

"VAT are you DOINK here, hooman?" he crooned in an obviously fake accent. Ordin smiled toothily and looked up at him.
"Oh, you know, checking out the scenery."
The giant placed his dumptruck sized hands on the slightly smaller giant's shoulders, and drove his forehead headward. There was a resounding crack and Ordin spilled to the floor. He quickly recovered, leapt to his feet, and smashed into a young lady at least a sky scraper taller than him, wearing a filthy, lamia-blood-spattered peacoat.

Ah yes, the delightful feeling of dozens of pairs of eyes moving away from crackpipes and card games and settling in her vicinity as Ordin thumped about like a rhinoceros in rollerblades. The Eastern European vampire was stepping towards the dazed but not out Ordin with bloodlust and amusement dancing in his eyes. Ordin was a tough customer, but the Russian had the upper hand and his comrades would love to demolish a fresh human meal in this den of hedonism.

And Ord knew people with such marvelous toys....the Tesla bomb....five square miles of LA, black and dead.....

Oh right, the club and lard-Cossack!

Motherfuck it all. Feigning irritation, she walked past him and pretended to stumble into the tubby vampire. He barely growled at her as she walked off, so focused was he on approaching Ordin. Then she triggered the Thermate charge she'd put in his jacket pocket when she "bumped" into him. It was as though a small sun thunked into life in the room, filling the air with hot light and raw, scalding heat. He didn't even have time to scream as his molecular structure was forcibly severed.
Chaos eploded in the club. Some of them probably thought the sun was leaking in. The carpet quickly started to burn after the initial oxygen depletion. She grabbed Ordins hand and tugged him while pointing to the back of the club, pausing to whisper "I have a bomb strapped to my armpit and I just burned a vampire to death with high grade military incendiaries. Life is good."

White hot searing heat engulfed him with a flash of light. As the light-blindness slowly died away the priest realized the cassock had evaporated in a puff of steam. The mousy girl wearing a ratty jacket was tugging at him towards the room Trevlac had made his exit.

Fire began licking at the back of his eyes as probably one hundred vampires slowly turned their gaze on them. The music didn't stop, and many acid-tripping zombies continued roiling on the floor, but for the most part he and this bomb-clad girl were center stage.

Once again, digging into the recesses of his mind he came up with a bluff that might take the edge off of blowing a hell pit patron apart with 10,000 degrees of chemical destruction.

"I have a meeting with the countess," he growled, viciously eyeing the scenesters that rose from their seats, "and no Brujah asshole is going to get in the way of me, or my Tremere companion. This is a fine establishment and no further blood spillage will be necessary unless you all make it." He pointed a menacing finger at a small old lady with no pupils.

He didn't think they believed him, as they began glancing at each other in bemusement. One by one, however, they slowly returned to their sex piles and hamster-darts. Perhaps giving their kin an early funeral pyre is considered more of a party foul than an act of war to these heathens. Ordin shrugged and let the girl straining on his cuff to drag him towards Trevlac's locale.

She muttered something about armpits and good days, which the priest could barely hear over the thumping music.

"Who the fuck are you?" he hissed in her ear as they approached the magical wall door.

The clock on the wall clicked softly as the second hand made its endless journey around the world. Trevlac noticed that it was a twenty-four hour clock with a painted background depicting night on one side and day on the other. No doubt to keep track of the times when they could hunt but he wondered vaguely whether it was made for this time zone and what they did when it became Daylight Savings Time. Countess Caro was still doing what seemed like tedious work, this time on the phone with someone who sounded like a relative. His droll voice could be heard out of the receiver end and all the way over at Trevlac's seat, "...not necessary, Alessia. We'll deal with them according to your plan. I swear not to interfere." The Countess nodded to the desk as though her vocal companion could see her and chimed back "Thanks honey, cough-cough, I'll be home in a few hours." she coughed as she hung up the phone.

Long fingers ending in an ebony pen suddenly pointed toward the doorway, Countess Caro focusing her vision there as though able to see distances or through walls, and then her eyes grew wide. She turned to Trevlac and pointed now at him. Her eyes seemed to say You, her mouth boomed "USHER" them inside, now! her mind finished. Trevlac was familiar with both disciplines that she had just used. Auspex, she saw somebody through the walls, and Dominate, she gave him a one-word command that he must obey. He didn't fight it. His legs rose mechanically and marched forward to an invisible drum beat. Trevlac made his way through the dismal hallway and back to the still-open hidden door.

"Get the fuck inside." he said without any real conviction in his voice. He was looking at Ordin, his cassock was destroyed and he looked frustrated--nothing had changed. But he didn't greet his old friend. Trevlac knew nothing of the woman beside him and he'd rather she not know anything of him, including his friendships. He was always paranoid of what information people could use against him. Motioning them forward, Trevlac stepped back through the parlor without a second glance, and resumed his now-warmed seat in front of the ovular desk of Countess Caro.

