My Novel

2003-12-18T14:26:00.000-05:00

Chapter 7

Skippy stood up and rubbed his bleary eyes. He’d been bent over his computer for so many hours straight that he could no longer tell how long it had been since he’d last eaten, and his stomach was making its displeasure well known.

He raised his hands above his head, clenched them together and stretched, rising up onto his toes. He groaned in pleasure as he felt his muscles stretch and his joints pop. Lowering his weight back fully onto his feet, he rotated his neck and felt the muscles there stretch, too.

He walked towards the common area, ducking his head to avoid hitting it on the low doorframe he passed through.

Marcus was busy preparing a Blood Mary, and when he saw Skippy enter the room, he wordlessly pulled another glass off the overhead rack, and filled it, too. Skippy settled at the bar and Marcus pushed the drink towards him.

Skippy picked up the glass and downed its contents in one long swallow. Placing the glass back on the bar, he looked up at Marcus expectantly.

Marcus swallowed his mouthful and looked back at Skippy as blandly as he could manage. “What?” he asked, a shade defensively.

“Well? How was your meeting?”

Marcus shrugged. “Oh, you know how these things go. “Overthrow the oppressors!” and all that. Nothing special.”

“No? So that wasn’t drool I saw on your chin when you came back in?”

Marcus blushed. He tended to prefer not to speak too much of his interests, and he especially didn’t want to talk about Dante to Skippy.

“It was nothing. How’s your project going?” he asked, in a transparent attempt to change the subject.

Skippy let him. “Well, if my goal was to melt lab equipment, I’d be totally up on the game. But so far, no other real breakthroughs. I know I”m close, but...” he trailed off and shook his head. Skippy’s current project had to do with developing a heavy-duty sunblock for vamps. He tested it on the synthetic skin he’d developed the year before. The skin was in very high demand for vamps who were in gangs, or who had the habit of antagonizing humans it worked well to replace skin damaged by sunlight or holy water.

“You’ll get it,” Marcus said. He had great respect and admiration for his friend, who was easily the smartest, most dedicated vamp in the city. Marcus had seen Skippy develop a lot of fantastic products through the years, the synthetic skin and blood not the least of them, and he knew Skippy wouldn’t give up on this one. He was very determined to make vamps’ lives a little more in tune with humans’.

The one thing Skippy had never explained to Marcus was his motivation behind all of these projects. While the two of them were perfectly content to remain vamps, with all of the advantages and disadvantages contained therein, not all vamps felt the same way. For some reason, these vamps always seemed to find their way to Skippy, and over the hundreds of years it had skewed his views somewhat; at least, that was as much as Marcus could piece together.

Skippy sighed and scrubbed his hands through his hair. He kept it trimmed short so it wouldn’t get in his way when he was working on his projects, and to keep himself from tearing at it in frustration. He never bothered to style it, as anything he did to it was almost immediately destroyed the moment he got lost in thought. The short, blonde spikes of hair that adorned his head served only to emphasize his blue eyes, and when combined with his muscles, he was a devastating sight to any vamp on the make.

Marcus, on the other hand, was slight of figure and easily – and often – overlooked. His hair was dark and flopped into his dark brown eyes, hiding them from view. He usually dressed in black, partly to hide the fact that he was colour-blind, but mostly to help blend. He preferred not to be noticed, and especially next to Skippy, he wasn’t.

While Skippy mulled over his chemical problems in his head, Marcus mulled over his relationship problems. Namely, his lack thereof. While he found himself quite drawn to Dante and his promise of danger and risk, Marcus couldn’t quite manage to let go of the lady he loved in the past. He’d known her back when he was a newly-made vamp, and he hadn’t been able to forget her ever since. However, he knew that it was time for him to move on and put her behind him, and try his best to move on to winning Dante.

2003-11-17T14:51:00.000-05:00

Chapter 5

In a lot of ways, being a vamp isn’t much different from being human. You still have the same cliques and problems that you do as humans – they just include death and carnage a bit more often when you’re a vamp.

Case in point – the old-school vamps. Now, I’m all in favour of people dressing in the old fashions or believing in the old ways, or even, in a sense, practising them, so long as no humans are actually killed from been fed on.

Surprised? Well, I don’t think every vamp has to be the same. I realize that we’re all different, and that’s what makes us special. As gross as I find human blood, well, the fewer vamps who are frequenting my butchers, the more non-human blood there is for me.

And yes, it’s quite possible for a vamp to feed and not kill. Some vamps that are really concerned about hurting the humans will just feed off a few humans, in small amounts. It doesn’t hurt the humans, unless the vamp chooses to make it hurt – it feels like a hickey, which few humans seem to mind.

