He can not ever have agreed to this. To be eternalised in these books. Especially after what he did and Lestat only hearing one side of the story. The audacity.
I hope Akasha left him alive. I hope he survived. I hope he snapped out of the state I found him in and is lucid enough to even be outraged over this. If he formed a legion to hunt down and burn all of these books, I would join him.
But if I were to meet him again, I would not want to talk about all of that. I would want to thank him. I would not be here without him, wherever ‘here’ is. It does not matter. I am alive. Would he want to talk to me? So very few left to understand. None, actually. I feel that he would. Maybe even without words. Should I go look for him or wait on a run in? I do not want our rendez vous to be dictated by the books. I will wait. If it is meant to be, it is meant to be.
Story inspired by RP. Takes place in the 1920s, Romania, after Nicolas escapes the clutches of @marcusofrome
The fresh blood he drank ran wildly through his veins, fear and excitement mingling into something dark and familiar. The establishment suited his needs and the needs of others like him, mortals and immortals. He felt ashamed and still he craved this. Craved something to ground him and help him put back the mask he wore so easily these days. Play a part. That’s all he had to do. Get back into some sort of rhythm of matters. Polish the act he had adopted.
He had been found by a band of clan-less vampires. Some knew the laws, others had heard of the Covens. Nicolas decided to play on his knowledge. He didn’t give too much but asserted quickly a place for himself because he knew the rites and what had to be done. The old laws flew from his lips as easily as he had broken them in the past and he found himself enjoying being asked about interpretations. Still, he didn’t give too much. Nicolas de Lenfent was presumed dead. For the time being, he allowed the tale to follow its course. He was Nicolas Visconti of Naples. His mother was descended of one of the noble families of Naples and his accent helped. Play the part. It became easy. Being himself was hard.
He stepped inside the dark hall and forced his mask to stay still. Don’t betray fear. Force his blood to flow slower. All the lesson taught brought him quicker to the red door and his hand settled on the door knob with ease and calm. Memories he tried to bury struggled to lay low. Memories of blood, whips and course hands inflicting pain. Memories of screams. He had screamed. He had screamed until his throat was raw. Marcus enjoyed his screams. He played his pain for more screams. For more blood. For pleasure and pain and he took them with passion.
I feel your breath
I feel something deep in my chest
There's something in the way you move
I cannot explain
I give myself
To every drop of blood you've taken
My heart remains the same
And I'm
An utter fool
To give myself to you
“What do you desire?” the blood-drinker’s voice before him slithered as he was measured from head to toe. He had learned from an early age to play on his looks. He was slowly becoming vain about his physique. Dressing according to the fashion of this age but still playing it low. Fitted pants, fitted shirts, black. He didn’t feel other colors embracing him like the black fabrics. No more reds or ivory. Black. Everything baptized in the color of the night sky.The color of his soul.
“Nicolas, all you have to do is ask. Ask and you shall receive” the man was joined by another. He counted the vampires present in the room. His eyes locked with the Turkish born vampire.
“What I always want from this place and your services. Pain. Pain and pleasure” he walked past him and began unbuttoning his shirt, steadying his fingers to finish the task. Play the part of confidence although his soul was struggling with everything he felt. He deserved this. Every lash, for every death. Their death was on him. Every treachery. On him. Every drop of blood. On him. Laurent,Eleni, Felix, Eugeni, his Santiago, his beloved Santiago. Butchered, vanished and he still looked for them, forsaking the image of the burnt theater he had found when he returned from Paris.
Nicolas hissed, straining his arms against the shackles as the whip felt on his skin. Tarik knew how to handle the leather and how to the deliver the strokes. Not to strong to brutally maim but sure enough to awaken pleasure.
He moaned as the whip felt again and again against his skin.
“You deserve this, Nicolas. All you had to do was to control yourself. You coward. You would be still be with them. In the arms of Santiago. His death his upon you. All of their deaths are upon you, lad” Nicolas forced his eyes upon as the all too familiar voice found its way in his mind.
“You’re dead” he wanted to sound more confident, straining against a too well skilled whip from Tarik.
“Nicolas, I will always be with you. I made sure of it. Look at you now. Still craving the pain you so well deserve. You will never get rid of me” the mocking laughter of Marcus rang in his ears and Nicolas strained against the restrains, his body chasing the pleasure from the pain. He let himself under Tarik’s ministrations. He stopped counting and stopped caring about time. He bleed and he revealed from it. He accepted the hands gliding against his flushed skin, stirring him alive.
Half a night, step in pleasure and agony before he could put back the mask he had began to wear so easily. He stood in the bathtub, the smell of blood, his and his companions filling his senses. He stood still, watching the men before him kissing lazily. Reaching for a plump hand, Nicolas turned it to meet the wrist and sank his fangs, the warm blood doing its biding. Harden the heart. Harden the heart because he would end up driving himself crazy and he needed his wits and his strength. And maybe of these nights, Marcus voice will cease to haunt him and the cravings will stop and he will be stronger and not needing this sort of treatment. Love himself more. The fact was he hated himself and loved himself with equal passion. And right now, Nicolas was constructing the image he will project to the world. The violinist had burned long ago, the man in love had perished under the whip, the violence and the abuse of Marcus, Nicolas was putting together the man he needed to be in order to survive. All the lessons learned. From Armand, from Santino, from Marcus. Before he could resurrect the man he wanted to be, he needed the man he required for this world.
