Jazz and Lucas are taken to a Sabbat gathering and get a first-hand view of exactly what they've signed up to.
CW: Extreme graphic mutilation and torture - Ya know, Tzimicse shit. Not for the weak stomached - though I tried not to get too graphic.
Word count: 3,221 words.
Image is by Space on Twitter, please check her out! She does lots of great VTM-inspired artwork.
They left the bar when the flames started to travel from the chairs to the walls, Carl and Magnus pushing the tables in to catch for good measure, including the one with the bodies on. They went out through the fire exit, leaving the front door bolted shut, and left through a miserable little patch of tarmac that held a couple of large bins and a tired looking car that presumably belonged to the bartender.
"What happens when they find the bodies?" Jazz whispered to Cat as they left.
"In this part of town? Not a lot," Cat replied with a laugh. "Besides, there won't be much left for them to find. Those boys will have to be identified by their teeth."
She said it in such a careless way that Jazz shuddered. She moved closer to Lucas, away from the other vampires.
The sky was starting to lighten. The group headed back the way they had come, taking Jazz and Lucas with them. Quinn separated from them as they passed the scrapyard, sliding in through the gate with a nod of farewell. The gang hailed her with raised hands and catcalls before moving on, deeper into the neglected industrial area on the edge of which the scrapyard lay. They stopped outside a boarded-up old warehouse that was surrounded by a chain link fence, topped with barbed wire and covered with faded signs reading 'Danger: Keep Out' and 'This building is scheduled for DEMOLITION'. Carl pulled out a key, unlocked the heavy padlock on the gate and pulled it open with a loud rattle. He gestured for them to go inside, and they did, sweeping Jazz and Lucas in after them without comment.
Inside, the warehouse was sparse on furniture, but there was plenty of 'artwork' on the walls: band posters, stolen street signs, graffiti, swathes of grubby and faded fabric, and strings of multicoloured lights. Other than a sad-looking kitchen and filthy bathroom, the place was all one large room. Massive cobwebs hung from crisscrossing metal beams up by the high corrugated iron ceiling. Jazz wondered how loud it was under that roof when it rained. In the centre of the room was a cluster of three blackened metal braziers and a small pile of broken furniture and cardboard to serve as fuel. Any windows the building had were boarded up on both sides and covered in posters and signs, so the place was entirely lit by the sad, dull yellow fluorescent lights above their heads and the string lights trailing around the edges of the room. In the corners Jazz saw several old mattresses laid down, heavy lengths of fabric hung up around them to serve as curtains and keep out the light. It reminded her of the hotel scene in The Lost Boys, and even more than she originally had, she couldn't help thinking of the gang in the same way. She wondered if they were going to have to jump off a bridge with them at some point.
The other vampires all started to bed down, jumping onto mattresses and pulling curtains closed. Cat and Cal took one mattress together; Donna took one with Magnus; Grease picked one on his own. As Carl came in from locking up behind them, he crossed over to Jazz and Lucas where they stood near the centre of the room, looking uncertain.
"Well?" he asked. "You going to bed down or you planning to sleep in the middle of the floor all day? If bare concrete's a kink for you two, go right ahead, but I prefer to sleep in comfort. Personally."
Lucas squirmed, embarrassed. "We didn't know we were, uh ..." he began, then trailed off as Carl gave him an incredulous look.
"Mate. You're pack now," he replied. "You sleep with us, eat with us, ride and die with us. So hurry up and take the last mattress before I make you share with Grease."
Carl's voice wasn't quiet. Grease poked his head out from behind his curtain in response and grinned. An unusually long tongue wormed out from between his jagged teeth and slowly licked across his pitted and cracked lips. "I don't mind some company," he croaked. The others all laughed.
Carl gave Jazz's butt a playful slap. "Go on. I'll crowd in with Cat and Cal. They're like brother and sister, so I won't have to deal with any necrophilia when the sun sets!" He raised his voice, directing it toward the corner Donna and Magnus had vanished into. Magnus's pale, silver-ringed hand poked out, flipping the bird. Carl chuckled and drifted over to where Cat was grinning at him from the shadows. "Get in, big man," she called.