Anyhow, what I’m trying to get is just how tough it can be, being a vamp, in today’s society. It’s bad enough that humans erroneously think we’re only after their blood, but on top of that, there’s all this stupid pettiness and competition amongst the different vamps, too.

Think of how we could change things if we worked together! This site is just the start; we could have information sessions and parades and whatever, all to help humans understand us better. It worked for the gays and lesbians in the city, all because they came together and made the effort.

Instead, we have to compete with one another, and it’s awful and just leads to even greater division and competition.

*sigh* Sorry, I get kinda frustrated with this stuff. It’d be great if we could be different, but united... but we’re not, and I should just learn to accept that, I guess. But I just want to say, we fight on so many fronts already. Is it really a good idea to fight amongst ourselves?

I hit post and sent today’s rant/post off to my site, “Vamp Notes.” I’d started the site a little before the blog craze, initially to write about my daily life and thoughts. Because of its vamp perspective, it really took off in the Otherworld Underworld, and since then it’s become a real resource for Otherworlders and humans alike.

This entry was obviously heavily influenced by Chip’s news, although it was one I’d had in mind for a little while now. The in-fighting between all the camps, Weres, wee folk, ghouls and so on had always bothered me – at least, once I got turned and became directly thrust into the midst of it.

I closed my laptop and crossed the room to pick up the phone. I hit redial and called up Steve. I figured the odds were pretty good he’d be awake, especially after Chip’s news. We hadn’t spoken much on the walk home, each of us lost in our own thoughts, but now that I’d had some time t think and write, I was ready to talk it over.

Chapter 6

Steve paced the length of his apartment. This close to the full moon, he was always full of restless energy to begin with, and after learning Louisa’s ex- was in town, well... it would be ridiculous to expect him to simply relax and rest somewhere.

Not that Louisa had any idea of the feelings she engendered in her male friends. Chip, Steve himself, even Dante, all had a soft spot for her. And those were merely the ones that Steve knew well. There was no telling what other guys around the city harboured protective instincts – and other, less noble feelings – for her.

As he paced, he thought about what he’d heard Chip say, as well as what he’d whispered to Steve later – namely that word had it Dante wasn’t anywhere near over Louisa and hoped to use whatever this big plan was to win her back. Needless to say, it was this news that was really chafing Steve’s ass – although the extra hair he was sprouting thanks to it being “that time of the month” wasn’t helping, either.

Although he didn’t make it readily known, Steve was a member of Weres Who Care, a Were organization dedicated t helping Weres gain control or achieve balance with the wolf within. Steve was actually one of the founding members, after meeting up with some like-minded Weres in the North. He had travelled as far North as he could to try to keep away from humans – he had grown tired of locking himself up, and wanted to be somewhere he could be free and safe.

He never told Louisa about what happened those months he was away. All she knew was that he came back more settled, more comfortable with himself, and with the ability to control whether or not he changed with the full mon. He didn’t have as much control over some of the other aspects – in the days leading up, he found his body hair grew faster and thicker, and he was more energetic and short-tempered – but the rest he had control over. It was with Weres Who Care (a name Louisa chose and Steve hated, but kept to make her happy) that Steve and the other members hoped to teach the same control to other Weres. These meetings were absolutely off-limits to anyone but Weres, and they moved about the city to help keep them private.

Steve’s pacing slowed slightly as he thought of WWC, and he calmed down somewhat. He walked over to his couch and sat down, staring unseeing at the television set currently playing the local news.

Like many Otherworlders, Steve’s apartment was plain almost to the point of being stark, and fairly spartan in its furnishings. Most Otherworlders tended to spend most of their time out of doors or at various group gathering places - Skippy and Marcus being notable exceptions to this rule – and as a result, did not invest much time, energy, or money in decorating. Although this city is pretty tolerant of Otherworlders, there were some with a fondness for torching Otherworld dwellings, so the fewer possessions, the better, most found.

Steve’s apartment contained a double bed replete with manacles at all four posts – and whenever Louisa inquired as to why he needed manacles if he had control over his wolf side, he merely responded with a lascivious wink or an evasive but suggestive, “Well, I never know when I might need them” – the couch on which he was currently seated, a television, and the standard appliances, most of which were dusty from lack of use.

The refrigerator and freezer were kept well-stocked with meat, both raw and frozen. One Were predilection Steve could never seem to shake was a hunger for raw meat, and he long ago gave up trying to fight it. He kept a few spices and a great deal of hot sauce in his cupboards, but otherwise is place was just like any other bachelor’s pad.

