08-22-2013, 12:17 AM
"New York! The white prisons, the sidewalks swarming with maggots, the breadlines, the opium joints that are built like palaces…the lepers, the thugs, and above all, the ennui, the monotony of faces, streets, legs, houses, skyscrapers, meals, posters, jobs, crimes, loves ... A whole city erected over a hollow pit of nothingness."
August 18th, 2013
Two days. It's been two days since I've been dead, and I've already found myself back in the past. Whoever said "You can never go back home" is full of shit. The problem is, no one ever really wants to go back home. And the ones that do…they're full of shit.
William's still adjusting to life as a Kindred when he steps off the plane in LaGuardia Airport behind his sire. There are certainly those who look at the duo strangely; the beautiful tall androgynous creature and the even taller man who is very, very far from beautiful. William follows Vee closely on their way through the airport, all the way until they get out.
They don't stay a matched pair for the entirety of the trip, though. Vee has things to do while they're in the Big Apple, and once they're set up somewhere to rest for the night the two part ways. The Sire has no need to worry about the Childe; it's clear from every reaction on his half-destroyed face, every uncomfortable shift in his posture in the car that he has no desire to be here long, much less hide here. Even if he wanted to, he imagines there aren't many places he can hide.
Still, it's a different thing for the giant to see New York now that the veil has been ripped from his eyes. Even a man who spent time in Attica doesn't really see the world through the dark eyes of a vampire. New York is a very different place at night when you realize that, even if you were a scary man before, you're truly a monster now. And once he heads out to accomplish his task, he truly realizes that. He's not even at his best—sleeping for two days away from the earth that calls to him across the country has meant some restless nights that don't make his dreams much better—and he feels stronger than he's ever been. New vitae courses through him and he's not gonna lie—it’s a heady experience. It feels better than any buzz that he used to gain by alcohol, and it makes him feel alive.
He walks, rather than take a cab. He always hated cabs; they were too small for him in the first place, and he hated the smell. There's always the tang of someone else's vomit from days ago or even further back. One thing William's discovered is how much keener his senses are; Vee calls it Auspex. He's already had some bad experiences with focusing his senses into that laser focus, practically sending himself into sensory overload that second night when he came up into the nightclub and hard music pounding into his brain like he'd never heard before. That's a whole new stage of agony.
Anyway, the point is, he refuses to subject himself to that kind of smell if he doesn't have to. What he has to do already turns his now-nonfunctioning stomach enough.
He's careful, Vee's William. He's not so heady on his newfound immortality that he marches headlong into the places he was always smart enough not to go to before. The plan is simple: go to the cemetery, get the dirt, get back. It's not as long of a trip as one might think, and he knows the Bronx well. He knows where he can go that will avoid his face being seen by people that know him; people who he doesn't want to see him. That would raise questions, and even in the days before William died he didn't want people asking questions about what he'd seen, what had happened to him.
Well, he's a good man. Even as a vampire, he's a good man (for now). But sometimes, he doesn't act in the wisest manner.
And that's how he finds himself standing across the street from an apartment. There's a moment where he considers trying to be inconspicuous, but that brings a faint smile to his face at his own idiocy for even thinking it. It's the first smile he's given since he was Embraced, and it's merely a flicker that vanishes in an instant. Instead, he steps back into the darkness of an alley well away from a corner street light, and watches.
I just need to see him. And then get what I came for. Once that's done, I'll go.
Theoretically, William could be waiting here for hours. The thing is, he's not. He knows this man, and he knows when he comes and goes. So he stands in the darkness provided by the alleyway, and he watches. And it's only about twenty minutes before the man shows up. He's not a big guy; he's maybe five and a half feet, scrawny even by normal person's standards. By William's, he's a twig. Sandy blonde hair is bright in the light of the street lamp as he steps out of the building, whistling as he heads down the street. He's oblivious, Eric Cruse is, as he makes his way to the local armory to prep for New York Championship Wrestling's latest show. He doesn't know that one of his best talents is hulking in an alleyway, now a ravenous monster and trying not to think about ripping into his throat in order to feed. And he'll never know just how close he came to death that night.