Lucas glanced over at the last empty mattress and shrugged. "Shall we?" he said to Jazz.
Jazz followed his gaze and sighed. Even the first flat - after Lucas had smashed it up - had been better than this. The mattress was filthy and the curtains around it were ragged and torn. Privacy, if they wanted it, would be non-existent. "Fine," she grumbled. "Though I'm pretty sure there are hobos on the street who live better than this."
Lucas shushed her. "Give it a chance."
Filthy or not, the mattress was comfortable, and they slept soundly and without interruption. When they rose the next night, Carl ushered them all around him. "Quinn messaged," he said, looking at his phone. "There's going to be a big gathering in a couple of nights. They're getting the packs together to organise a big push against the Cammies. And Quinn says it's going to be a big deal, so we need to be on our best behaviour."
The other vampires snickered a little at that. "So what do we do til then?" Grease asked.
"Quinn says to chill, lay low, feed well," Carl replied. "She wants us on our best game at the gathering. That means there's gonna be some important players there."
"Cool," Donna remarked. "Maybe I can get out of this armpit of a pack."
The others turned on her playfully, slapping and pulling at her as she grinned. Carl raised his voice to be heard above them. "Rest up, kiddies - we've got real work ahead of us!"
Two nights later, Jazz and Lucas were escorted by the pack to a large hotel in a much more affluent area of the city. Though their pack had hardly even changed their clothes, Quinn was wearing an elegant black evening gown and her blonde hair was left to tumble over her white shoulders in soft curls. She met them outside the hotel, a large clutch purse in one hand, and looked them over in mock disappointment. "You made an effort, I see," she quipped. "Come on. You're the last to arrive, and you know the Bishop doesn't like anyone to be late."
Bishop? Jazz thought. Priest? What's with all the church stuff?
They went inside, Quinn leading them into a large function hall. The hotel was of modern design, so other than the ostentatious chandeliers above their heads and the drapes of sheer fabric lining the ceiling and walls, the room wasn't particularly grand. But the floor was polished wood and the furniture was all gold gilt and carved wood - what Jazz thought of as wedding furniture. Tablecloths covered the round tables and each one had a small tealight in a glass holder at the centre. It looked like it had been set up for a corporate function.
But the people inside quickly dispelled that impression. There were many others dressed similarly to their pack, in denim and leathers, biker boots and chains. There was a small group who were dressed smartly, but all in black, as if they had come from a funeral. They all sat together near the front of the room, where a large stage was set up. There were more than a few who were dressed like Quinn, in smart suits and pretty gowns, as if going to a ball. And then there were a few - mostly those on the stage - dressed in robes and uniforms that looked like they belonged in cathedrals, or even the Vatican.
Quinn ushered them all to an empty table about halfway down the hall. They all sat, Quinn folding her legs neatly beneath her chair, the others lounging with feet on the table, sitting backwards in their chairs, or just slumping comfortably. Grease leaned across the table and pulled the tealight closer to him. Jazz watched as he started poking the flame with one long, gnarled fingernail. Before long she looked away. It was making her stomach twist nervously. Her hand went to her forehead, where the mark of the brand had only just healed over. The more serious burn on the side of her face was taking longer, but already it wasn't much more than a stripe of tight red skin.
Once they'd sat down, a figure on the stage dressed in the long white robes of a Catholic bishop stepped forward. He had forgone the headdress, and his long black hair flowed across his shoulders in stark contrast to the white vestments. He reminded Jazz of Antonio Banderas in Interview With a Vampire - but only because his hair was so long and straight. He was white, and his eyes were very pale - in fact his hair was the only thing about him that was dark. He lifted his arms, and the room fell silent.
Cat leaned over to Jazz. "That's Bishop Christopher," she whispered. "He unites all the packs in the city."
Jazz nodded her thanks and turned her attention to him as he began to speak.
"Cainites," he said in a surprisingly deep voice. "Welcome. We are here tonight to enact our ancient traditions together, united as Sabbat."
Lucas leaned over and whispered to Jazz. "This isn't so different from the Camarilla. Lots of pomp and ceremony. It's just dressed up differently. We'll be okay."