Lydia was inside now. Office, weird little lady, and a definite feeling of not belonging. Ord apparently had no remembrance of her. Not entirely unsurprising, she supposed, she had a habit of slipping out of people's minds. She pulled herself up to his ear and whispered "We met briefly once, sir. You steered me to a fantastic lightning bomb several months ago. I have been drawn to this place by a strange, nagging feeling of necessity and danger, and figure my odds of survival will be slightly higher if I stick with you, as I recall you being a formidable customer."
She turned to look at the freaky, vaguely secretarial looking chick with a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach. This bitch was powerful, despite her rather innocuous appearance. Swallowing as quietly as possible, she racked her brain for an appropriate greeting....
"So...the, uh....fine, sunny day we're having!"
Oh no. Did I just.....gah.....

Ordin strolled in after the ratty little girl, ducking slightly to fit into the tiny door frame. He was met with the odd feeling of leaping into the Victorian era and dashing into a highbrow's homestead--you know, that feeling you get all the time. There were busts along the walls of famous vampires like Beethoven, a large table topped with a completely unnecessary table cloth, and winged back chairs galore.

"I don't remember that," said the priest, glowering suspiciously as Trevlac robotically ushered them into the room. The blond vampire swore at them into the room, which was dominated not just by the poor decoration, but also by the towering dragon lady. the countess.

She clicked her tongue as the duo entered, apparently noticing that they were not vampires. Whatever the case, Ordin detested the haughty air that consumed the air around her, and wished to smash her brains with his hulk hands. He restrained the urge, however, and threw himself into a chair, kicking his mudcaked boots onto the table. He grabbed a pear from a nearby fruit bowel and looked up at her smooth, porcelain face.

"I realize that vampires cannot digest food, so why is this here? Were you expecting human company or do you prefer to feed your prey before you lacerate their flesh with your uncivilized whore-mouth?"

The attitudes of Ordin seemed lost on the Countess. "Since I am somewhat of a whore to my dear husband, I'll let that slide." she said pursing her lips and drawing her hands into a triangle just under her chin. She studied Ordin through her metal-rimmed glasses and finally smiled widely. Then she coughed and the effect was lost. The lady dressed in emerald finally high-tailed it out of the room. Eager to get on with things, the Countess continued, "But, you," she pointed to Lydia and at the same time, the wall behind her suddenly had a hole blown in it the size of a wheelbarrow. The sound made Trevlac jump off of his chair and land awkwardly on his belly upon the desk. His face was a little too close to the Countess as pieces of the wall--no larger than glitter-- floated over everyone in the parlor. She looked at him bemusedly and pecked him on the nose, then shoved him off the desk with surprising weakness.

Trevlac was beginning to understand what she was...but she continued speaking, "You...Lydia was it? Right, I'm bad with names, you...killed one of my customers. Nevermind that he was a kindred, he pays good money to come to my establishment almost every night and that's profit that I've lost permanently. Think before you act, girlie." She said this in an accusatory tone that was nevertheless gentle. Trevlac flopped back into his chair, a little embarrassed, and rubbed the wet off of his nose. She's a Tremere. A thin blood, wielder of vampire magic.

"Yes I am." said the Countess, looking at Ordin but seeming to answer the statement that Trevlac's mind had just made. She crossed her fingers on the polished wood surface and stared at them and began to speak in a monotone voice. "We shall begin in the past. My clan is the Tremere, " she looked up at Trevlac expectantly and then continued, "and most bloodlines would like to see us eradicated. There is one Kindred who is part of an extinct clan known as the Cappadocians." The Countess stopped suddenly and glared at everyone as though they had challenged her to a duel. "Forgive me. Manners. Countess Alessia Caro. Now we may proceed." her gaze dropped back to the desk and she resumed her monotonous spiel.

"This Cappadocian is known by the alias 'Grave' and was seen in a rural field not far from here. That field had thousands of dead bodies that he resurrected and gave flesh. He then caused a tornado to strike the house of a human family and their boy. The boy's name is Jerico and he has been sired into my clan of the Tremere." looking back up at everyone she said in an aside, "My husband Marius did the honors." and once again resumed her tale. "Grave has now launched a campaign to infest this city with his undead legion. They go about daily lives as if they were humans--just like we kindred do--but they will strike at an unknown time, undoubtedly. He is a powerful vampire and necromancer. It's said that he has no vampiric weaknesses at all--that he can eat food and go out in the sun any time.

The danger of this situation leaves me in a pickle. I have a business to run and I cannot let him overtake it. Nor, can I let him come back for my childe that has been sired into my family to finish his job. What I need is for you all to scour the city for leads to Grave's wherabouts and dispose of him. If you can dispose of his army as well, that'd be great. There's three hundred thousand dollars in it for anyone who accepts this mission and sees it through to completion." Then she looked over at Lydia and Ordin with a loving, caressing smile and added, "And if you like, an Embrace."

Having heard the whole story, Trevlac realized that he was disappointed. He didn't know what he came expecting but honestly money, even of that magnitude, was really low on his priority list. Maybe he'd do it just for fun. "Sure why not. I'll start as soon as I know I've got at least two people to back me up." Trevlac paid no attention to the gusto with which his words were let loose. To be honest, he really just wanted to get down to it and get this job done.