Once Eric is down the street, William fishes his key out; the key Eric gave him years back. There was a promise that Eric would hold something for him and that whenever he came back, it would be there. He hopes that's still the case and that the wrestling promoter hasn't turned out to be as sleazy as all the others. If it's been hawked for a few bucks…
Shut up, Will. If it has, you're going to leave. Nothing more.
The key grants him access to the apartment. His memories grant him access to the safe in Eric's closet, where all of his valuables are kept. And one of William's (if he knows what's good for him.) (Stop thinking that!) He opens it up, remembering the combination somehow after a couple tries, and he can swear his dead heart skips a beat, threatens to come to life when he sees it.
It's a locket. He didn't want to take it when he left New York, because it was something he knew he'd come back for. He wanted to come back at some point. Now…not so much.
He opens it up, looks at the image of a young woman inside. He stares silently, and then pockets it. It's the last thing he needs out of New York.
Sorry…second last. One down, one more fucking thing to go.
***********************
He never visited graveyards often, Vee's William. He didn't like them. The solemnity suits him, but the morbidity, the reminder that this is all that we are; it doesn't sit well with him. Now, it's different. He knows that this isn't all there is; they're more than just meat to rot away after the spark has left. His spark is gone, but he remains.
He still doesn't fucking like them though. Fuck graveyards and the dead contained within.
Especially this one. He stands there, over a grave with a cheap, garden-variety headstone. It was all that could be afforded with what the dead man's family had after…well, after everything. William would normally be the man to pay for his own father's grave, but he was only a teenager at the time, and he was going away for the man's death. And his grandparents and uncle wanted nothing to do with him.
Jacob Halloran was a good man, they said. And his freak of a son killed him, just like they always suspected he might. It was that bitch of a wife's fault; it was obviously her genes, or something she did wrong. He probably wasn't even Jacob's. Emma Halloran had to just be some slut who wrapped her legs around some other freak. Damn William and his whore mother for killing their Jacob.
William's hands clench tightly around the shovel in his hand, almost snapping the handle in two. He doesn't feel anger often…though he certainly feels it more often now that he has this thing merged into his soul, the thing that snaps and snarls and tells him to
kill, hunt, feed.
He takes a breath. He doesn't need to; it serves no functional purpose. But he doesn't remember that in that moment. He's still new to this idea of no breathe, no heartbeat, no food (except that one kind). The act allows him to focus though, and he fights that urge to destroy down. And he looks at the grave.
"Fuck you, dad."
He wants to say so much more. He wants to say that it's his father's fault that he's here, that he could have become something else, not gone to jail, not been limited to wrestling and bouncing for a career, not gone to Denver. Not lost his life on the suspiciously-stained floor of a room underneath a fucking hospital-fetish nightclub and not arisen to be a monster. That a monster who terrifies him—the person (are vampires even people?) who killed him and promised him pain that is still to come—has shown more caring for him than his own father ever did.
But he doesn't say any of that. Because, even if he's immortal now, he doesn't want to waste a moment's time on Jacob Halloran. He has had many sins in his life, and he will have many more sins. He knows both of these. And he will owe his penance for each and every one of them. William feels his remorse for the sins in his life very, very deeply. But he has already paid the price for beating his father to death in a blind rage, and now there is nothing but hatred in his heart for the man who helped bring him into this world.
"Fuck you."
And with that, he drops a crate to the ground. And a foot jams the shovel into the earth. When the morning comes, the caretaker for the Saint Raymond's Cemetery in the Bronx will wonder why there's a significant chunk of earth missing from the grave of Jacob Halloran. It'll be chalked up to a kid's prank.
It won't happen again.
***********************
He gets back to the place that they've set up carrying the crate of his earth. It's well more than enough for his purposes, but better get more than have to come back. He sets the crate down on the ground and sits on the ground next to it. There's a moment of hateful staring at the box before he looks away. After a moment the locket comes out, and he opens it up to look at the woman who he'll never come back to visit.