The walls of his place were bare, but for a simple clock, and he had heavy curtains on all of the windows. Much of his furniture consisted of rough boards of wood and cinderblocks; these represented his bookcases, his television stand and his dresser. Louisa had often given him a hard time about this – her furniture pieces were all matched and of high quality – but as he argued, he spent most of his time in his apartment with his eyes closed, so what did he care about his decorations?

It was as he was sitting, reflecting on his boring apartment, that the phone rang. With a heavy sigh, he stood up and walked across the room to lift his cell phone from where he always left it when he was home, on top of the television.

The call display showed Louisa’s number, so he didn’t hesitate to answer. There was very little that Steve could refuse Louisa, although he’d rather chew his own leg off than let her or anyone else know; it kept her safer that way.

2003-11-14T14:56:00.000-05:00

Chapter 4

Marcus headed back to his basement apartment after the meeting with Dante ended. His head was buzzing with thoughts, although none of them were particularly coherent. He kept wondering if what Dante wanted to do was right, if he, Marcus, wanted to be a part of it, if Dante would notice him and ask him out...

Sexuality with many vamps, especially the old-style ones, was pretty fluid. It didn’t seem to matter what the gender of the other person was, just that they were willing to play. Marcus subscribed to this belief in theory, but in practice, he was pretty much a virgin vamp.

He got to his apartment building and unlocked the main door, stepping up and inside to where the mailboxes were located in the main hall. Unsurprisingly, his mailbox was stuffed full of flyers advertising everything from the Mr. Mozzarella and 2 for 1 pizza joints in the neighbourhood (“Also available with blood sauce”) to the local blood bank (“Come in after hours for expired blood”). The local businesses were quickly adapting to their new clientele.

He skimmed through the flyers before dumping them into the overflowing recycling box; Marcus was a conscientious reuser and recycler. Before he was turned, he was an active member of Greenpeace, complete with granola diet and Birkenstock sandals. He still kept the sandals in the summertime, but when he wanted to blend with the rest of the populace in the winter, it was much less practical to wear them in public; those who weren’t as culturally-sensitive tended to look upon someone with exposed toes in -30 degree weather with some suspicion. The rest avoided him like he ... well, like he was going to go for their necks.

Marcus took great offense, just like Louisa, at the stereotype that all vamps were into human blood. Keeping to his vegan ways even after he was turned, Marcus avoided dining on animal blood as much as possible. Instead, he and some of his science geek buddies drank synthetic, which they had developed and marketed themselves to other sensitive vamps across the country. Skippy, the unfortunately-monikered vamp who had originally developed the formula, had sold it to several major drugstore chains across the country, and was currently living quite richly on the proceeds. It’s just like your mother (or my aunt) always says; be nice to the geeks, ‘cause when they grow up, they’re the ones with the smarts, the money, and sometimes even the looks.

Marcus headed downstairs towards the basement, where he and Skippy shared an apartment. As he approached, he could feel the bass of the techno-grunge rock music/noise that Skippy preferred making the walls and even the floor vibrate. He pushed upon the door and stepped inside, wincing as the music assaulted his ears even more completely. Skippy claimed that he worked best while listening to this cacophony; although Marcus personally abhorred it, preferring to listen instead to loon calls and whale music, he couldn’t deny that Skippy was rather productive, and their bank accounts spoke volumes to that effect.

The apartment was an open-concept one; at least, that was how the superintendent had billed it. In reality, it was a converted root and wine cellar, but that suited both vamps perfectly fine. There was one main hallway that ran down the centre of the apartment before ending in a large sitting room. A door to the left opened into what used to be the root cellar; Marcus and Skippy had kept the dirt floors and turned it into their workroom, where their science experiments were held. On the right was the former wine cellar, and its wood panelling and elegant air lent itself well to their bar and entertainment area, where they often held their D&D games.

At the back of the apartment was the sitting area, with several bean bag chairs scattered about, and two futons pushed up against opposite walls. This was where Marcus and Skippy would sleep, when exhaustion pushed them right to the absolute edge. Like all of the rooms in the apartment, there were no windows anywhere, not even the small ones that could often be found in basement dwellings. Those existed instead in the laundry room, which was right next door to them; the sitting room bore the unfortunate scent of lemon-scented laundry detergent and fabric softener at all times. It didn’t really help to dispel the effeminate image that Marcus gave off.

Skippy, on the other hand, was one of the biggest, burliest vamps that anyone had ever seen. A retired bodybuilder before his turning, the change had merely removed any body fat that Skippy had managed to accumulate and left him as nothing more than a solid mass of muscles. He kept his hair cropped short, almost military-style, and his face always shone with the blue-black gleam of the freshly shorn. Even without piercing blue eyes, Skippy was dangerous to women; add the allure of the vamp gaze and he found himself followed home on a regular basis.

