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those of ye's who follow the myriad storyline me & Katzeal been setting up. this is someplace after Cronus & Kasilin put Dave down. Kirke went into the afterlife to get him back. i'm afraid i lost the first half...but Kirke is telling part of that story in chapter 1 here. nuff said...
... I reminded him of our history. going thru the gallitrap seemed to be different for Dave, he retains no memories of the time before. & he asked me why I cared so much as to be watching his progress thru so much of this...
finally, he said, Why then don't you change things for yourself as well? Draw us both back down the timelines to the Nirvana days..undo your own death? Since it clearly didn't work out well for you...
So, well, I did that. And it was horrible...the band DID break up, as I'd thought it would. So did my marraige- I still never saw my daughter again. Not in that life either. Ironic, really....Dave did his Foo Fighters thing anyway; we tried to keep in touch, but drifted apart after awhile. I did some solo stuff, a thing with Michael Stipe, everything, but I never got so much recognition for my art again ever. They'd trot me out to give speeches or the occasional show, but I'd become ineffectual, toothless. Dignified & old. The crowning insult had to be when Madonna, now a horrid old businesswoman, gave me a Lifetime Achievements award.
And Cronus, I never forgot you, I missed you! I went to Europe often, with what money I had left, trolled the world looking for vampires, until finally I realized I was too old for it to matter anymore. But I remembered! I knew the immortality I'd been cheated of, & it made me bitter.
Dave died again when I was about 45. It was a motorcycle accident, I think? I chugged along til I was 62. By then I couldn't take it anymore & I suicided. Willed myself to die, really. It was almost a ritual in and of itself,concentrating all my bitterness & self hatred into the act of just.shutting.down...
Dave was waiting for me on the other side.
He knew this time, Jimi had told him what I'd done, what I'd done for him previous. He apologized to me for the unsatisfying life I had lived at his urging. And it was he, not I, suggested we try it one more time.
This time, I got it right. I sent him thru (with hoardes of Ferrymen on our asses- at this point my escaping the afterlife was the stuff of legend) before he ever even WENT to Paris- willed it on him to remember not to, if nothing else.Stayed long enough to see that all went well. & then eluded those chasing me.
I could've left it at that. Should've, really. The thing that'd made Dave's unlife so damned miserable is he'd never asked for this. He'd been cut down- twice- in the prime of life & given a nightmare of extension thru blood-virus as a replacement. All he'd ever wanted was to get on with his music, on with his normal lifespan. But you know, I wasn't ready to just give him up? At this point, I wanted him. Realized I always had.
You have to understand, I never begrudged Kasi for draining him, because until I saw who he was, it was what I'd wanted too- I'd followed his bloodscent because it was delectable. It was cowardice drove me from taking him, not lack of appetite.
And by now? I'd been watching over Dave for LIFETIMES. How could I just walk away?
And so, I returned to him. He was alone in his house in Virginia, & I knew as I came in the room I was scaring him. His eyes were huge!and his heart beat faster, wafting that scent to me moreso. He thought he'd seen a ghost, his dead bandmate. But I was no ghost, to be sure. I wasn't even Kurt, who he'd known, anymore. Cronus. for once, I was purely & utterly Vampyre.
"Oh, I'm sorry," I told him, "the window was open, so I just came in." He had his hand to his chest, sighed in relief. "you scared me," he said, "I thought you were..." I moved closer, letting him see me. He startled again. the "hallucination" wasn't shaking off. But I couldn't be who I appeared to be, now could I? *here in his narrative Kirke grinned*
Dave glared at me, dropped his magazine. "Who ARE you?" he yelled, "get OUT!" "You know damned well who I am," I snapped, & moved closer, "and you've no idea how long I've fought the urge to do this." Dave looked superpissed. "Kurt's dead," he said, incredulous, furious, his nostrils flared, "you can't be him. who ARE you?"
I was sick of talk. I wanted blood. And I took it. I took him, & I've got to tell you, it was the most gratifying feed I've ever experienced. To feel him struggle against me.... when I got my teeth in his neck & tasted his blood, I began to understand some of the things he had said to me, back 3 incarnations ago. Now I knew...
