Bleeding · The · Angels

I am currently working on a new PC, whom I hope to have ready for play by early next year, and I am looking for character ties/links, primarily in Iberia and Outremer after the Saracenic reclamation of Jerusalem (from 1187 onward), and also in the Middle East and India up until mid to late last century.
The character was an Invictus Gangrel pursuivant (envoy/messenger), and so was semi-nomadic and traveled a lot, and, as a result, time and place are pretty flexible.
She was very personable and amiable, and actively sought the companionship and friendship of female vampires, although ties are available for male characters as well, they just won't be as close or as intimate (due to Muslim cultural mores).
Send me an email at pamelarubysaunders@hotmail.com if you're at all interested. Please don't comment on this entry, just email me - I no longer use the account that comments on this LJ are forwarded to, and I check the LJ itself VERY rarely (given that it was created for a character who I no longer play).
Hope to chat to you soon. :-)

I have a separate LJ for my new PC, Lucinde, under quiet_librarian.
Comment here if you want me to friend you.
jamari_stories, sinfulstories, pater_familias, aequitassancti and shadow_story, you've been added already.

A bit of a departure. Let me know what you think.

The light was too bright, too yellow, flickering. Or that might have just been him. Given his druthers, he’d have been slipping in and out of that light right now, flat on his back on the lino, the smell of urinal cakes cloyingly sweet in his nose. And when the next visitor to this deodorised, flouro-lit den of iniquity came through the door and gave him that familiar look that said he was scum, that he was a freak, that he was lower than the shit they had stepped in on their way across the common, maybe he would cut them sweetly and leave them to bleed. Felix smirked wanly at the fantasy, the edges of his mouth creeping slowly up his face like egg-white across the bottom of a pan, then he opened his mouth. Curling his tongue upwards, he located a thick black vein and slid the needle in, shuddering at the pain so sharp that it was almost like coming. Then he squeezed the plunger.
The coarse wool of his duffel coat bunched in his hand. Sweat dampened his hair and he felt his eyes flick back momentarily as bliss overtook the pain. He gasped briefly, and he heard the sighs of relief in a neighbouring stall abruptly halt as a stream of obscenities rolled off his tongue. His skin prickled as if he were growing feathers. Felix put his head down between his knees and focused on breathing. Sweat rolled off his nose in big fat droplets and splashed onto the marble-look lino.
He checked his watch. He had better get to his next lecture.

Heads turned as the white BMW pulled up to the curb, but Alice was used to that. She peered out at the University through the windshield, and once again checked the timetable on her lap. Grabbing her bag, she quickly checked herself in the rear-vision mirror, then climbed out of the car. As her Prada heels clicked along the pavement, several gazes turned her way, but Alice was used to that as well. Nevertheless, she found herself self-consciously smoothing her pants down over her hips as she walked through the main door. The foyer was an average reception area, clean and simple but neither extravagant nor comfortable. Seeing that the receptionist was busy, she reluctantly took a seat, glancing at her watch. She couldn’t afford to be here for long or she’d be late for her first lecture.
Thankfully, it was barely a minute later that the woman behind the desk looked up.
“May I help you?”
Alice stood, flicking her blonde mane back off her shoulders and approached the desk.
“Alice Landt. Psychology. My transferral should have gone through from Beaumont.”
The receptionist clicked away at the keys, her eyes scanning the monitor. For one long, terrible moment Alice feared that something had gone wrong, that she wasn’t on file, then the woman turned back to her and smiled.
“Pleased to have you with us, Miss Landt. How will you be paying?”
Alice relaxed.
“Cheque.”
She wrote out the slip, passed it to the woman behind the desk and filled in the reams of paperwork that she received in return, before passing them back to the receptionist, who smiled and handed her a final sheet of paper.
“This is a map of the University layout and,” she said, pointing with a blue-laquered fingernail, “this is where you need to be. You should find the room no worries, but if you do have any problems at any time, come back down here and we’ll do our best to sort them out for you. Okay?”
Alice nodded, smiled politely and then walked away, her shoes clacking on the linoleum. She studied the Uni map in her hands, then folded it up neatly and slipped it into her handbag.
Alice quickened her step.
She could still make the lecture.