Yet he rarely took any of the women – or men – up on their offers. The sins of the flesh had never held much appeal for Skippy, who preferred to exercise his brain and his body instead. He felt that sexual pursuits dulled his senses and his will, leaving him with no interest in developing new formulas for blood. Like many men and women who rarely indulged in carnal pursuits, when Skippy did indulge, he overindulged. Men and women alike had, after several days straight, left the apartment looking weak, shaken, and almost deathly pale, their limbs shaking and their eyes haunted. After a few of these experiences, Skippy had resolved that it was better all-around if he simply practised celibacy, and focused his attention on his experiments or workouts, instead.

Marcus, though, was almost pathetically desperate for ~~human~~ vampire contact. He came home with new crushes on a regular basis, and Skippy had long-ago learned not to make too much of it anytime he heard of a new one. He used to encourage Marcus to pursue those who interested him, not understanding how difficult it was for someone as painfully shy as Marcus to meet someone new and not overwhelm them in a short period of time. Marcus often reminded Skippy of a cautious little puppy, hungry for affection, but too sad and scared to go seeking it. Nonetheless, he always listened carefully to Marcus’ tales and advised him, knowing all the same that his advice would not go anywhere.

When Marcus arrived home that evening, he felt full to the point of bursting with details of Dante and the meeting. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to share them with Skippy; although he didn’t say so, he knew that Skippy had tired of hearing of his crushes and no longer took him seriously. With Dante, Marcus felt that things were different. He felt drawn to Dante in a way that he never had before, with any other man, woman or vamp, and he wanted to hold Dante and feel their flesh and lips pressed together. He wanted to do whatever it took to make Dante happy, and if, as had been stated at today’s meeting, that meant that he had to hunt down this “Project” and her followers, then so be it.

2003-11-10T14:48:00.000-05:00

Chapter 3

Dante looked around the assembled horde that he had before him. The group was an eclectic mix; there were scruffy Weres, tough-looking vamps and a few other unidentifiables – mostly orcs and ghouls down on their luck and looking to make a few bucks. He didn’t care, so long as they were willing to fight.

Dante paced back and forth in front of the group, looking each of them in the eye. A few fidgeted under his regard – even an Otherworlder isn’t totally immune to a vamp’s gaze, and Dante had had a few hundred years to perfect his. He wasn’t too concerned about trying to entice anyone in the group to his side. That he saved for women, when he felt the urge for a quick roll, a girlfriend, or a snack; sometimes in that order.

Male Otherworlders are like animals, some of them more so than others. They have to work to establish dominance right from the start. Dante did so by holding his meetings in dank, abandoned warehouses (and there are always an abundance of those when the plot requires them), or mouldy cellars. For this meeting, he chose a mouldy warehouse; he wanted to try to mix up his M.O. a little bit.

“Listen up, women,” he hollered, watching as they jumped a little from the sudden bark of noise. He’d been silent for so long, just glaring at them, that they weren’t sure how to react now that he finally had spoken. “I’ve gathered you here for a little bit of fun. I’m tired of being exiled from the city. It’s time that we got to run through the streets, the way we used to, before the vamps and Weres started going all soft on us.” He said this last part with a great deal of sarcasm. It had really bothered him that Louisa had dumped him because of his attachment to the old ways.

“We want to bring back the old ways of doing things. We want vamps to once again feed off the upright cows that walk amongst us. We want the Weres to run through the streets during the full moons without fear of silver bullets flying back and forth. We want the ghouls to haunt whatever closets or darkened corners they wish. We want the orcs to play basketball with human skulls once more!” At this he stopped, because the cheers were growing louder after every sentence, and he could no longer hear himself over their shouts. What had started out as a pretty apathetic group of mongrels had quickly heated into a pack of angry Otherworlders, eager to take back their streets, bring back their nights, and run things the way they wanted it run.

The Otherworlders were busy thumping each other on the backs and raising their various weapons of choice to the sky. Dante stood looking at each of them in turn, smiling coldly to himself. They would do, he thought. Maybe not a perfect group, but it’s a start.

One lone figure hung to the back of the group, not cheering, not celebrating. He was a slender vamp, and he wasn’t there for the fighting. He preferred instead to spend his days locked in his basement, checking the news on the Web, or playing role-playing games with his buddies; the lack of daylight exposure made his pasty complexion a little easier to explain to his non-Otherworld friends. What he was doing there wasn’t entirely clear, but as he looked at Dante in the front of the group, he felt a pull somewhere deep in his abdomen, and knew he was going to stay around to watch what unfurled.