William is done with his business in New York. Vee willing, he'll never have to come back.
- Henry Miller
August 18th, 2013
Two days. It's been two days since I've been dead, and I've already found myself back in the past. Whoever said "You can never go back home" is full of shit. The problem is, no one ever really wants to go back home. And the ones that do…they're full of shit.
William's still adjusting to life as a Kindred when he steps off the plane in LaGuardia Airport behind his sire. There are certainly those who look at the duo strangely; the beautiful tall androgynous creature and the even taller man who is very, very far from beautiful. William follows Vee closely on their way through the airport, all the way until they get out.
They don't stay a matched pair for the entirety of the trip, though. Vee has things to do while they're in the Big Apple, and once they're set up somewhere to rest for the night the two part ways. The Sire has no need to worry about the Childe; it's clear from every reaction on his half-destroyed face, every uncomfortable shift in his posture in the car that he has no desire to be here long, much less hide here. Even if he wanted to, he imagines there aren't many places he can hide.
Still, it's a different thing for the giant to see New York now that the veil has been ripped from his eyes. Even a man who spent time in Attica doesn't really see the world through the dark eyes of a vampire. New York is a very different place at night when you realize that, even if you were a scary man before, you're truly a monster now. And once he heads out to accomplish his task, he truly realizes that. He's not even at his best—sleeping for two days away from the earth that calls to him across the country has meant some restless nights that don't make his dreams much better—and he feels stronger than he's ever been. New vitae courses through him and he's not gonna lie—it’s a heady experience. It feels better than any buzz that he used to gain by alcohol, and it makes him feel alive.
He walks, rather than take a cab. He always hated cabs; they were too small for him in the first place, and he hated the smell. There's always the tang of someone else's vomit from days ago or even further back. One thing William's discovered is how much keener his senses are; Vee calls it Auspex. He's already had some bad experiences with focusing his senses into that laser focus, practically sending himself into sensory overload that second night when he came up into the nightclub and hard music pounding into his brain like he'd never heard before. That's a whole new stage of agony.
Anyway, the point is, he refuses to subject himself to that kind of smell if he doesn't have to. What he has to do already turns his now-nonfunctioning stomach enough.
He's careful, Vee's William. He's not so heady on his newfound immortality that he marches headlong into the places he was always smart enough not to go to before. The plan is simple: go to the cemetery, get the dirt, get back. It's not as long of a trip as one might think, and he knows the Bronx well. He knows where he can go that will avoid his face being seen by people that know him; people who he doesn't want to see him. That would raise questions, and even in the days before William died he didn't want people asking questions about what he'd seen, what had happened to him.
Well, he's a good man. Even as a vampire, he's a good man (for now). But sometimes, he doesn't act in the wisest manner.
And that's how he finds himself standing across the street from an apartment. There's a moment where he considers trying to be inconspicuous, but that brings a faint smile to his face at his own idiocy for even thinking it. It's the first smile he's given since he was Embraced, and it's merely a flicker that vanishes in an instant. Instead, he steps back into the darkness of an alley well away from a corner street light, and watches.
I just need to see him. And then get what I came for. Once that's done, I'll go.
Theoretically, William could be waiting here for hours. The thing is, he's not. He knows this man, and he knows when he comes and goes. So he stands in the darkness provided by the alleyway, and he watches. And it's only about twenty minutes before the man shows up. He's not a big guy; he's maybe five and a half feet, scrawny even by normal person's standards. By William's, he's a twig. Sandy blonde hair is bright in the light of the street lamp as he steps out of the building, whistling as he heads down the street. He's oblivious, Eric Cruse is, as he makes his way to the local armory to prep for New York Championship Wrestling's latest show. He doesn't know that one of his best talents is hulking in an alleyway, now a ravenous monster and trying not to think about ripping into his throat in order to feed. And he'll never know just how close he came to death that night.
Once Eric is down the street, William fishes his key out; the key Eric gave him years back. There was a promise that Eric would hold something for him and that whenever he came back, it would be there. He hopes that's still the case and that the wrestling promoter hasn't turned out to be as sleazy as all the others. If it's been hawked for a few bucks…
Shut up, Will. If it has, you're going to leave. Nothing more.