Having a wall exploded behind you by some sort of vampire wizard lady has the remarkable effect of bringing one to a state of high eloquence.
"I will glady assist you in your efforts to rid the town of this necrowhatsit, free of charge, as a sign of my sincerest apologies for my overreaction earlier." said Lydia, respectfully bowing and feeling relieved that her bladder had seen fit not to douse the carpet in fearjuice.

Bits of pear exploded from Ordin's mouth as the wall behind Lydia suddenly turned into a fine mist and spread throughout the room. The secretary "countess" continued her vomit speech about some idiot job he couldn't care more about. The more she spoke, the more his stomach welled with a rage.

It passed quickly, though, and he totally didn't have any ideas of storming out of the room and never coming back. Instead, he sighed a little and set his head upon the table.

"I see no reason to linger." Trevlac had suddenly become cold and serious, paying no respects to the countess. There was something on his mind for now. It had just become reality for him that Ordin would be, once again, putting his fragile human body and precious human life on the line for very little. Trevlac knew the priest didn't do this stuff for money, he could imagine Ordin did this for him, and never really figured out his friend's motivation.

The vampire hoped that Lydia could take care of herself; he didn't know her at all but he sensed a connection with Ordin that put him at ease. Stopping suddenly, Trevlac made an unintelligible sign with his hand, like a claw, at Lydia and bowed his head slightly. "Name's Trevlac." and without a backward glance, skipped on his tippie-toes from the parlor.

Back in the fray, Trevlac was sexually harassed by a group of three vampire women who appeared to have been waiting for him. The two in front were the ones from earlier. One with long red hair and hazel eyes, wearing way too much eyeliner, grabbed his wrist, cutting into the flesh with her sharp nails. "Earlier you said, 'not now', well it's later now, hon. You're coming with me." and the rest of the girls around him nodded their heads. Trevlac could have tried to shrug them off but they looked like they meant business and he was not going to get in a fight with a dozen or so other vampires who'd no doubt be willing to step in and display their alpha-maledom.

She led him toward the table from before but passed it without looking. The man from earlier was still doing lines of cocaine. Tapdancing fruitcakes this guy must be high out of his mind. He thought, still craning his head back at him as the girl's nails dug in deeper, drawing blood and carrying him further on. A large, industrial-looking door stood in their way, Trevlac expected them to open it and go through but instead they drew a black velvet curtain that covered it. There was only about four feet of space behind the curtain with the four of them scrunched in. The hazel eyed one glared evilly at him and touched the floral pattern on the wall. Trevlac's stomach shot through his mouth as he and the girls plunged downward into a hidden room.

It was decorated with solid black walls and shiny blue pillows. There was a bookcase filled to the top with old and peeling tomes, black candles who'd been burned so often the wax caked up to the flame. There was barely any fresh air down here but luckily the hole in the ceiling didn't close and there was a ladder to ascend. Not knowing what to expect, Trevlac merely stood there, the grip on his arm finally lost. The girl with the hazel eyes slapped him across the face, "No one rejects me." and she grabbed his jaw to turn it toward her. She pulled him into a forced kiss, but Trevlac had counted on that. The 454 Caliber revolver he always carried jutted into her side, pointed straight at her heart. He pulled away from her lips and she did in anger, then softly he spoke, "Do you know what kind of vampire loads his gun with silver bullets, my sweet?"

The look of shock and anger on her face subsided quickly, only to contort into stark terror. Her friends let out a little whimper and fell onto the blue pillows behind her. Trevlac backed away slowly, keeping the gun trained on her chest, and ascended the ladder backward. The curtain shielded everyone else in the club from seeing his gun out, which he quickly stowed away. They could have screamed but the now much louder music would have drowned it out anyway, passers by would think there was a violent orgy going on. But before Trevlac could go through the curtain the hazel-eyed lady called back. "I just wanted to help. Please, just go interrogate the bartender. I know what you're trying to do and he has information that could help you." she spoke with such sincerity and pleading that Trevlac could tell she felt something for him even in this den of lust and in only a few minutes' time. I hate vampire women. he thought coldly.

What kind of vampire lies about the types of bullets he carries? Trevlac asked himself as he smirked. Emotionally frightened people were easy to lie to. The curtain swung back and a few people nearby looked at him appraisingly. They must have seen him go in with three women. Giving less of a shit about his image and more about his curiosity, Trevlac waded through the crowd of degenerates to the bartender. Acting on a whim, he grabbed the disgusting flesh of the Nosferatu's neck and pulled him nose-to-nose.

"Grave." he spoke at merely a whisper. The sound was drowned out by the music but the vampire in front of him made out his lips' movement. Apparently he had seen Trevlac walk back with the girl and guessed that she'd tell him something--he could see it in the freakshow's big black eyes. It nodded reluctantly and Trevlac released him. The bartender yelled, "There's a shift change soon, we can talk outside after he comes in. I'll get my sunsuit before we go out." His eyes said 'please don't kill me' but his voice was steady. Trevlac accepted this and wondered if he had already found a lead.