2003-11-10T13:53:00.000-05:00

Chapter 2

The alcove where the payphones was located was right next to the washrooms, so Steve stood by, looking he was waiting for someone to come out. He had the bored, impatient boyfriend look down pat -- the aggrieved expression, periodic checking of the watch, and those surreptitious girl-watching eyes. You know the look - “I’m looking at the ladies, but very carefully, so my girlfriend won’t catch me.” I swear sometimes that he practices it, ‘cause goodness knows I’ve never seen him with a girlfriend.

I wandered into the alcove, which was fortunately (for the plot), empty. I could smell pot filtering down from the washrooms, and based on the quality and amount, I figured we’d be left aone for quite some time -- both by people coming and going.

Chip flew from my hand on to one of the phones, then started increasing in size. Most wee folk are fairly self-conscious about this process and will hide themselves somewhere when they change in either direction, but I’ve known Chip since he was a ... well, a wee ;little thing, so we’re pretty comfortable together. I’ll feed in front of him, and he’ll change in front of me, so to speak.

Once he’d grown to his full size, Chip sat up straight on the phone so he could look me in the eye. Full-grown, he was about seven inches tall (oh yeah, never ask a wee folk this size – height of rudeness, no pun intended), and, seated on the phone, came to just under my nose.

“Okay, first of all, remember I’m just the messenger in all of this, okay? You know I’m on your side, I’ve got nothing to do with this, I just heard the rumour and thought I’d pass it along.” The way he started out, and the fact that he was holding his hands up, palms out, in a defensive manner, led to a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. The reminder he gave me was somewhat justified; it’s well-known that I have somewhat of a temper, and I don’t tend to react well to bad news of any sort... and my reactions tend to be of the violent variety. And focused on he or she who displeases me.

I’d never raised a finger to Chip, though, for a number of reasons: he’s my good friend, I’ve known his family for centuries (side effect to being a vampire with a sense of self-preservation), and friendships and trust are very important in the proper vamp families, and finally, he and his kin could fuck me up if they really wanted. But more on that later.

“No problem, Chip, you know you’re safe. What’s up?” I asked.

“Well...” and here he dropped his eyes to look over my shoulder, before taking a deep breath and expelling in a big rush, “Danteisbackintown.” His wings fluttered convulsively as he finished and took another deep breath before meeting my eyes with trepidation.

I felt like he’d punch me in the stomach, to be honest – and a wee folk can give you quite the punch. That, and I felt scared – and I usually react to fear by beating on someone, but I’d already sworn years ago to leave Chip alone. Not to mention it wasn’t his fault; Dante was one of the old-school vamps, the ones who like to drink human blood, sleep in coffins, and basically encompass all those old stereotypes the rest of us laugh at.

The thing is... on some vamps, the old ways make them look ridiculous and stupid. But with Dante and his group, it just makes them look more intimidating. Dante himself is a big guy, with a foreboding scowl etched permanently into his forehead (and with a vamp, you can take that phrase literally). He totally fits the tall, dark and fearsome ideal, if you go for that kind of thing... and unfortunately, for awhile, I did.

When I was younger and stupid, I went for the old-ways vamps; I found the danger sexy. But there’s a lot of peer pressure, posturing, danger and other stupidity that gets mixed up in that crowd, and I felt that there was nothing wrong with my ways. I liked not feeding off of people, and I liked my choices, but Dante and his crew couldn’t deal with that.

Needless to say, just like human breakups, vamp breakups are pretty messy... only in vamp breakups, more often than not one party gets dusted, instead of just dumped. I was pretty lucky to get away with my fangs, and that’s another one I mean literally – Dante and his gang like to “neuter” vamps by removing their fangs. It’s a pretty cruel way to die, especially to an old-ways vamp.

Fortunately they knew it wouldn’t have much effect on me, seeing as how I got my meals from packages or bottles anyhow. I do have a lot of scars from our parting though, and they’re not all emotional.

Realizing that I’d been staring at poor Chip for awhile while running down Memory Lane, I shook my head and focused on him once more. Even through my sunglasses, I could see that my directed gaze had an effect on him; because I was wishing he’d relax, he did. Vamp wills are good sometimes, I have to admit.

“What’s he in town for, any idea?” I asked, trying to keep my voice as calm and neutral as possible. I didn’t want to scare Chip, since I needed him on my side for this. Chip didn’t know all of the details of our breakup, but he knew that things didn’t end nicely between Dante and I. Fortunately for me, he was on my side throughout it, and saw me through more than one rough night.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “All I know is that he’s in town and not too thrilled about something. Didn’t hear if it was to do with you or not.”