I could have left him there, gasping for breath, & slowly dying of bloodloss. Could have chalked it all off, but right then, with a bellyful of stolen blood & the warmth of his life in my veins, I realized how much I do love Dave. How hopelessly connected we already are.
So yes, well I did. I gave it to him." Kirke looked at Cronus hopefully. "So, you're not mad at me?" Cronus hugged Kirke, stroked his hair. He was just glad to have him back! Tho it was odd Kirke had believed himself gone for years- technically, he'd only been comatose for three days. The thought of Dave, undead again & out there somewhere was unsettling, but if Kirke, troubled, overimpassioned impetuous young thing that he was needed this so bad, well, then it would just have to be. "Just...don't tell Kasilin, alright?" Cronus advized, "she really DID love him, you know."

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jump ahead a month or so. this story takes place then.

Taylor's night out

Taylor was so startled by Kirke's sudden interest in him that his fear was palpable. Kirke winced, got a handle on his Thirst, & relaxed. Vaguely tho, he wondered about that, how older vampyres always demanded your fear of them at some point. It did smell unspeakably toothsome. and was the population kept in check by the occasional tendency of vampyres deciding to devour their young? Taylor picked up the stray thought. It only served to increase his fear. & Kirke slowly began to understand the younger vamp's increasingly weird behaviour. Something happened to him, Kirke thought, when I let him out to look for Dave. And Kirke began to bet that something was another older vampyre. He smiled, sighed. Yeh, that was probably it. Ohh, as if he hadn't cowtowed enough since his own unlife began...
..still did, to a sense. Aroused as he'd been by her, he had never gotten over hsi fear of his second Sire, Sabria. It had added an element to their relationship, really, the dread, & yet with it, a weird anticipation. Was this the night she'd forget, & drain him dry in the throes of it? And would he even want to fight it?
He wasn't as scared of Cronus as Dave & Taylor were, after all, as Cronus's lover he had a whole different take. That he was bloodbound to the elder was a given, but Kirke knew, with quiet satisfaction, that binding was a two-way street. He knew his own power over Cronus as well, how to manipulate, to tease his master's Thirst & lusts. Seduction was, in the end, a vampyre's art.
But why had this clan accepted him, & ultimately, was he safe here? Were his fledglings? Kirke had to admit he did have some misgivings, but they tended to center around Kasi, not Cronus. How she had taken to his Childer, first Dave & now this one. Even with his mind preoccupied with other stuff, Kirke could sense Taylor's depression, the bleak naked loss he was feeling now while Kasi was away. Bloodbound him, Kirke thought, bloodbound him for sure.
Well. He could pick Taylor's brain on this subject later. First, Kirke thought, a bite to eat. Then, to figure out exactly what was eating at Taylor.
Taylor had never hunted with Kirke before. He was actually surprized (and a little wary) of his Sire's sudden interest in him. Kirke usually didn't even want him near. Taylor was scared. But he followed. What other choice did he have?
"Where are we going, Kurt?" he asked quietly. "Hmm. Pere Lachaise, I think, for starters." Kirke muttered, then, "you know the history?" Taylor didn't. France had been his hunting ground since his death, & he still barely knew the place.
"Between rue aux Fers and the rue de la Ferronnerie it was, I guess, Tay, le Cimitiere des Innocents. Mass graves, kiddo, fucken bodies just laid out in piles in the open.Eventually mudslides fucked it all up, caved in the basements of a few local businesses...so. They stopped using it. Stuck all the bones and residue in the catacombs at Montmartre. Your 'Secret Place', I believe, Tay?" Kirke looked at Taylor, who hissed in spite of himself. Did everyone know where his Secret Place was??
Kirke chuckled. "So. Pere Lachaise. well, no Frenchman wants to be buried someplace with no history, no tradition, no lagniappe. So, they got in the bones of a few famous people buried elsewhere, give it that special.celebrity.chic. Heloise & Abelard got moved there...."
Taylor looked around uneasily, blinking in confusion as they passed the columbarium. Since it was obviously no secret anymore that he'd decorated his place in the Paris underground with exhumed bones, it may've seemed odd that cemetaries made Taylor uneasy, but they did. He looked at some of the stones sticking up out of the ground, there, two tombstones with stone arms jutting out of them, hands clasped. A couple,no doubt, joined even in death. The graves were old, a tree was sprouting from one, had grown around the stone in places, cracked it in others. Taylor shuddered. Creepy stuff. Yup.