With a low bow, Lydia exited the room and walked to the bar. She felt dazed. She saw Trevlac heading off with a group of vicious looking vampires to the back. She almost followed him, but given what happened last time she tried to back someone up, she decided to just get a drink.
As she walked to the bar, however, she was interupted as a familiar figure caught her eyes. It was that crazy vampire who'd given her his blood! He was writhing joyfully on a table, an empty bottle in his hand. He saw her and yelled "OH MY BELIAL I LOVE YOU!"
Ah, Ecstasy. When you're not declaring your love for all mankind in a cloud of empathy, you're drinking so much water that your kidneys collapse and your blood turns to salt less pink goo.
The scruffy youngster leaped off the table and hugged her slightly too tight.
"Hey there, Ben."
A vampire named Ben. Sure, that sounds like a normal name, but most vampires are called shit like Darkfangius Cloaknightly. This guy had a way with his nose-came from being a Toredor, apparently. Whole clan of living-in-the-moment artsy types. He greeted her hen they first met by cheerfully informing her that he could tell from her smell that she would begin menstruating within the hour and asking if he could photograph the shape in her pad. Lydia once knew an art student who made even weirder requests, so she rolled with it. After he took the picture (the stain resembled a bird fighting Fabio), he told her he wanted to do a working with fuel, and apparently he liked the symmetry of him giving his blood to her after she let him take a picture of her blood.
Ben smiled dazed "What's going on, friend-lady?"
"I have to obliterate some sort of evil vampire necromancer for the lady that runs this place. guy named Grave. Know him?"
Ben looked like he's been staring at a disco ball, but when he heard "Grave" he insta-sobered up.
"Fuck dude. He's bad news. Very strong, been causing a lot of trouble around here I don't know where he is....but I might be able to help you out. I know a guy named Zeke. Lives in a cellar a couple of blocks from here. He's a little crazy, but he's LOADED with weapons. Swords, guns, rocket launchers, Excalibur..."
"WHAT?"
"Hahaha, just kiddin! But you should check him out. If you do him a favor, he'd pay you with weapons. And you need all the help you can get with this bastard."
"You want in on helping us?"
Ben was no coward. I saw a vamp twice his size insult his art once...well, let's just say that guy was coughing up bits of his ass for a while!
But he looked antsy at the mention of joining us.
"Uhhhhhhhhhh....fuck, man. I'm just hear to have a good time....I'm no fighter, normally....If you REALLY need help, come back here and find me and....I'll think about it."
I found myself hugging the guy.
"Thanks bro. I'll wait till Ordin and Trevlac are out here to-oh, Hey!"
I saw Trevlac across the room talking to the bartender. I bid Ben a sincere goodbye (idly wondering if he'd like to paint a mural with my period blood using his tongue) I walked up behind Trevlac to see what he was doing.

It was without much surprise that one more strange grouping of people arrived at the club, and much like the other group, they too arrived to visit the Countess. With silent footfalls, three robed men were led through the doors, having given the proper response when asked to. Once inside, it could be seen that they were all suffering from the same condition. They reeked of death and fresh soil, or perhaps it was the coffin that the two shorter men carried forward with the third, a literal giant, following. Their dark robes concealed their identities, but anyone could see from the silhouettes the material created against the low-light of the bar, that they were all skin and bones,

The three men continued on, straight to the room where the countess sat, at least one of the three having been here before. They walked in a nature almost mechanical, all three keeping the exact same pace, their steps matching up with the low pounding of the terrible music that was currently playing. Around them, blasphemies and crimes against nature screamed in a mixture of terror and ecstasy, but who were they to judge? The tall one let out a horrid cough, dragging at the insides of a throat with the texture of sandpaper, and a light, yellowish dust erupted from under his hood.

Once at the wall the three were headed towards, the taller man stepped forward, his height becoming awkward as he reached for a certain pattern on the wall, a long and skeletal finger pressing the pattern, tapping on it once, and then tracing it as he remembered just what it took to open the damned thing. With a good click, the door in the wall slid back and revealed its wonderful secrets, a simple hallway for one. The trio of robe-men continued down the hall until they reached the doorway. The tallest man once again led the three, pushing open the door before putting his arms behind him in a professional manner, and heading in.

On the inside, he was greeted by the sight of the sickly looking countess. He pulled his hood back to reveal a death-mask, his face nothing but a skull. He leaned down, his skeletal fingers clicking on the desk. With a faint crack, the lower parts of his skeletal face split in areas, the little cracks forking up to his nose level as his once-solid face bends into a parody of a warm and loving smile.

"AlEsSia, my dEar. It haS bEen So long. Your radiAnt bEAuty makEs my hEart STIR and bEat, eVEn in thiS stAte of unDeATh and roT, truLy. You WillEd me hEre, my friend?" The lich spoke, his voice sounding as if it was filtered through gravel, projected both physically and mentally, penetrating minds and ears.

Callisto’s hazel eyes darted between the women as the necromancer fleeted to the stairs that led up the bar. Her mind split between what needed to be said at the moment and what the bartender could provide him with upstairs. She looked down into the depths of her soul to bring about some sort of sincerity as she raised her voice to the fading shadow and exclaimed the bartender as a knowing agent. She hoped that that would peak his curiosity enough to actually remain at the bar and speak to the barkeeper while she pulled together another plan.