I bit my lip and stared at him for a minute. I really wasn’t sure how best to respond to what he was saying; I didn’t know if I should be scared, or what.

“Well, thanks Chip. I appreciate the warning. If nothing else, it’ll give me a chance to get prepared, whatever that might involve.”

“No problem, Louisa. You know I’m on your side.” With those words, Chip shrunk back down to his travelling side, brushed my face with his wings, and flew off.

I walked back out of the alcove to join Steve. Of course, he’d heard everything, so I didn’t have to repeat it for him. He slung an arm about my shoulders and gave me a squeeze as we walked out of the mall. Neither of us particularly felt like shopping tonight.

2003-11-03T16:47:00.000-05:00

Chapter 1

Humans just don’t get it. They don’t understand what it’s like to be different, to feel differently about things. They cling to out-dated ideas and stereotypes, and they can’t accept that sometimes, things and people change, y’know? Like being a vampire. They see you without a reflection, they catch on to the fact that you’re not a morning person, and all of a sudden it’s garlic breath, crosses all over the place, the Lord’s Prayer and fear of fangs and biting. I mean, Christ, okay? Just because you have a neck and some blood coursing through your veins doesn’t mean I’m going to want to bite you. Hell, that’s an old stereotype anyhow – only the most outdated of vamps still goes around biting people.

No one realizes how much their diet affects their blood, and believe me, the taste of cow or tobacco in someone’s blood is disgusting. Hell, even a human that eats nothing but candy and fruits is still pretty gross. Human blood is definitely an acquired taste.

So most of us, the few that aren’t the hardcore poseurs, we dine on pig and cow’s blood. It’s easy to come by, it has a great musky flavour to it, and no one minds if it’s missing. Don’t think that we go after cows while they’re living, either; that’s cruel and it’s tough to manage, too – the cow’s all thrashing about and blood gets all over the place. You think human blood is tough to get out of clothes, well… you haven’t seen anything until you’ve tried to wash a couple of gallons of cow’s blood out of a nice lace shirt or taffeta skirt.

Yeah, I gotta admit, I do buy into the stereotype when it comes to clothing. There’s something so sexy about goth clothes; the laces, the bindings, the leather… damn, that’s hot shit. It’s also tough to get off, so it really adds to the tension in foreplay… but that’s another thing entirely. Now, vamps’ll give hickies just like the next pair of horny kids – it’s kinda sexy with the added fear of biting and stuff. Some vamps get off on pricking their partners, or being pricked – it adds a whole new meaning to the term, lemme tell ya (and you don’t want to tell a guy vamp his prick was too small for ya, damn was that an important lesson to learn), but most of us are pretty fangs-off when it comes to our partners. Blood was put in our veins and yours for a good reason, and we like to see that it stays there.

Anyhow, sorry to write and dash like this guys, but I gotta be off; Steve and I are off to do some shopping, and he’s looking pretty impatient. Trust me, you don’t want to keep a werewolf waiting when full moon is a few days away – they’re fucking testy like no one’s business.

Catch you later,
Louisa

I clicked on the post button and waited to make sure my site updated properly. Once I got the all clear, I shut down my laptop and set it back on the coffee table. I stood up and shook the wrinkles out of my skirt, then headed over to where Steve was lounging in the overstuffed armchair.
“Hey, did you remember to put the blanket down before you sat down?” I asked him. “You know how you shed more when it’s closer to full moon.”

“Yeah, I did,” he growled at me. He tended to get pretty snippy as the month wore on, too. Honestly, it’s just like living with a woman with PMS. I think. Having never experienced PMS myself, it’s pretty hard to know.

I took Steve’s hand and tugged him to his feet. Anyone else trying this maneuver would either lose a hand – when he bit it off – or an arm at the shoulder; Steve is far from a lightweight guy. Fortunately, the history books have it right when they say that vampires have super-human strength, and it’s come in handy on a number of occasions. Steve’s pretty obstinate at times.

We slipped on our shoes and slid on sunglasses, then headed off. I never worried about locking the door; it’s not like I don’t have nice things, it’s just that a girl’s rep tends to get around, regardless of whether it’s for being a whore or being a vamp. The guys around here were too scared to touch any of my stuff, regardless of how nice a price it might fetch, ‘cause they knew that I could overcome my disgust for human blood anytime. At least, I let them think as much; it always helps to have some people afraid of you, I find.