Felix fidgeted in his seat. He was absolutely sure of it now, there could be not doubt. Second year was just the same as first year. The material was as dry, the lecturers were as boring and the chairs were just as uncomfortable. If not for the sweet poison coursing through his veins, the night would have been a total write-off. He pulled out some file paper and a leaky, blobby red pen that stained his fingers bloody and began to scribble a violent revenge fantasy in which he took to the lecturer with an orbital sander. Felix enjoyed Psych, and would never have even tried to deny it - that was why he had returned, after all. He was intelligent, and a hard worker on his assignments; last year, his theses and essays had all passed at an D level, showcasing a detached brilliance that made his lecturers uneasy. He loved the subject, was fascinated, in particular, with the theories of Jung, but the way in which all of the lecturers presented what was otherwise stimulating information was just so boring. And this one more than most, he decided with a snarl. He’d been back at Uni (“as a second year Psychology student” - it always sounded so pretentious) for four months now, and he already suspected that the tedium of the lectures had done irreparable damage to his grey matter, which, he thought resentfully, left him a lot less leeway for chemical damage. And Felix Cheshire’s computer-like brain had not overlooked that point; he knew that his “excesses” as his bitch mother had called his habits was costing him dearly, but he didn’t care. Under his bed at home he had half a kilo of black hash, an unmeasured amount of crack and three pounds of snow. Not to mention all the various ingredients in his private party mix; trips, e’s, fantasy and angel dust, powdered and combined. He was going easy tonight, though, in case the boring old @#%&* actually said something worth writing down. He just had some prime grade heroin in his veins, so he was practically straight.

Sweat beaded on his upper lip and his hair fell into his eyes, so he reached up to flick it away. It was then that he became aware of the sound of a door swinging shut and smirked. Someone sneaking in late, he thought - good luck to them if they can find a seat. He turned to see who it was, not that he really knew any of these losers anyway, and stared.
She was smoothing her long, shiny blonde (not from a bottle, he thought) hair back over her shoulders and looking desperately for somewhere to sit down. Her skin was very pale but her cheeks were pinkish, whether from exertion or embarassment he couldn’t tell. She was about five foot six and slim, wearing a cream cashmere knit, similar-coloured slacks (which, he noted with a stir, fitted her much better than they did their name), off-white high-heeled boots. She was slipping an ivory felt coat off of her shoulders, freeing tendils of silvery-blonde hair from the high neck of her top. Her cheeks were the brightest thing about her. Her eyes were green.
He dropped his pen, and twisted around in his chair to watch her as she tried to find a seat. Finally she sat down directly across from him. He watched her from deep within his hood as she withdrew paper and pens from her handbag and started taking notes. Apparently the lecturer was saying something interesting after all. Felix didn’t care.
He ignored the rest of the lecture, watching instead the play of light off the top of her cheekbone, the shining movement of her hair, the graceful arc of her throat.
She was perfect.
Felix’ blood was on fire.
He marked her as his.

Alice swung the door behind her and locked it, hanging her coat on the nightstand and threw a glance down the hall. All the lights were still on.
“I’m home!” she called, setting her handbag down by the door, walking towards her bedroom. The carpet was soft under her feet, the light softer over her head. She detected a hint of her mother’s perfume in the air, and smiled. So their “fabulous night out with the company branch” had ended earlier than expected. She was going to go straight to bed, but the television was on in the living room so she made detour.
“Allie!”
“Liebshan.”
Her parents were sitting on the couch, at opposite ends as usual, still in their evening wear, watching a late-night movie, an old one, something starring Kim Novak, she didn’t know what. In front of them on the walnut coffee table was a bottle of champagne - her mother was obviously still in a celebratory mood, she surmised - and three glasses, and on the other settee…
“Alice.”
“Oh...hello, Ricky.”
She allowed herself to be held, stiffly, formally as he whispered into her ear,
“Do you know what I’m going to do to you tonight?”
Releasing her, he turned to her parents, smiling winsomely, multi-thousand dollar teeth on full display.
“Clara, Heinrich, I plan to steal your daughter for the evening. She shall be wined, and dined…”
And sixty-nined, Alice added mentally. She pushed him away.
“Actually, darling, I’d like to beg off tonight if I can. It’s been a long evening, and I’d just like to go to bed.”
He frowned, and tightened his grip on her arm.
“Well, Alice, this is really very awkward. I’ve made reservations…”
She twisted away from him, freeing herself.
“Look, darling, I‘d really rather not…”
His voice took on a steely tone.
“Alice, dear, surely you could…”
“Please?”
She gave him her most winning smile, her eyes pleading, her fingers resting lightly upon his arm.
“Please, Ricky.”
His face softened, and his arm crept back around her waist. He turned to her father, his voice light.
“Well, only a fool would deprive his own lady of her beauty sleep, eh?”
He chuckled, then turned back to her mother, smiling.
“It appears that I should be saying my goodbyes. Goodnight to the pair of you. And to you, my angel. Get yourself to bed, and we can go out another night. I shall take my leave. Go on, then.”
He leaned over, cupped her face, and kissed her roughly on the lips. When he spoke again, his voice was thick.
“Goodnight.”
His face was smiling, but the darkness of his anger lurked still behind his eyes. Thankfully, she slipped away.