“Did you even get a chance to tell him anything, Callisto?” one of the vampires scornfully asked as she collapsed into the black soaked fabric of the chair.

“He was quite reluctant to oblige but I believe I made impact enough to send him straight to the bartender,” She answered confidently as she stared intently upon the stairs hoping they might reveal the specific action the necromancer took. The other two vampires simply rolled their eyes in either disagreement or pure disinterest. Although Callisto remained indulged in the proceedings that seemed to be panning out right above her, so she gracefully exited along the same escape route the necromancer had taken a short while ago.

Perhaps he wasn’t so arrogant after all, she reassured herself as she crossed through the mangled vampires and dancing druggies into a darkened corner where she saw the man face-to-face with the bartender.

The blazing sun scorched, heating everything in sight. The heat could be seen rising from the concrete in all directions. Sparta saw his destination up ahead in the distance and lit up one of his cigarettes anticipating his arrival. Earlier that day Sparta’s mediator, the guy who sets up his jobs, called with a new request. ”Sir, the client has requested that you infiltrate a local bar downtown. Our source has confirmed that your target, a woman named Lydia, is inside.”. Sparta scrambled through his desk looking for a pen when the man finished. ”Um... what is the price; I am a mercenary and that is a vital piece of information.” Sparta replied. ”Oh, sorry sir the price is thirty thousand and it will be directly transferred into your account. Also the pickup will be at 2 o’clock today, and you have to make it discrete the client doesn’t want a lot of attention.” ”No problem” and with that he hung up the phone.

The truck halted to a stop outside of a building with two big iron doors with an ankh painted on the door. Sparta instantly knew something more sinister was inside that building than what he initially thought. He hopped out of the bed of the truck onto scorching asphalt that he could feel through the sole of his boot. A slight smell of burning rubber could be sensed as he crossed the sidewalk to the front of the building, something told him he wouldn’t be invited in if he knocked so he proceeded towards the alleyway to the side. There he saw a passed out meth head leaning against a dumpster covered in saliva and rotten vomit moaning in his torturous high. Sparta passed him paying him no mind to the back of the building which looked no better than the front.

The back consisted of a large overhang that drastically shaded from the blistering sun and a tray for cigarette butts. There a bartender was standing, leaning against the building smoking a cigarette with his eyes closed relaxing from an apparent long day of work. Sparta began towards him crouched slightly stepping as gently as he could making sure to make no noise, and removed his silver combat knife from his boot. When he was within arm’s reach of the resting bartender he lunged and placed his forearm firmly against the man’s neck and his knife across the man’s mouth, pressing his skull against the bricks cutting the back of his head slightly. The bartender grimaced flashing two sets of suspiciously sharp eyeteeth; Sparta instantly knew to be the teeth of a vampire.

The young bartender seemed to have been freshly bitten, mainly because he hadn’t yet learned to control his new senses to hear a pin drop, to feel vibrations in the ground, or even how to apply his inhuman strength. Sparta quickly plunged the blade of his knife into the vampire’s eye allowing the blood to roll down onto his own sleeve he then followed by throwing the bartender to the ground next to him. When the vampire hit the ground his hand started simmering, emitting smoke and blistering at an extreme rate, the bartender recoiled his hand from the un-shaded ground and held it in excruciating pain. Sparta grabbed the man by the back of his black leather jacket and drug his body until his head was placed directly into the sunlight. The young vampire’s face began turning an intense color of red, as Sparta held him there with his boot pressing firmly on the back of the vampire’s neck. The vampire’s head was now almost completely engulfed in flames as it slowly melted the scalp away to reveal only the skull of the now lifeless vampire.

Sparta quickly changed into the bartender’s attire, smearing the blood he had collected on his sleeve on the inside lining of the black leather jacket to throw off any other vampire’s sense of smell at least for the time being. He then made two small pricks on the side of his neck with his knife to imitate the appearance that he had been recently bit. Now dressed as a bartender, Sparta made his way to the back door, but not before moving the dead vampire’s body into the sun to dispose of the evidence. He knew there would be nothing but ashes in the wind within a couple of moments.

As he entered the back door he kicked the small block propping it open and it slammed behind him. He picked up a nearby platter stacked with glasses filled with a thick red death smelling liquid he assumed to be blood and quickly left the kitchen through a double swinging set of doors he guessed led to where his target was.

The thumping music of the bar, even through the thick wooden walls and Ordin's even thicker brain case, was piercing. He pinched the bridge of his nose and followed the others into the main room, where they quickly disappeared. He was left alone admits a massive, writhing crowd of vampire sadists, the pure ecstasy of their party churning his stomach into butter. Sliding along the walls he came upon the bar where a particularly disgusting wretch was service liquored blood. He ordered a shot of whiskey, minus the blood, to which the bartender replied with a quizzical look before producing the vitriol.

As he slammed it back, Lydia emerged from the dank recesses of the crowd with a rather prissy vampire in tow. They chatted loudly about seemingly nothing. Dammit, thought the priest, I can't concentrate on shit. Then, looking up, he spoke to the bartender in a monotonous tone.

"Have you ever met that chick? Lydia?" he pointed.