Ahead of him, Kirke had begun to sort of stalk rather than walk; he continued to speak tho, a voice to quiet for the living to hear. But Taylor could make out the words, Kirke's voice a gravelly deadpan sort of singsong... "..seem to have a healthy sense of adaptability tho," Kirke was saying, "it's a messy diet, but it seems to give us all we require. I have a theory, you know? That the only part of our digestive tract still functional is the stomach itself, and that only as a depository of sorts. I think we absorb the nutrients right thru the capillaries in the stomach lining. Now, I know, you're thinking, how does it circulate, give us that rush without apulse? Well, I think Davey-boi's almost on the right track...not so much a virus as a completely symbiotic microcell lifeform..."
Taylor took a moment to observe his surroundings again, as he & Kirke crouched under a particularly Gothique angel statue. He knew where they were probably headed. He'd heard from Kasi that Kurt tended to like eating Doors fans.And was a messy eater indeed- Kasi'd pointed out to him a shallow ditch full of such remains. Taylor shuddered again. He didn't kill, couldn't, really. Because of the way Taylor had been made a vampyre, his need for blood just wasn't as demanding. He didn't think he could drain a whole person alone. Not without glutting himself, anyway.
Kirke had moved, was perched on a tombstone now. He too was thinking of Taylor's Embrace- objectively, but with a slight disdain for what he assumed was a flaw- Taylor's tendency to woolgather. Ischemia, probably, Kirke was thinking...hypoxia... Taylor glared a bit, & got up to move. He didn't know the medical terms, but he got the gist of what Kirke thought of him. 'm NOT braindamaged, he thought in turn, a bit fiercely, 'm just. Y'know. Spacey. ok, & a bit stupid sometimes. Only sometimes.
Down below, as there often was, a small group of stoners were there, paying their respects to Jimbo. Taylor could smell them, their sweat, their blood, the pungent smoke-scent of burning hemp. And quietly, nearby, Kirke droned on, some tirade about bloodstains, now... "..cornstarch & cold water, get bloodstains out of most fabrics. Won't work on ivory tho. You happen to bloody Cronus's piano, try polishing em with talcum powder or powdered milk, should do the trick." "And mask the scent?" Taylor asked dubiously, "I think if I got blood on Cronus's piano I'd wind up dead, either way." Kirke chuckled. "Nah, he's getting used to you. Still, masking the scent. s'a valid point, I'll give you that..." he turned his attention back on the group just below them.
Taylor often wondered why hippies tried to mask their scent with patcholi. If anything, the dry ugly smell of the oil only accented sweat...tho he was watching, Taylor never saw the moment Kirke pounced. There was a scuffle & then the blur of motion as Kirke dragged his victim towards the ditch Taylor'd been shown; rather than try to follow Taylor just got around the Doors crew, watching to see if they'd noticed, & then he found his way to Kirke's killing ground by following his nose.
"'not a grains of sand nor a blade of grass insignificant..'" Kirke breathed, gloating over the squirming boy he had wrapped himself around. Taylor winced. He had rarely seen Kirke kill. And he had no way of knowing how recently Kirke had taken to the killing aspect, no way to know the crises of conscience Kirke had suffered scant months before he, Taylor, had appeared on the scene at all. Kirke wrapped himself, arms & legs, around his victim of the moment; there was something sexual about the whole thing so far as Taylor saw it, & that scared him. It was not necessarily a homosexual urging made Kirke prefer male victims- on the contrary, he loved & respected women too much to want to kill them, to become just another male predator. And, as an empath, a sort of psychic emotional sponge, Kirke fed as much from the feelings of his victims as from their vitae. Tho it was harder to scare a guy, once they had realized they were caught, no longer in control of the situation, the buildup of rage & fear made their blood that much sweeter.
Kirke stroked the boy's hair, then pulled it, forcing his head back to expose the neck... "'drink life and fragrance as they flow'" Kirke said, and bit down.
"'Alas, regardless of their doom, the little victims play.'" muttered Taylor. He'd heard Kurt was enamored of William Blake, an obvious perennial favorite of Morrison's, too. To quote it to some poor doomed kid who'd probably never read anything weightier than "the Lords and the New Creatures" really added insult to injury. Taylor felt dizzy, lightheaded. His own Thirst kicked in with junk interest. He sank to his knees, panting, watching Kirke feed.