To every drop of blood you've taken
My heart remains the same
Ahiga had guarded the wounded immortal while he slept, staying close through the day and well into the evening. He'd gone out once to get groceries, but the worry that something would happen while he was away forced him back to the vampire's home fast.
The groceries remained untouched while he paced, his mind going in a loop. He kept seeing the expression of fear and relief Santino’s eyes had held the night before upon seeing Ahiga. He’d do almost anything to never see that fear on the man’s face ever again, rage and worry boiling until he felt like screaming. He finally stopped pacing and went back into the bedroom to check on Santino.
Soundless steps brought him over the floor towards the still form on the bed. The wolf bent over the vampire to look at him, his braid falling over his shoulder to thump against Santino’s chest.
[You have the right morals. You don't want to lose your temper but it is your greatest flaw. It's claws grip you and choke you out until it has it's way with you. If you can remove yourself from the situation before that happens you will find sanctuary. If not, the devastation you can cause is unrivalled. You will not explode on everything around you. Rather, ALL of your anger, that has been bottled will explode on the one person who happened to trigger it. They will not stand a chance against your temper.
You have the devil in you. You cannot tame it but you can walk away before it shows it's face. The cursed ones.]
“I am the devil. Of course I have right morals. Someone needs to.” Memnoch’s huffed cockily.
Things had gone surprisingly smoothly after Paris even if the camp he delivered the skull back to treated Ahiga as if he had some kind of terrible decease, which probably had more to do with who was after him and less to do with his recent communication with vampires. The Uktena dealt with a number of species and had opened their doors to strays of all tribes over the years, ending up being one of the most open-minded and diverse tribes while at the same time being one of the most secretive ones.
For the first time in a long time, there were no missions lined up, no impossible artifacts to track down and obtain nor any meetings waiting to drive him insane. So he'd maxed out his cards and rented the first luxury mountain lodge he could find online, ending up in fucking Colorado in the middle of nowhere, snowed in the first night and perhaps happier than he had been since he stepped down as alpha. The kitchen was fully stocked, every fireplace was lit and there was a hot tub to soak in with a bottle of wine to keep him company.
In this place, the only voices whispering were those of nature, of the lands and the past. None of them screamed angrily or wept, but instead mumbled soothingly in the background, leaving him in peace to just be. Soon those voices faded too, the only sound left that of the bubbling water and the wind outside the glass walls surrounding the enclosed space where the hot tub was located, the fire in the closest fireplace crackling behind him.
It turned out staying away from Santino was a shitty idea. The freedom he reclaimed felt more like self-imposed exile than anything. He'd spent a few lousy days with the guy and barely a week later he was going fucking insane without the vampire. He’d gotten strangely used to guarding the useless sack of bones during the day and greeting his pasty face in the evening. He’d gotten used to the smooth voice in his ear and the too strong hands touching him with too damn much care. Being without it felt like a cold shower, the life that had felt so full before suddenly seeming empty to the wolf.
The constant nagging ache pissed Ahiga off enough that he stayed away longer just to be spiteful, though he logically knew he was probably the only one suffering for it.
On day six he had finally given in and gone after the vampire, stalking him to Rome before using the tracking spell he'd put on him to locate his residence rather than going hunting around town for the man. He stole into the house without breaking any locks or disturbing anything, letting the lights stay off as he settled down to wait.
Tracking old manuscripts resulted in ending up in Athens, getting inside a closed auction house. The usual paintings, journals, sculptures and artifacts mortals and immortals sought for their collection yet Nicolas was looking for certain scrolls. Old texts said to have the power to resurrect the dead. It had come to that and he pursued his mission with all the willpower and dedication he could muster. Nicolas knew there was a dual nature in his heart, the artist and the killer, the later taking over whenever he wanted to achieve something. He could say it was a warrior trait but warriors were noble and he had no scruple when it came to achieve his purpose.
So, he waited in the last rows, scanning the room for competition and waiting for the objects he had came here for. Whatever it took, he would get his hands on them. Logic told him there was a gamble and the odds were slim. If ancient text offered this power, others would had looked for them by now and used them. He will test their value and if they didn’t work there was always another road to take. Mustering all his willpower, Nicolas shielded his mind and willed his heart to quiet the rage. And he waited, patiently, call after call. If they refused to present the scrolls, he will get inside that cursed office and take a peak. He had a way with words and he could charm his way around. He grinned as he took another look at his smartphone before focusing back on his mission.
A faint buzz made him aware he wasn’t the only vampire in the room. Focusing on keeping his mind closed he looked around, smiling as he recognized the familiar face of his old teacher. A few more minutes and a break was called before the last items of the night where presented. Making his way to the lobby, Nicolas picked a glass of whiskey, exchanged a few pleasantries and walked to the balcony where Santino was pretending to nurse his own beverage.
“Da quanto tempo non ci vediamo” he spoke casually. With everything that happened in their community, Nicolas truly missed the company of the few he trusted and he considered friends. “Did you come for something in particular tonight? Half of them are fakes” he stated casually, watching the ice melt in his glass.