The Nosferatu's black doleful eyes flicked up, and back down to the glass he was scrubbing with a bloody rag.

"You're a tampon sucking tart with a fat face," the bartender belched.

"Hit me," the priest croaked and received another shot of whiskey. That's when Trevlac arrived with a retarded bounce in his step, causing Ordin's gaze to drift into the fuzz floating in his glass.

Trevlac originally paid no notice to Ordin, being in the moment as he was, but now his gaze drifted over. "Oh come on, Father. Have some blood, you dress as sanguine as your nature, you've spilled it countless times, you've had it on you even more. You've smelled it, seen it, touched it, and heard its spatter. Your senses only lack the taste of a straight shot of the essence of life." Trevlac knew he himself was playing around with his priestly friend, however his sarcasm was often lost on others so he added a quick chuckle and elbow jab for good measure. But it was what happened next that drew his attention into the event horizon of a panic black-hole. The track changed to a more trance-like techno and every vampire in the joint became slower, more sensual at the same moment as a figure surreptitiously crept inside.

The figure was clothed in the same leather uniform as the Nosferatu he had just illicited fear from. So he was supposed to be the replacement shift worker. For a fleeting moment Trevlac believed it too, but his mind snapped back to what he knew about this man. He always shows up when the shit hits the fan... that's the way life doled out doses of Sparta Plizkin: fan-hitting-shit doses. Things were about to get ugly quickly, probably in the way of fire, death, screaming, and explosions. Trevlac's heart couldn't even leap in earnest at the sight of his old mentor, he felt...fear perhaps?

Fear would be the least of his worries. He knew how Sparta thought, knew because he learned his own tactical planning skills from this very man. He worked backward and came to the conclusion that someone in here was on his shitlist. Whomever was supposed to be the next shift barhand was likely dead, and the Nosferatu in front of him was going to switch off with the most trained abomination-killer Trevlac had ever known. Pointing to the man and then to the both of them, the Nosferatu understood what must be done. He ducked below the counter and reached for a black shiny raincoat with a hood. Sun-suit...egh. Just tough it out you baby Trevlac thought callously. He was just susceptible to ultraviolet but chose to wear long garments instead. But, understandably so, Nosferatu preferred to not be in any kind of light. Most of them traveled by sewer even.

Slipping it on until his eyes were obscured mostly, the Nosferatu allowed Trevlac to lightly push him toward the door. He muttered a muffled farewell to whom he thought to be his replacement, "Later, Harmond." and proceeded out the back alley door. It, too, had another set of doors (Trevlac realized that any entrance into this place should have a secondary chamber to ensure sunlight did not filter inside) and they stepped around the faded brick and mortar building whom many gangs and apparently a guy named "Dice" had spray painted their tags onto.

The sounds from the blood bar were miraculously silent. Trevlac's blood pressure returned to normal, the overwhelming music seeped out of him and he drew a long, rattling and humid breath. The gray clouds overhead were making the air wetter than before but the sun still reached down in patches that the shielding clouds could not cover--reached out with its devilishly hot hands and scorched the Earth and its inhabitants. Luckily this area was shaded fairly well, no doubt because of its regular patrons. A single look at the Nosferatu sent him into verbal diarrhea.

"Okay, " he started, holding up his hands. "Look, just know my name's Lester and I didn't do none of this for profit, just cause I didn't want to die." when Trevlac gave no indication that he empathized, the Nosferatu Lester continued, "Er, well. This guy Grave has a whole syndicate it seems. Call 'emselves Addonox. It seems really well formed, but one of the higher ups had me do 'em a job. I was contracted to give the names of two of my suppliers. One just supplies me with small arms, no biggie. The other one though...well I get some serious shit from them." Lester stopped talking and shifted his black eyes. His muffled voice was more appealing to Trevlac than the voice uninhibited by his sun-suit.

"That contact was a vampire, Follower of Set, who owns a nuclear reactor. He dumps nuclear waste and I pick it up. I don't think they're building a dirty bomb though, I think it's something more sinister, " he said the last word with trepidation, "No one ever thinks anything of us Nosferatu. So they don't mind discussing plans around us, I guess they see us as less than Kindred. But to my advantage, the Addonox guy mentions something vague about what radioactivity can do to the human body over time. Even after death. So there you have it." He finished rather lamely as though he hadn't just given Trevlac a mountain more information than the vampire ever thought he knew. Trevlac was so taken aback at how much information Lester was able to share he almost hesitated to ask, "So...who is this Follower of Set and where can I find him? Maybe he can lead us to the...er, Addonox you said? Yeah." He tried to sort out the facts as he said them.

Lester sighed and his face drained into fear, "Listen, don't kill me but I swear to my ancestor the mighty Count Orlok I don't know where he is. His name's Balazad Shael and he has other contacts. A True Brujah named Zeke might be able to tell you. Though I don't know where this Zeke lives either." he hung his head and said with real conviction, "I'm sorry. I really am." tears were welling up in his eyes, "I know I have done something that I can't undo. And it might cost several Kindred their lives." Trevlac felt empathy for him. Nosferatu were known deceivers but Trevlac was a known interrogator. He detected no signs of deception, and placed a consoling gloved hand on Lester's shoulder. "Go on. Get some rest for the afternoon, you'll need your sleep so you can get up and do your nightly routine--whatever that is, brother. I'll take care of mopping up after your mistakes. Just...the next time some evil syndicate wants shit from you, do me a favor and don't give it to them." His voice rose into a flaming inferno of rage at the end, Trevlac's eyes flashed, the stark blue painting a target on the Nosferatu's face. He turned and made his way back inside.