For once, Kirke pulled himself away from the bliss he fell into while feeding. He'd always been uncomfortable feeding in front of anyone anyway, & he could sense Taylor's distress. The mortal boy was beyond redemption now, anyway. Kirke could see Taylor's yearning, his eyes glazed & glowing. "You want the finish?" Kirke asked with a smug grin, wiping his own mouth. "ohh, yes..." Taylor breathed. Kirke pushed the boy towards Taylor, laid back in the grass to enjoy his own sense of warmth & tingle.He leaned on one elbow, watching Taylor indulge himself.This was only the third time anyone had thrown Taylor a bone. Taylro knew now why vamps killed, the rush of the death itself was the most ecstatic rush one could drink down. But, insofar as Kirke knew, this was the first time Taylor'd tasted, experienced death under his fangs.
And, watching Taylor, Kirke began to understand what Cronus & the servants had been on about when they'd said Taylor was acting "odd."
Of course there was that sexual element to the feeding- to Kirke that had always been a given. For Taylor too- so far all of his victims had been females, who of course he did not kill- sex and feeding were comingling, but exclusive of each other. Taylor fed from whom he fucked- was it any wonder his preference for female "donors"? But a death-rush,Kirke mused, you were hard put NOT to cum from that sort of bliss! it was a natural reaction. But as soon as Taylor could move, he both moved away from, and pushed the dead Doors fan as far from himself as he could. Taylor curled over on his side and got moody, withdrawn.Kirke watched this with concern- yeh, something happened to him for sure.. Finally, he crawled closer, lightly touched Taylor's shoulder. "heyy." he said. Taylor winced as tho Kirke's touch burned. He looked afraid. "yeh?" Taylor asked, with feigned nonchalance."just making sure you enjoyed your meal," Kirke said, "come on, I want to show you something."
Taylor got up & followed Kirke. He seemed more enthused now, anyway, invigorated. "You knew Jim, didn't you?" Taylor asked, "not in life, I mean. You died, you know? that whole suicide thing..." Kirke chose not to reply. Far too many bad memories of his life & afterlife. Instead, he led Taylor to a grave. There was a bronze statue here, a man lying prone, hat at his feet. "Victor Noir," Kirke said, "not a particularly memorable life. He was shot to death by Napoleon III's brother. This statue tho- I've noticed he gets quite a few female admirers. See if you can figure out why, Tay."
Taylor looked at the statue perplexed, until he realized Kirke was indicating he should peruse it in closer detail. Taylor wasn't sure why, but this made him uneasy again. Reluctantly, he lowered himself to the ground and looked at the statue, touched its cold metal.
This'll take him a few, Kirke mused, the kid just ain't all that bright. And he took out his snuff-box. It contained Kirke's works- the bent spoon, cotton, a stub of candle, a vial of water- not that he hadn't used saliva before, in a pinch- and a few packets of high grade heroin. He frowned. Kasi'd said supply was limited. He hoped she'd hook up with more while she was away. He cooked himself a fix while Taylor looked at Noir's grave. "I just learned how they make this stuff, no wonder it's so addicting & immoral," Kirke said, "so vampyric. You follow the tracery of veins in the flower-head, right? cut the bud, a few holes at a time, allow the latex to collect. Basically following the vein, bleeding it slowly to death over a long period of time. Cruel, really." He tapped & tightened his median cephalic, making a fist & twisting his arm slightly. No track marks. While he'd still been alive he'd skin-popped, or hooked only in his feet and his ass, no wanting any "cement" or collapsed veins to be immediatley visible.Slowly, he fed the mix into his bloodstream, pushing the plunger a little at a time. The vampyric blood didn't travel in the same way as mortal blood, pumped thru ventricles. It was more like a tide. Needed to be drugged differently.