Felix lay on his back, staring into the darkness, replaying the memory of what he had done that evening. He had followed the girl out to her car, keeping to the shadows, at times so close behind her that he could smell her perfume, sweetly floral - he could smell it, even now, just remembering. She had gotten into a white BMW, he didn’t know what model - Felix didn’t know much about cars, his expertise lay in other areas - and sped away. He didn’t know if he’d see her again, he hoped he would, was determined that he would, if he had to make it happen, and when he did…
Felix smiled. His fingers were sticky, but he couldn’t bothered reaching for the tissue box. The world kept shifting and changing when he moved, the darkness kept flowing like water, and that made him feel sick, so he’d decided to lie still. As it was, he wasn’t completely sure where he was; he knew he was in his bed, but that was all he was certain of. The mattress stank of sweat and other things, but the night smelt like flowers.
Flowers, possibility and promise.

'Rix and Kenzie - "Hands Clean", Alanis Morisette
'Rix and Connor - "Believe", Disturbed
'Rix and Aidan - "I'll Be Watching You", Sting and The Police
'Rix and Elena - "Take Me Under", Three Days Grace*

I also intend to post up a slightly modified version of the the meme that started it all, but rather than me picking a song for how the other PC views their relationship with mine (which, it seems to me, is a flawed plan at best), I will let the player pick their own song, for purposes of accurate appropriacy, from a selection that I have suggested, according to what they think is the closest reflection of the relationship from their PC's perspective, or even suggest their own if they have one that really hits the nail on the head for them.

*The song doesn't really strike any sort of chord with me, but Kat wants it, and I'm happy to oblige! :-)

So, entered 'Rix's answers as usual...
I gotta say, this seems pretty well accurate, right down to the last word.

You scored as Dante Alighieri. According to you most of humanity will spend at least some of their afterlife in hell. You have a high likelihood of being exiled, but anyone as bloody fucking romantic as you deserves what they get. You have an exceptional moral code, overshadowed by the fact that you yourself cannot uphold it. Your existence bears a definite irony, although of fairly Christian morality, many pagans, satanists, communists, and intellectuals admire you and your works for all the wrong reasons. Also, the brighest star in your sky is never going to be your lover... It takes a lot of grief to be the cartographer of hell. </td> Dante Alighieri 92% Mother Teresa 75% Jesus Christ 75% Steven Morrissey 58% O.J. Simpson 50% Hugh Hefner 42% Miyamoto Musashi 42% Adolf Hitler 33% Elvis Presley 33% Charles Manson 25% Friedrich Nietzsche 25% C.G. Jung 25% Stephen Hawking 8% Sigmund Freud 0% What Pseudo Historical Figure Best Suits You? created with QuizFarm.com

The result I got for 'Rix...what do you think?

You are The Magician

Skill, wisdom, adaptation. Craft, cunning, depending on dignity.

Eleoquent and charismatic both verbally and in writing,
you are clever, witty, inventive and persuasive.

