Monterey Bay Aquarium

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Mike Driver
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Product Placement
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@atrabilious-jay
Agonizing Adaptation--Delos&&Open
Delos didn’t like going outside. He’d jumped at the chance of exploring at first, after the preliminary period of confusion and jumping at the sound of cars roaring past on the streets below. Now, he felt as if leaving the house were a chore. A smelly, dirty, loud, obnoxious chore.
Still, he made himself leave the house tonight simply because it was less unbearable than staying in, alone in a huge, drafty house where all he saw were reminders that he was not where he belonged. Outside, at least, he could see somewhat interesting things. Like that man across the street, filthy and wreaking of humanity, urinating in an alley. Or the bar, distastefully named Biterz, where he could hear music blaring and men and women’s voices mixed together in laughter and conversation. Briefly, he considered going inside, maybe indulging in a drink or two. He quickly cast that thought aside, shaking himself out of his own thoughts long enough to duck his head and keep walking.
All he would find in the bar would be loud music, drunken, arrogant men, and …
As he left the busier districts, he found himself wandering toward a park where he had once run into the red-headed human girl, Elena. She’d convinced him, somehow, to feed the ducks that spent their time on and around the pond there. He smiled at the memory, letting his slow, meandering pace bring him into the park and toward the pond. It was peaceful here, at least, and the scenery reminded him somewhat of home.
Shoving his hands into his pockets, Delos stopped as he reached the edge of the pond, staring out at the water where ducks slept in twos and threes. He stared at the pond without really seeing, consumed by thoughts of home. Not the house where Hunter had moved him, but real home. Mountains, rivers, wild chases through the night, and the castle he’d grown up in.
The more his thoughts tended toward home, the angrier he grew. He didn’t belong in this city. Stooping, he picked up a rock and threw it, not aiming at anything in particular. The rock struck the water of the pond with an angry slap! and several ducks shifted, disturbed. “Damnit,” Delos hunched his shoulder again, none of his anger dissipated. “I hate it here.”
The sprinkle of rain fell in a light mist, blanketing the city and all in it, so that one could be saturated without actually feeling the individual drops. City lights reflected off the humidity, creating a sort of twinkling cloud in the night sky and blotting out the stars.
Out in the park, however, there were no manufactured lights to cramp the sky; the mist of rain fell still -- but it was pure, unpolluted. The brighter stars gleamed like diamonds floating just beyond the edges of one's imagination. It was a warm evening, so the faint, continuous buzz of cool mist was more soothing than a hindrance to the vast populace.
James Rasmussen sat on the bench overlooking the water, as he had for some twelve or more hours; he'd been there at daybreak, high noon, and as the sun retired and the moon became king. He'd watched, mindless, as first the birds, then the deer and the squirrels, and finally different birds wandered by on their simplistic lives. For those the world widely believed weren't sentient, they seemed to be doing better than the apex races; they seemed happy, content with their lives. What qualities did they possess that allowed them to enjoy this world? What was missing?
He'd long been concealed by the night and a perfect, immovable silence. Earlier, he'd breathed to taste the fresh air brought on with the rain; to taste the same air as these happy little ephemeral beings -- but like all things, it'd come to annoy him for reasons he couldn't begin to fathom, and he'd since subsided even breath. Without making even a sound, the various denizens that wandered the night had traveled sometimes within dozens of feet of him; he'd not yet been noticed -- hadn't cared to be bothered, either. If he had wanted to hunt, though, it would've been pitifully easy.
Instead, he'd sat and thought for hours; he'd wondered why it was that, despite all his probing and searching and imploring, he couldn't find any reasons for...Anything. Beings were born and existed for a while and then died; they left almost no impact on the world. Even the most influential, greatest people were remembered for little more than hundreds of years. Why should one spend their time making money, or finding "love", or doing anything when death was the final, immutable outcome?
And at last he realized what the difference may be between him and the deer or the fish or the birds or even the humans: he had too much time. Eternity ticked before him; the clock was meaningless, unimportant. It was a concept that wholly frightened him. How could he possibly stand forever when a second, a minute, an hour felt like an impossibly long burden? He was, frankly, unable to live but too scared to die.
The young vampire was awakened from his reverie by a nearby outburst; he heard the had slam of something striking water with force; ducks quacked angrily but subsided, and a voice proclaimed their hatred of "here"; whether here was this park, this city, or this life, he didn't know -- but the young man, whomever they were, seemed to be on a similar wavelength.