They did well at keeping the other burglars out of my place, too, and in return, I’d let them have the steaks and things I picked up from the butcher to allay suspicions; I just told the butcher that a proper steak had to marinate in a whole bunch of cow’s blood for it to taste truly French. People around here are so uneducated; they just accept it without blinking. I do hear the whispers when I leave, though…

Oh yeah, that’s another thing – super-human hearing. Good times, comes in handy an awful lot.

Anyhow, where was I? My mind wanders, Steve likes to make fun of me for it. Right, the guys around here. They keep the baddies out of my place, and I leave ‘em alone. I don’t actively tell them I could rip their throats out if they pissed me off, but they believe it. There’s been a few times around here that I’ve had to step in to clean up some messes, so the rumours of my abilities definitely aren’t exaggerated; I just don’t make use of them all that often.

So yeah, that’s why I get to live the way I do. I have an understanding with the folks around here; they leave me and my stuff be, I leave them be. Everybody’s happy. They’re pretty much used to me now, but Steve still makes ‘em nervous, and they don’t know why. Weres aren’t nearly as accepted as vamps are – not that we’re widely accepted I mean, but we’re tolerated – so he doesn’t “come out” to them if he can avoid it.

This is why we were both sporting sunglasses when we left, even though it was practically dark out; him to hide his wolf-like eyes. Weres' eyes are the first things to change during their transformation, and it starts several days before the full moon comes out. Vamp’s eyes are tricky; mesmerizing is really easy to do, and what with my big blue babies, it’s hard not to be mesmerized when you look at ‘em. Now that sounds vain, and it isn’t meant to be. It’s just that after living like I have been for as long as I have been (and believe me when I say if you think it’s rude to ask a human lady her age, it’s about a billion times worse to ask a vamp lady hers), you get to accept a few facts.

The guy who sired me said that what lured him in was my eyes… and since then, I’ve been luring in guys myself, either accidentally or on purpose. It took me awhile to realize what was going on when I’d talk to guys and they’d start repeating everything I said mindlessly; once I hooked up with Steve and he taught me about pheromones and mind control and stuff, I got a lot better at controlling it. When I’m feeling especially lazy, the easiest thing to do is just pop on a pair of sunglasses and I don’t have to worry about it.

So there Steve and I were, preparing to go out for a lovely evening of nearly-nighttime shopping. I like being in the malls just before they close; there’s so much energy with all the little punk kids wandering around and I like to feel that energy wash over me. Steve likes to sniff out people and tell me what they’ve been up to; if you parents ever want to know how much sex, pot, cigarettes or booze your kids are into, by all means, befriend a werewolf. It does kinda take some of the fun out of people-watching, but other times, the details he feeds me are just phenomenal.

And if I’d been paying attention, instead of drifting off in my own little world, I’d have heard all the details that he was feeding me now about the people we were passing enroute. “Wow, that little chick just came from…” Here he took a slightly deeper sniff, to try to better place things in his scent memory, “A party with a bunch of sweaty teenagers, do they ever shower, or is that something that teens give up as some weird rebellious phase? Okay, a party with five, no six sweaty teenage boys, and they had some damn good pot. Wow, haven’t smelled anything this good in awhile, I think I’m getting high here myself. There was vodka, lots of vodka…” Yeah, even I could smell the vodka when she passed, and it wasn’t because of my vamp nose, she just reeked that badly. “…and … Coke?! You animals were drinking vodka and Coke together? Oh, God, I give up all hope on teenagers today.”

When it looked like he was going to turn around and tell her what she should’ve been drinking, I grabbed his sleeve and directed him forward once more. Steve’s usually pretty good at staying focused on things, usually scarily so, but when it gets close to the full moon, he’s like a puppy with ADD. Don’t tell him I said that, though; the worst thing you can say to a werewolf – especially a fully grown, sexually mature male one – is something about him being a puppy. If you’re friends with them, you might be able to get away with it, but otherwise, they’ll rip you a new one, and I don’t mean verbally.

As we got nearer the mall and into the crowds of people, I could see Steve’s nostrils flare as he gathered in all the scents around him. I was doing the same thing, and I could feel my canines lengthen slightly; it’s an involuntary reaction, I promise. Like a guy popping a boner when he looks at porn, when I’m surrounded by rushing people, or people full of adrenaline, my canines grow. I don’t like it and I do my best to hide it, just like a woman with nipple hardons; and being a female vamp, I get that double curse. It’s tough being a woman, regardless of your species.

The nice thing about being “otherworldly,” as the PC humans like to call it, is that people give you a wide berth, not even knowing why. It’s a bone-deep instinctual thing; humans like to avoid that which goes bump in the night, and even when it’s walking among them, they move around it. They also don’t look too closely at it, unless they’re feeling drunk, stoned, brave or stupid. Again, it’s not like we pick fights or such – personally I prefer to avoid tangling with people, it’s just too rough on the clothes – but some of them like to challenge us to prove their machismo, bravado, or stupidio. Usually a good shove will discourage them and it won’t cause them to lose too much face in front of their buddies, but sometimes… but anyhow.