The key grants him access to the apartment. His memories grant him access to the safe in Eric's closet, where all of his valuables are kept. And one of William's (if he knows what's good for him.) (Stop thinking that!) He opens it up, remembering the combination somehow after a couple tries, and he can swear his dead heart skips a beat, threatens to come to life when he sees it.
It's a locket. He didn't want to take it when he left New York, because it was something he knew he'd come back for. He wanted to come back at some point. Now…not so much.
He opens it up, looks at the image of a young woman inside. He stares silently, and then pockets it. It's the last thing he needs out of New York.
Sorry…second last. One down, one more fucking thing to go.
***********************
He never visited graveyards often, Vee's William. He didn't like them. The solemnity suits him, but the morbidity, the reminder that this is all that we are; it doesn't sit well with him. Now, it's different. He knows that this isn't all there is; they're more than just meat to rot away after the spark has left. His spark is gone, but he remains.
He still doesn't fucking like them though. Fuck graveyards and the dead contained within.
Especially this one. He stands there, over a grave with a cheap, garden-variety headstone. It was all that could be afforded with what the dead man's family had after…well, after everything. William would normally be the man to pay for his own father's grave, but he was only a teenager at the time, and he was going away for the man's death. And his grandparents and uncle wanted nothing to do with him.
Jacob Halloran was a good man, they said. And his freak of a son killed him, just like they always suspected he might. It was that bitch of a wife's fault; it was obviously her genes, or something she did wrong. He probably wasn't even Jacob's. Emma Halloran had to just be some slut who wrapped her legs around some other freak. Damn William and his whore mother for killing their Jacob.
William's hands clench tightly around the shovel in his hand, almost snapping the handle in two. He doesn't feel anger often…though he certainly feels it more often now that he has this thing merged into his soul, the thing that snaps and snarls and tells him to
kill, hunt, feed.
He takes a breath. He doesn't need to; it serves no functional purpose. But he doesn't remember that in that moment. He's still new to this idea of no breathe, no heartbeat, no food (except that one kind). The act allows him to focus though, and he fights that urge to destroy down. And he looks at the grave.
"Fuck you, dad."
He wants to say so much more. He wants to say that it's his father's fault that he's here, that he could have become something else, not gone to jail, not been limited to wrestling and bouncing for a career, not gone to Denver. Not lost his life on the suspiciously-stained floor of a room underneath a fucking hospital-fetish nightclub and not arisen to be a monster. That a monster who terrifies him—the person (are vampires even people?) who killed him and promised him pain that is still to come—has shown more caring for him than his own father ever did.
But he doesn't say any of that. Because, even if he's immortal now, he doesn't want to waste a moment's time on Jacob Halloran. He has had many sins in his life, and he will have many more sins. He knows both of these. And he will owe his penance for each and every one of them. William feels his remorse for the sins in his life very, very deeply. But he has already paid the price for beating his father to death in a blind rage, and now there is nothing but hatred in his heart for the man who helped bring him into this world.
"Fuck you."
And with that, he drops a crate to the ground. And a foot jams the shovel into the earth. When the morning comes, the caretaker for the Saint Raymond's Cemetery in the Bronx will wonder why there's a significant chunk of earth missing from the grave of Jacob Halloran. It'll be chalked up to a kid's prank.
It won't happen again.
***********************
He gets back to the place that they've set up carrying the crate of his earth. It's well more than enough for his purposes, but better get more than have to come back. He sets the crate down on the ground and sits on the ground next to it. There's a moment of hateful staring at the box before he looks away. After a moment the locket comes out, and he opens it up to look at the woman who he'll never come back to visit.
William is done with his business in New York. Vee willing, he'll never have to come back.
"The anger of a good man is not a problem. Good men have too many rules."
"Good men don't need rules. And today's not the day to find out why I have so many."
"Good men don't need rules. And today's not the day to find out why I have so many."