"I still get pains from the gunshot wound," Kirke lied sheepishly, wondering why he felt any need at all to validate himself to a fledgling. his voice was beginning to slur. "see this? Parietal bone was right thru the scalp, there, & there," he touched his shotgun scars gingerly with numbing fingertips, "I was in no state to recall it, really; I was a mess. Bone shards breached the corpos callosum, gangular damage, ruptured my left iris..." Kirke was starting to nod, almost welcomed the familiar sensation of spreading numbness and calm. He managed to turn his head, saw that Taylor had finally "gotten" the mystery of the grave of Victor Noir. Part of the statue looked a bit more worn down than the rest. Taylor touched it, gingerly, as tho somehow it might hurt him. And then, with the same weird caution, lowered his head and s n i f f ed..."Jesus, Kurt," Taylor asked, "was this guy really endowed like this?"
Kirke wanted to answer, but the heroin had started to really kick in. And Kirke was playing a dangerous hunch here, really. If the bastard even TRIES to diablerize me, I'll.....I dunno. whimper helplessly, I guess. Kirke thought groggily.
Sure enough, Taylor was exhibiting his "weird" behaviour. The scent of the women who had mounted the statue had been enough to start triggering off Taylor's usual lust-Thirst connexion, but he seemed to be sensing, scenting something else. Kirke already knew, had figured out what was going on. Back when he had been struggling against his own nature, Kirke realized, trying to hunt animals or only rightful prey, that his vampyric senses were not built to make those distinctions. They could only track blood & pheromones- ANYONEs. Some scents were more delectable than others, true, but that had to do with blood types, chemicals in the blood, suchlike. The vaseronasal gland was bisexual, or at the very least, impartial.
Kirke himself had tracked Dave, had gotten Dave stuck in all this when he had been hunting that fateful night and he'd scented some particularly yummy-smelling blood. He'd found out later Dave had been both drunk & horny, a particularly tasty mix. Add to that the endorphins of his elation from the music he'd been proudly editing, the exertion of playing and, once he'd known he was being stalked, the adrenaline & fear , and it had been nothing short of miraculous Kirke HAD been able to just let him go, & no wonder both the Tremere, & later Kasi, had wanted Dave too. That night, Dave had been walking vampyre bait. poor guy.
And now? Well, Kirke had seen a movie once, called Liquid Sky. It had been aliens, not vampyres in it, but they too lived off the chemicals of human ecstasy- in this case, heroin highs, & orgasms. Kirke knew the risk he was taking, shooting up in front of the aggitated & confused Taylor.But he was curious what that one would do.
Taylor WAS moving closer to Kirke, sniffing the air, his eyes glowing. Kirke could hear the fledgling's conflicted thoughts. He even caught a mind-glimpse, briefly, of the source of Taylor's distress- a Toreador he had met in the Inn, who had easily seduced and drank from the inexperienced Hawkins. Taylor had hated being manipulated, mindfucked, left weakened, drained and violated. But while it had been happening? He had reacted as he would with any female lover- -his body had responded accordingly.
Kirke watched Taylor move closer. Taylor had definitely realized that whatever was causing him to feel this way WAS emanating from Kirke, and he was clearly freaked by this, but unable to stop being attracted to it, either. It was almost like being Fevered.
There was already a vein open, the tiny pinhole where the needle had entered the crook of Kirke's arm. Wincing, as tho expecting to be stopped at any second, Taylor lifted Kirke's arm to his lips.
Kirke lay still, allowing this for a moment or two. Then he opened his eyes. Exerted only the slightest bit of hypnotic suggestion. "Fellate me." Kirke said quietly, & watched in amusement the time lapse between Taylor's compliance and his realization what had been asked of him.
"Fuck YOU!" Taylor squeaked, & retreated across the cemetary. Kirke chuckled, got up to follow. "They say you can't hypnotize anyone into doing something they wouldn't want to do." Kirke said. "You just keep away from me."Taylor's tone of voice was menacing, but his movements betrayed his fear. "Cyclic guanosine monophosphate. Constricts the blood vessels flowing out of your dick. Filling it with what, Tay? Hmm, blood, maybe? Look, I don't think you get it yet, Taylor. You're homophobic. Your Thirst is not." Kirke grinned crazily, knowing full-well the commericial catch-phrase he was about to quote. It made a great punchline. "Image is nothing. Thirst is everything. Obey your thirst." Kirke said. Taylor stared at Kirke from a comfortable distance. "I'm not homophobic," he muttered, "I'm just...I got to adapt, I guess. um. "

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