Quinn's head turned slightly toward them. Jazz waved Lucas to silence, hoping that Quinn hadn't overheard them.
Bishop Christopher continued. "As your priests should have all informed you, we will soon be looking to make one great push against our Camarilla neighbours. Tonight we will lay down the plans for how this will be done, and when." A few vampires let out cheers and clapped. He smiled patiently and waited for them to stop before he went on. "But before business comes pleasure." A few more cheers, more raucous this time. "Before we concern ourselves with the war to come, I am happy to present to you a special guest in the city. A performer and artist of great renown among our kind, I trust she will rouse your desires and make you even more eager to fight our righteous battle." He half-turned, gesturing offstage to his left. "I give you ... Carina Zantosi of Clan Tzimicse."
Lucas leaned into Jazz again. "Just like the Camarilla," he whispered. "Performances and artwork."
A spattering of polite applause rippled across the hall. Onto the stage walked a woman - at least Jazz assumed it was a woman - wearing a red skintight catsuit and stiletto heels. Her face was beautiful in an alien, uncanny way, with high, slanting cheekbones and slanting, catlike eyes. Her small, heart-shaped lips were painted as red as her catsuit, and her blonde hair fell in a long stripe down the centre of an otherwise hairless head. The catsuit accentuated her figure strangely; her waist seemed impossibly tiny below a wide ribcage and small, pointed breasts and above flaring hips and incredibly long legs. In her long-fingered hands she held a silver chain. The other end was attached to a leather collar being worn by a man who she led onto the stage behind her. He was naked, trembling and quite clearly mortal.
Another vampire came on behind her, pulling an X-frame on wheels. He set it up in the centre of the stage, applied the brakes so that it would stay still, and left. Magnus gave a dark chuckle. "This is about to get interesting," he remarked. Cat shushed him.
Someone somewhere pressed a button, and soft classical music began to play on hidden speakers. Carina paraded the man around the stage, letting everyone get a good look at him. He was covered in bruises and small cuts. Then she pushed him with one hand on his chest, backing him up onto the X-frame. Slowly, theatrically, she bound his wrists and ankles, then removed the collar and chain. Lifting one hand, she gave his cheek a tender caress. The man looked at her with wide eyes leaking tears, and began to sob in terror.
Jazz shifted uncomfortably. She didn't want to watch whatever was about to happen. She looked down at her hands, clasped tightly in her lap.
Oh no you don't, the Voice piped up, and Jazz felt her gaze force its way up, back to the two figures on the stage. You signed up for this, now you can watch.
Angling herself so that she didn't block her audience's view, Carina began to push and stroke the man's chest with her fingers, from the centre of his breastbone outward. As she did this, his flesh seemed to ripple beneath her touch. The man flinched, then whimpered, and finally began to scream in pain as his skin and muscle parted beneath her seemingly gentle touch, revealing his ribcage and the organs beneath. Surprisingly little blood fell into the stage, but what did was enough to send its intoxicating scent out across the hall. The audience stirred as many of the vampires leaned forward, fidgeted and bared their fangs.
Carina kept moving her fingers across the man's ribcage. She pulled and prodded at his exposed insides, and the ribcage abruptly split down the middle in a neat line. Carina teased and coaxed the ribs, somehow changing the shape of them, until they splayed out like bats' wings. She pressed and massaged his lungs, heart and other organs until they too were splayed out, hanging from the ribs like ornaments. Through all of this, the man remained awake and screaming.
Jazz watched, transfixed in horror, as the Tzimicse turned her attention to his abdomen, opening it up and spreading it out in much the same way as she had his chest. His legs were next, pulled open and spread out, the skin and flesh melded together down the centre, the bones reshaped to frame the edges. The shackles around his ankles simply fell away as the flesh and muscle was rearranged. Then his arms were similarly laid open, but these she left separate. Finally, she turned to his face.
Even from her seat, Jazz could see the agony and terror in the man's eyes as he looked at the Tzimicse, begging her without words to stop. She paid no attention. Instead she ran her fingers over his lips, and his mouth sealed shut. She pulled at the sides of his neck and massaged the skin down to meet his shoulders. She ran her fingers over his work in a manner similar to a harpist plucking the strings of their instrument, and a thin layer of skin was coaxed over his bones and organs, sealing them in but leaving them on display.