James stood quietly, moving towards the source of the outburst. "Throwing rocks at wildlife won't help," James called quietly as he stepped down towards the bank. "Not unless they're the ones who've wronged you. It doesn't work like that; I've tried."
That's the thing with clubs:
Enough alcohol makes anyone attractive.
The World Awakens | Open
When the time came to be counted Grace Lake had stood tall and proud for humanity. Everything fell to shit when the Night World was revealed. Far more prepared and honestly more powerful than humans they had ravaged the world. More deaths than WWII or the Black Plague or Mao’s Great Leap Forward. But the vampires needed humans, it made things sticky. More importantly there had been hunters. People like her and Rashel who had been training most of their lives to take out creatures. They fought, they trained other humans and slowly they began to win.
Still it was war every day all day. It was long and hard. More than once Grace found herself looking up at the stars, missing her father and her friends. People had died. The Mustang was long gone. Things were looking up though.
Grace was staying in an abandoned skyscraper, down in the basement. Just for a few days. A window breaking upstairs had her on her feet and pulling out her gun. It was loaded with silver bullets, from old melted down silverware. She crouched behind an old wardrobe, waiting. A young man bounded down the stairs and into the basement. He hid behind a bed across the room. Grace was about to corner him when she heard more footsteps. She waited, listening. The footsteps were heavy, probably human. The young man on the other hand was not human. She had learned well and quickly how to spot them. He emerged from his hiding spot and Grace stood all the way up, gun pointed at him. “I called dibs,” she said fake pouting.
Terror tore through him; he recognized her stance, her capability. Most soldiers, even today, fought awkwardly against the undead -- they were children playing at war far older than them. Fear was a weapon Night World knew how to utilize well.
But The Hunters -- The Hunters were never afraid. They'd been hunting down creatures hundreds of years older than them for decades. They did not break under pressure; they shined. The difference between a hunter and a soldier was immeasurable, incalculable. Even the youngest ones, such as this woman, was a walking library of information; she could teach a thousand, ten thousand humans how to kill. Each and every hunter was an invaluable asset to Humanity...And a threat that had to be eliminated at all costs.
He stared at her for a moment, thinking. He had his weapon drawn, but not aimed. Vampires were faster; Hunters were deadlier. He could possibly shoot before she squeezed the trigger -- but escape was uncertain. And James, in his unnatural physical strength and melee skills, had never been a gunner. She handled her gun as though it were part of her; he handled his gun awkwardly. And in the end...
Her heart was beating. Normal. Average. She was human. She wasn't the monster -- they were. Even if he could shoot, did he have the right?
In the fraction of a moment, he made his decision. He couldn't kill her -- not with a gun -- but he didn't plan to die. James jerked his gun upwards, firing at the light instead of the girl; in complete darkness, he had the advantage. He could choose, possibly, to fight or to fly; in the light, seeing her face and against her heartbeat, he couldn't. He was never a soldier.
Simultaneously, the vampire threw himself to the side, rolling back behind the bed in an attempt to dodge any return fire. He held his gun close in case he'd missed the light or she was quicker than he thought.
I don't understand:
Look, I know the feeling… and that’s alright sugar.
My name’s Maya by the way—it’s nice to meet you.
James Rasmussen; the pleasure's all mine.
Thanks for the comprehension; that's a rare quality these days, and one my generation entirely lacks.
I don't understand:
Did you lose something?
I don't know; it's hard to explain. *Takes a breath,*
I didn't lose something in the sense that I no longer possess an object; I lost something in the sense that life just doesn't feel right.
Does that make any sense?
The World Awakens | Open
Six months had passed since the end of the world.
Six months had passed since the world learned that the supernatural still walked among them. Reaction was severe: humanity, as a collective, freaked. Night World responded in kind.
Fear turned to terror. Terror turned to turmoil. The night became wholly unsafe for humans and monsters alike; anyone caught out in the open by the opposing side was decimated.
But the creatures of the Night had learned the mask of secrecy since long before any living human. While humanity scourged and razed with its overwhelming power and resources, Night World played cautiously. Animals attacked stragglers; vampires doubled their numbers nightly. The full moon became a signal of horror as legions of werewolves ravaged entire cities. Armies fought; armies died. Sometimes, armies returned to life under the unnatural power of witches. Children went missing; government officials were mesmerized so often that those remaining hid from the light of day to save themselves, not unlike the creatures they tried to hunt.