The Magician is the male power of creation, creation by willpower and desire. In that ancient sense, it is the ability to make things so just by speaking them aloud. Reflecting this is the fact that the Magician is represented by Mercury. He represents the gift of tongues, a smooth talker, a salesman. Also clever with the slight of hand and a medicine man - either a real doctor or someone trying to sell you snake oil.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Well, 'Rix kicks on.

An interesting snippet of IC conversation:
"Do you ever get lonely?"
"I don't know. I don't think so."
"You'd know if you did."

Would it?

Why the Hell do I never find out that me and my entire posse are timefrozen because some pleb has come gunning for me in a downtime action until five minutes* before a freakin' game?
P.

*Five minutes may mean as much as, but never more than, two days.

Saturday
The 28th of October
2006
Sydney

I hurt myself today
To see if I still feel
I focus on the pain
The only thing that's real
The needle tears a hole
The old familiar sting
Try to kill it all away
But I remember everything

The creature called the Inquisitrix watched the young Acolyte with gimlet eyes.
Gwenyfar...
Faith, it had been so long, and now, to find her here, here, and so changed...
Her face had aged beyond the one it had known, and her beauty now had a wild, overgrown quality to it; she moved like an animal, and looked about her with an animal's eyes...
It caught her gazing its way, eyes alight with fascination, with curiosity.
But no memory.
No recognition.

"She doesn't remember you, Escher."
The voice was warm, unbearably sweet and full of perfect love, and it raised the hackles on the back of its neck.
"What do you want, Xaraphon?"
It didn't bother to whisper; it knew by now that no-one else could see the luminescent figure that hovered just behind its left shoulder, or hear anything that was said between them.
It didn't turn, but it could sense the beatific smile, nonetheless. And then the fingers, stroking lightly down the side of its neck...
Acting on instinct, it reached up to grasp its companion's wrist, to make him stop; but again, as ever before, its fingers met only air.
"You are full of sin and corruption, Escher...and we find you so, so beautiful. But we are not them..."
It was weary, now, from the blessings it had given, feeling thin and weak from the benedictions it had delivered, and the monster moved beneath its skin.
Not tonight, not here. I have things I must accomplish; I can do without the distraction...
Go away.
It felt its fists clench at its sides, as a low growl stirred in the base of its throat. It felt the blood ooze between its fingers.
"Why do you come here, angel? Have you a task for me? Did He charge you bring me word, or have you simply come to gloat?"
He chuckled, a low sound, full of mirth and genuine joy, and laid his golden lips against the nape of its neck.
"She belongs to someone else now..."
The creature turned its head, slowly, its every movement evincing control over the snarling beast within that strained at its bonds in the presence of its long-time tormentor, this being that had shaped it, created it, crafted it with loving, remorseless hands into the thing that it was.
It laid its head against the angel's shoulder, and it whispered, in tones of velevet and honey.
"You're getting thinner, you know. Flimsier. I can see everything through you these nights, Xaraphon. Your voice is fading. Soon, you won't be here at all. And I still will. What is that worth, to you?"
The angel smiled, as their noses brushed, and its breath smelt of honey, and of gold.
"We are so proud of you..."

I wear this crown of shit
Upon my liar's chair
Full of broken thoughts
I cannot repair
Beneath the stains of time
The feelings disappear
You are someone else
I am still right here

"Good evening, Inquisitrix."
Fenris.
It smelt him even before it turned its head, and heard the angel giggle behind it.
Blood, and sex, and expensive cologne.
The scent was heady as ever, intoxicating as always, and it felt the desire stir, low in its belly.
The angel's breath was hot in its ear.
"We gave you a name, Escher. It's rude of you not to use it."

"Mr. Black. A pleasure, as always."
It leaned forward and smiled, its easy smirk belying the turmoil in its mind.
The former Prince of Melbourne stood over it, smiling, a pretty young Damned on his arm. He was looking particularly frilly this evening, and a thousand mocking comments leapt to its lips, but it hadn't the time.
"Is that a courting habit of the higher predators that I don't know of? Because it seems to me that those little flippancies of yours must be extremely effective at discouraging admirers...why do you do that, Escher?"
Its fingertips itched.
"You made me, Xaraphon. You tell me."
It smiled, and locked eyes with its new companion.
"Fenris...how does the evening find you?"
His queer blue eyes ate up every detail of its face as they exchanged pleasantries.
Behind its shoulder, the angel giggled.
"He looks an awful lot like Felicien, doesn't he?"