The room was in rapt silence as she finally undid the straps at the man's wrists. Though he was hardly a 'man' any more. Quietly, through the skin that covered his mouth, he could be heard whimpering and moaning. She pulled him down by his wrists, turning him and displaying him for all to see. She had made him almost as thin as fabric, his organs flattened and restrained but somehow still able to function. His entire lower body had disappeared into a sheet of flesh that flared slightly at the bottom. She twisted it around her and draped it over her back, using his still-whole hands like a clasp at her throat, pressing and contorting the fingers to hold onto each other. She lifted her hands behind her head and massaged the flesh and bone of the man's skull, putting her back to the audience so they got an unimpeded view of the agony in his eyes - still streaming with tears - as his skull was moulded into a high, stiff collar. Then - finally - she stretched her arms out, indicating that she was done.
With her back to the audience, they could all see the full extent of her 'art'. The man had been moulded into a living cape, his organs on display beneath the thin layer of flesh that protected them. His heart could be seen, beating rapidly; his lungs heaved in and out in their confined space. Between the organs and around the bones that held the cloak's shape, his blood swirled through veins and arteries that had been flattened and widened in a grotesque tapestry. The music faded out, and for a few long seconds all that could be heard in the room was the man's muffled cries of pain and horror.
Then someone began to clap, and like wildfire the entire audience was on their feet, cheering and howling, clapping and stamping. Carina turned to face them and bowed, her heart-shaped lips curving up in a small smile. Bishop Christopher came onstage to shake her hand and congratulate her before getting a close-up look at what she had done.
Jazz and Lucas remained seated as the pack rose up around them. Jazz had one hand pressed over her mouth, and Lucas was staring with wide, horrified eyes at the stage, which mercifully was now blocked by all the standing people in front of them. Jazz saw Quinn look round at them, a sly smile twisting her lips before she looked back to the stage.
When Jazz felt she could speak again without throwing up, she looked at Lucas. "Do the Camarilla do that?" she asked.
Lucas shook his head, too shocked to look embarrassed or ashamed. He opened his mouth to reply, then closed it and shook his head again.
This is what you signed up for, honey. What's the matter? Not to your taste?
"Holy shit," Jazz muttered. "Oh God ... holy shit."
The rest of the night passed in an indistinct blur for Jazz. There was a lot of talking, shouting, cheering, howling and stamping. At some point she heard a few names mentioned that she recognised from the few times Lucas had spoken about the Camarilla court. Toward the end of the night a dozen people were led in, all with their wrists tied. One by one, their ankles were bound with long ropes which were thrown up over the chandeliers, and they were hoisted up into the air to hang upside down. Vampires would wander up to them and bite them wherever they wished, and slowly they were each drained dry. Quinn was called up to the stage along with the other pack priests, and each of them pledged loyalty to the Bishop, the Sabbat, and they 'Cause'.
Finally, the night was over. Bishop Christopher sent them all back to their havens. Jazz let herself be led back to the warehouse, her ears ringing with the shouts and laughter of the pack as they discussed the evening and relived their favourite parts. She felt distant and ethereal ... like she wasn't really there.
Oh, you're here alright, the Voice reminded her. You're here and you're in it up to your neck. Just wait and see what tomorrow brings.
So, chapter 10 of Hunger took a darker turn than I expected. A lot of plot points just ended up fitting really well here, so I decided to use them, but I want to be clear that this chapter was intended to have a far more controlled amount of angst. If any of you are reading this and the vibes are just too bad for you, PLEASE STOP. I will post the spark notes at the beginning of chapter twelve, and we can pick up in safer waters.
I don't expect this to slip under any sort of trigger warnings, I just want readers to be aware that this chapter got way darker than I was intending. I'm putting this warning out for readers like myself, who may notice the bad vibes but are too invested in the story to take a break. Things will get better soon, and I hope you enjoy.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Nobody does, in the end.
Ekko/Jinx with dead dove tags. Jinx captures Ekko after the finale and puts into Vander's chair, in the ruins of the cannery. She decides what to do with him.