And then, just as it seemed that humanity would finally fall, that the world governments would collapse and anarchy reign supreme; when Night World's power and resources nearly outsourced that of humanity, their weaknesses became known. Night World had become over confident in their extreme success.
Overnight, the world changed again. What had been a laughable nightmare for humanity became a nightmare for the nightmares. Vampires were felled in the hundreds; werewolves were met with opposition that could kill, and soldiers took to imbibing themselves with iron so-as to drastically reduce the witches' power over them. From the jaws of defeat, they scratched themselves back up the ladder. What had been a horrific war before became an impossibly terrifying one.
Equally matched, disappearances came on both sides. Those who didn't disappear deep underground came to know loss as they never had before. Sabotage and betrayal ran rampant on both sides. All thoughts of Night World rebellion, of circles and groups and freedom from Originals was gone. Night World had to work as one if they wanted any chance of survival.
---
James rushed through the streets, his lungs burning with trepidation. Though he was immortal, extreme exertion still tired him eventually. He'd been running since nightfall, helping to relocate a cell of vampires whose location had been compromised. They'd run into a unit and battle had commenced; several of the vampires had been killed then, and James had lured them away. It took hours to lose all but the last of them.
He tore under a set of stairs in a dilapidated building, jumping down the four flights or so, and hid in the darkened basement. He waited, breath baited, as the footsteps slowly came and went. At last, the vampire exhaled, his undead heart fluttering from fear.
It was only then that young immortal looked up to see someone else in the room. "Shit," He swore, pulling frantically for the gun on his back.
I don't understand:
Are you alright?
I am; I have to be. I have no reason not to be, anyway...
Thanks for asking.
The Sunlight...
Especially in a city like this one.
Oh right, I’m Deja.
Indeed. Why is it, I wonder, that the darkest, most desolate things hold the greatest beauty?
Well met. How long have you been in this city?
"Come To Me" by Goo Goo Dolls, from the new album Magnetic, out now. Video directed by Gus Black featuring John Rzeznik. The video was shot in parts of Los A...
Come to me, my sweetest friend;
Can you feel my heart again?
The Sunlight...
Quiet, mostly. But I guess a lot of times the quietest places are also the most beautiful.
There's a lot of truth to that. I suppose it's because silence has its own burning beauty.
I suppose I should introduce myself; I'm James.
Twilight Tango | Open
Music permeated the peaceful night, a melody meticulously made some several centuries before; it was an instrumental that sang of love and happiness and delightful decades that existed when the world was a simpler place.
The park was beautiful at five AM. Silvery moonlight fell from the sky, draping the world in an eerie, beautiful glow. A faint fog rose from the ground to meet the light, causing a mystical glow of sorts to manifest. Dew had already gathered on the trees and grass, further reflecting the moonlight back into the sky. Visibility was rather low altogether.
It was the supreme time of the supernatural. Vampires, werewolves, and other beasts could prowl without hindrance; some hunted, some slept, and one danced under a streetlight in the middle of the park.
He wore an immaculate, crisp tuxedo. His dance was meant for two, and though his reflexes were flawless, the absence was obvious. Spinning slow to the radio in the mist, the young man threw his attention to the winds. After all, how likely was it that anyone else would decide to take a stroll through the twilight?
The Sunlight...
Beauty’s not really what I’m looking for, but yeah.
I'll bite: what are you looking for?
The Sunlight...
I don’t even know what you are talking about anymore, man.
I don't think anyone in this conversation knows what's going on.
The Sunlight...
That’s understandable in every way possible. Sometimes, I hate the sun since I get all sweaty and gross! It even washes off my make-up and I hate it!
*James unwittingly cracked a smiley, a small laugh escaping his lips.*
"I've never been in that position, but that's another viable viewpoint. It makes me feel gross as well; I can relate with your relation -- did that come out right?"
I don't understand:
What exactly?
"I don't even know. I mean, I have all the money I could ever need; no enemies, no problems, nothing at all wrong with my life.
"But it's...I can't explain it. It's hard to get up; hard to move. Life just doesn't feel worth it; there's something intrinsic missing, and it's slowly consuming me. Something ate my heart and forgot to tell my body that it needs to die."
I don't understand:
"What's missing?"