The bustle had continued as before but the DJ, it seemed, had taken it down another notch. This trance-like techno had almost every vampire in the joint having an enormous group orgy. Most had stripped their clothes entirely. Trevlac knew what was coming next. It was almost three PM, and this was late night for them. The blood shower would start soon. Everyone paid admittance from this point on because in about fifteen minutes, blood would start shooting from the sprinkler system. He made a beeline for Ordin and related what he knew. "Our dear barhand told me a tale most intriguing. Grave's got an organization, Addonox, and they're buying up small arms and radioactive waste. One of his contacts, um...Balazad or whoever, owns the nuclear plant where they get it. To get to Balazad at the source we need to find someone called Zeke." Trevlac had to shout the last part of his sentence, right as Lydia and another vampire walked by, to be heard, over the screams of ecstasy going on near him from a woman with her vagina being sorely ravaged just to her liking. It was starting to make him sick. This place was about to get much worse, and he told Ordin about the scheduled blood bath. They could pay $130 and stay for another hour--getting soaked in blood--or get the fuck outta Dodge.

"Did you say Zeke? I need to see that guy too! We're going to need all the equipment we can get for this mission, and he's the guy for it around here. He's right down the street from here, too. Let me go get Ben and we should all go and parlay with him."
Lydia slapped Trevlac's ass and pointed to the door.
"LET US COMMENCE THE JOURNEY!!!!!!!!!!!" she shouted.
She sprinted out the door. Five seconds later, she walked in, red faced.
"Oh, right. Ben. Uh, I'll be right back....."
Ben was carefully pouring vodka down one nostril and tomato juice down the other.
"Ooooooahahah-SPLOOOSH-Sorry, ready to go?"
"Yeah man! I think we're cool without your help, so if you'll just get us in with Zeke, we're cool."
"Glad to hear it! care for a Bloody Nose?"
"NO-I mean....No thanks, I can't even stand a finger in my nose, much less 150-proof booze."
"Wuss."
We walked back over to Ordin and Trevlac.

Sparta emerged into a crowd of fucking vampires, literally they were commencing to a violent orgy. Biting each other, spreading blood over their naked bodies doing things Sparta would never imagine during sex. He dropped his platter almost instantly upon entering the room, from being bumped by one of the multiple vampires flooding the building doing ungodly things to each other and to themselves. He started toward the bar to start his search for his target although with this crowd he doubted he could spot anyone. He had gotten accustomed to refusing the multiple offers of sexual deeds he heard walking across the floor pushing through the cold lifeless bodies.

As Sparta drudged on he spotted a small group that actually still had at least a little clothes on, even if not fully clothed. There was a vampire pouring vodka and tomato juice in his nose and various other people performing twisted ways of getting drunk or high. The seemingly happy tomato-vodka snorting vampire was then approached by a petite girl fully clothed, Sparta recognized her from the folder pertaining the mission details, why someone wanted her dead he couldn’t realize she didn’t look like a threat to anyone. He started towards her to direct her to someplace quieter, to get the mission over with and get out of this cesspool of death. But, as he approached her she walked off through the crowd, it’s amazing how fast people could disappear into a crowd even if they were fully clothed while the crowd wasn’t, Sparta quickly started to follow and after pushing through what seemed like hundreds of vampires he emerged from the crowd and a face of shock erupted onto his face when he realized he was within feet and staring at not only his target but also his old friends Trevlac and Ordin.

It was that kind of hot, sunlit alleyway that you'd come across when there were rotting corpses in an open dumpster. If there had been any out here, the smell might have been overpowering, but no. The only scent that graced Lantario's senses was the dizzying aroma of baking concrete and smoldering garbage. The sun was burning an unforgivable glare through brick and mortar alike, and may some deity help anyone caught in the sunlight unprotected. This was apparently true for the persons occupying his target locale, for moments ago, he had been lucky enough to witness a man throwing another man into the sunlight to be burned alive.

Lantario Helvecticus Cravatti had seen worse. As an unwilling member of the Machiavellian Principality, he knew that his organization had contended with everything from dangerous mystical artifacts to vengeful demonic entities representing the decadence and cruelty of all mankind. The demise of a vampire was neither a mournful occasion nor even one that deserved more than a moment of one's attention. What was more interesting is that his death, sprawled out and crisping, fingers and toes curling like edges of bacon fat, did well to indicate where he was supposed to be. Nothing dispelled the thought of "are you sure this is the right place" like seeing one of its workers dissolved in the back of the lot.