For someone paying attention, this avoidance means that it can be a bit easier to spot the otherworlders. All it takes is a slightly raised perch, and if you follow people’s paths through crowds, you can find who’s who. Or I guess I mean who’s what. The vamps tend to walk through crowds without caring whether or not people move out of their way; they know that humans are kinda accepting of their kind, so they don’t mind whether or not they upset anyone. Weres, on the other hand, don’t usually want to stir up trouble, so they’re careful to keep their eyes down and just walk straight ahead – but they’re the first ones to apologize if they bump into someone. Or maybe that’s just here; we are living in Canada, after all.

Then you get your other kinds of ghosties and ghoulies; the ghosts, well, they just pass through everyone. Ever feel a draft when you walk into or leave a building? Chances are you’ve just been brushed through by an impatient ghost. They usually avoid doing it, ‘cause it makes them feel weird and tingly, but if they have to get to work or something, then they don’t care. Just like business humans, business ghosts are always on the go, and they don’t even have that heart attack fear to slow them down.

The ghoulies are broken into a few groups; you have the wee folk, like the pixies and the fairies, and then you have the ones I call creepoids. They wee folk just feel like little kicks to the ankle, or bugs flying in the air; I’m not exaggerating when I call them wee folk, believe me. A lot of the pixies have taken to carrying tiny pitchforks (yeah, pixies with pitchforks, believe me when I say there was a lot of ribbing and alliteration in the papers over that one) to speed their progress through human crowds. A little poke on the ankle, and you just think someone kicked you, so you step aside, clearing space for the pixies. No harm to anyone, and it gets them on their way a little faster, so they’re happy.

The fairies are small enough to blend with the flies; at least, most of them are. They can control their size, so when they’re out in public crowds, they usually reduce so they’re small and blend easily. Some of the really bratty ones will land in some human’s hair and tag on like that for awhile. Sometimes, if they’re really feeling mean, they’ll slowly start to grow to full size as they’re up there, to really screw with the human’s perceptions.

Then, as I said, there’s the group that I call the creepoids. Steve gets mad at me when he hears me use the term – he starts going on about how I’m holding groups like the Weres back by using derogatory language and all this – but he has to admit, when he’s feeling really honest (or drunk) that it’s apt. God, is it ever apt.

The creepoids… well, think of the really dirty, smelly, ragged bums that you’ll often see on the road. Now, add oddly coloured or textured skin, add some tentacles or remove some “regular” limbs, and you have your creepoids. Not all of them are demons, but the vast majority are, and they make me uncomfortable. They do live in harmony with the other otherworlders, the vamps and the Weres and the wee folks, but that doesn’t mean they don’t wig some of us right out.

Fortunately, as I passed through the doors into the mall, I didn’t see any of the creepoids out tonight. They usually prefer to hang around when it’s late out, where they can lurk in shadows and people-watch or sell drugs. Again, not all of the creepoids are drug sellers, but just like humans, there exist some in every group. Unfortunately.

I did feel a little bit of pressure in my hair, though, so I reached up to see who was hitching a lift into the building. I rag on the wee folk for doing this, but I have to agree with them, they don’t have any way of getting in otherwise. The nicer ones will take off as soon as you’ve passed through the doors.

“Hey Louisa,” I heard from the little figure in my hand. “I’m glad you showed up tonight – I got some stuff I need to talk to you about. There’s some big shit brewing, and I think it might wind up on your doorstep.”

“Thanks Chip,” I told him, recognizing the voice as belonging to one of my favourite pixies, Chip. His parents had a sense of humour, you see. Chip was one of the good guys, fun to talk to and always full of information. Somehow he managed to always keep his ear to the ground – so to speak – and he was often my best source of information. “Let me get someplace where you can transform and you can fill me in, say over a cup of coffee?” As a species, the wee folk really took to coffee for some reason, so I was pretty confident my offer wouldn’t be turned down.

“Sure thing, Louisa,” he said. Looking around, I noticed that the alcove where the payphones were was empty for a change, so with a nod of my head to indicate to Steve, who had heard everything of course, but pretended not to for propriety’s sake (weird Were courtesy thing, I’ve never understood it), where I was taking Chip, I set off to get some privacy for the two of us.

2003-10-25T01:19:00.000-04:00

Once again, I am participating in NaNoWriMo. Hopefully I can make it through and not have this be crap. :)