Felicien.
A memory, a flash.
Blue eyes, burning with need, dark hair always hanging in the way, a voice that wrapped around its brain like warm, scented oil, promising purpose, promising...hope.
"Felicien was a long time ago."
The angel laughed, and the sound was like sugar cubes falling into the depth of a well, like the chiming of church bells, like the breaking apart of things that could be sundered but not destroyed.
"Did you love him, Escher?"
"No."
"You're lying."

Fenris was still standing over it, asking it to...asking it to...
Asking me to watch over the girl for him. A childe, someone's childe, not his...
The childe it had met before, in passing, a pretty little thing, her name was -
"Karly."
"Of course, Mr. Black, it would be my pleasure."
The scent of him, the sight of him, so close, was stirring things it didn't want awakened.
It felt the flesh rise along the length of its spine as the hunger rolled over in its sleep, felt the reflexive lengthening and sharpening the back of its mouth, as muscle and gum parted in breach, felt the white fangs slide down to scrape the surface of its tongue...
It bit down hard on the cigar holder to hide the lisp, turned its attention to the childe, and ignored him until he went away.

What have I become?
My sweetest friend
Everyone I know
Goes away in the end
You could have it all
My empire of dirt
I will let you down
I will make you hurt

Gwynefar was moving among the Damned, and the creature called the Inquisitrix watched her every movement, absorbed in her simple grace, entranced by the light, shining off her hair.
She was very beautiful.
The angel's voice whispered across its neck.
"Do you really think she'd be pleased to see you, if she did remember?"
It leaned back into that scent of gold and of honey, as at the periphery of its vision Lady Cerise, all demure beauty and gentle manner, chatted to the childe, Karly, keeping her amused, and it smiled, bitterly.
"No. No, I don't imagine she would. They never are."
He took a deep breath, and wrapped his arms around it, cradling it like a child. And it knew, that while those arms were warm and solid, any attempt it made to move against them would be met only with thin air.
His lips were in its hair.
"Why do you still watch them, Escher? You follow their Requiems, far off and unseen, and none of them know who you are anymore. You've discarded the names they knew you under...are you so frightened of the past?"
It shook its head.
All of the answers are right there waiting, at the tips of your fingers, if you have but the courage to take them....
"They still need me, in their way. All my little soulless, Damned refugees, stumbling blindly through the Danse Macabre..."
"How can you stand to be forgotten?"
"It gets easier."

A memory, sudden and startling, whipped its head from now to a moment long past.
Strings.
The strings were in my hands...
I could smell it, flowing inside her.
Just a taste...
I drew them too tight - she fainted, later.
You forget how fragile they are...
And how strong are we...
You forget;
So long since I needed to breathe...
Strings.
Strings in my hands.
I drew them too tight.
I was hungry.
"Do you ever feel remorse, at all? For what you did to her? For what you did to the others?"
The angel's golden voice, breezing across its neck, brought it back to the present with jarring speed and, momentarily disoriented, it looked about, reminding itself of where it was.
Its eyes drifted over beauty that most mortals would never dream of, and debasement as thick as syrup, lingering on each Kindred in attendance in turn, sparing some longer glances than others.
Predatory, and they pretended not to be.
Lonely, and decieving themselves that the company of their own kind could relieve that.
Damned, and so few were willing to admit it.
The angel ran his fingers through its hair, and watched the denizens of the night over its shoulder, hand playing upon its upper arm, fingers tapping, as if on the keys of a piano.
"No," it said, finally, and there was not an iota of doubt in its voice.
He chuckled, then, and cupped its face in his hands, fingers like ivory talons, eyes, as always, fixed on something far distant that it couldn't see, wondering, dreaming, wet and benign.
"You're perfect," he murmured, and with those words, condemned it again.
"You're just like him."

Saturday, the 28th of October, 2006.
9pm.

A whisper in the darkness
A shadow in the hall
A memory slowly fading
That she won't miss at all
It's too late to say he's sorry, it's too much for him to bear
He's got all the time she needed
Now she doesn't seem to care