It would be harder to enter the establishment with this person inside, though. Multiple assassins with separate contracts in the same building always led to trouble. There was always the scant possibility that one had been hired to kill the other, and two assassins fighting for not only their right to collect, but their right to survive, would be a very desperate battle. No, he wouldn't be able to enter through the back way. He would have to stoop low enough to use the main entrance, as much as it disgusted him. The end justifies the means my feathered hat. Knocking on the front door of a vampire den and leaving with a human dignity still intact required skill, not luck. Luck couldn't hurt his chances, but in the end, it was down to how well he could bullshit his way through the front door.

It was a gamble, but Lantario was skilled at that sort of thing.

The ankh-splayed doors leading into the establishment didn't need to hide anything. You could spray paint "Vamps R Us" on the front and nobody would give it more than a second look. Most of these buildings were considered abandoned, condemned, dilapidated, and other nice empty words by the human population. The only ones who bothered for a second look were ones who had business within in the first place. And since he did, he bothered for a knock. He waited for the sound of a voice, but instead of what he had been expecting, he heard the noise of unsteady breathing. The same intermittent gasping and moaning characteristic to rather vicious intercourse followed. There were a few moments where he wondered if he was redder listening to this than the crimson feather in his scarlet cap. When the trails of red blood and white orgasmic juices leaking out from beneath the edge of the door, mixing with one another on the concrete ground, Lantario stepped away quickly to save his leather loafers.

"Am I really sure that this is the right place?" He asked himself, walking across from the alleyway and just watching the door, as if waiting for it to drain more of the...ahem, contents...outside.

Trevlac's words, slathered in sarcasm, for whatever reason, seemed to have set a spark off in Ordin's gut. He hammered down his whiskey, wiped his mouth, and leapt to his feet. He attempted to hide a grin by tilting his hat as he followed the two vampires out of the sordid orgy and into a dank pre-sol chamber every vampire establishment seemed to have. There, Trevlac, and the garbage bagged Nosferatu chatted about the focal points of their mission.

As his comrade chortled with the vampire, he watched the ever-elusive Sparta stumble around in the main room amongst a sea of naked flesh, spilling drinks and acting as though he had something to find.

Finally, Trevlac turned back to him with a mixture of sober purpose and utter amusement on his face, leaning in close to the priest's ear he shouted:
"Alright, we could pay $130 and stay for another hour--getting soaked in blood--or get the fuck outta Dodge,"

Ordin nodded and clapped him on the back. Sure, the view of the vampire sex orgy was certainly entertaining, but there was fun to be had elsewhere. He didn't know where this vitality came from, but he could feel a strange energy flowing from his weapons, as if they were ready to kill. He wrapped his hand around the leather grip of Godfist, beginning to attempt to lead Trev out when he almost ran into Lydia, followed by her vampire buddy, followed by a gawking Sparta.

"Oi, Sparta! You're just in time!" he yelled, "Any time there's money and blood involved I know you're bound to show up, what's with the silly get-up y'old prick?"

"Commence operation: get the fuck out of here." Trevlac shouted to everyone. He was trying his hardest to not feel like the typical leader again. Often times he fought the situations--they always landed him in this position. But Trevlac had come to terms that leadership was thrust upon good leaders, it was taken forcefully by bad leaders. Walking out of the establishment after having a word with Ben about the location of Zeke. In the second chamber, Trevlac remembered simply go straight and go up to the house on the corner of the first left. Way too easy. He smirked, a little disgusted, at the mousy man and a prostitute going at it right here in this cramped little space. Pulling the back of his coat over his head, Trevlac shoved open the barred doors, almost hitting a man standing in the way. For a moment, Trevlac had to squint to see, and then his eyes readjusted to the blazing sunlight and glimpsed at a human standing before the joint.

I'd tell him what he's in for but I get the feeling he already knows... He thought ominously. Trevlac bolted down the street, no doubt with everyone in tow, as if trying to outrun the blazing heat. It really was easier than he expected, clouds were constantly coming in to battle the scorching hot demon in the sky. Their grey shields assigned to the towering paladin-like rainclouds meant an easy victory against the dreaded Scorch Demon. That heavy mist-like air began to permeate the atmosphere again and the smell of wet concrete would soon greet everyone's nostrils. The run took not too much time, the shade had darkened in only that small five minute span. As Trevlac hit the first wooden step to this colonial style split-level, so did a blue streak of the Cloud Army's electricity split the sky. Warm droplets of rain the size of cherries sparsely slunk down from the heavens and kissed the previously dry cement. It was the victory dance of the Cloud Army.

Knocking once, twice, thricely--Trevlac stood back a ways and waited for anyone to answer the door. Nothing happened. Bequizzed, he rang the doorbell. A dog went absolutely berserk. The sound of metal clanging around was heard, an old man swore loudly and then the dog yelped. "...you mangy mutt. Yer goin outside!" and a door slammed hard. Shuffling was audible over the sound of the wooden floorboards, many of them creaked and groaned in protest of the weight above them. But the door didn't open. Instead, Trevlac nearly had to jump back as an old codger yelled "Whaddya want?"

"Ben sent me. If you're Zeke, I need some things." Trevlac paused for breath but the door slammed him in the jaw, he stumbled backward and clutched his chin where it smarted. An old man appeared in the doorway.