NaNoWriMo Writings

1315 words

Ragest awoke with the gnawing hunger in his chest and took a whiff of the air. He smelled iron, freshly spilled blood, and urine. The iron was what got him moving. Like coffee to an addict, the want of vitae to satisfy his hunger propelled him out of the old bed and into the room next door.

Feathershin hadn’t arrived, but there was a medium-sized bald man in a suit making coffee. His skin was gray in the yellow light, and when he looked at Ragest, his eyes were a sickening green.

“Good evening,” he said, his voice sounding rather Midwestern and not from around town. “Master will be rising soon. I have instructions to provide you with whatever is needed to break your fast.”

Ragest had fed from a Nosferatu ghoul before, and found them to be just as delectable as other ghouls. More human than the thin-bloods, but their vitae was just as good as any other human’s. This one would probably have caffeine.

After feeding, Feathershin arrived and took his turn with his ghoul. When finished, Ragest could tell the vampire was not satisfied. “Can you see if Hector is available?”

“Yes, Master,” said the ghoul, heading to the ladder.

“Take a moment to rest first,” Feathershin ordered. The man in the suit sat on the couch while Feathershin busied himself around the room. 

“Meet any other important vampires while you were out and about, Ragest?”

“Way too many Sabbat. Anarchs. I stayed away from the Lupines out west. I didn’t go further west than the Mississippi or south than Atlanta.” Of course, he didn’t mention the two times he went to Florida for a rage. Those really didn’t count, even when the bodies racked up while he went down there. Ragest watched as Feathershin pulled out a syringe and a small vial with blue crystals in it. “For a little extra oomph. Let’s go up to the porch.”

Ragest followed Feathershin around some stone vaults buried deep underground, and coffins that had fallen through the ceiling in spots. They were shored up by metal pipes, the coffins moved to the side. 

The pipe headed upward, cutting close in the ceiling and making them double over as they climbed the steep metal pipe. Ragest heard the manhole cover turn and felt the chill breeze of the February night percolate across his back.

The porch was a tomb shaped like a gazebo. Round in shape, it had benches and tombstones nearby, spread out in a radius. Feathershin brushed the light snow off a bench and sat down. 

“Perry should be back soon with the cocktail. Maybe two, if he’s lucky.”

Ragest blew out smoke from his dead lungs. He always loved to watch that happen in the winter, even when he was a child. “What happened to Maria?” He didn’t look at Feathershin, not knowing what the reaction was going to be. 

Feathershin didn’t sigh dramatically, or look away at the ground. Ragest had been around long enough to read subtle and frozen body signs, especially his own generation. Feathershin was younger than him by two hundred years, so Ragest could see out of the corner of his eye the very slight tightening of Feathershin’s jaw which meant a “Tell the Truth, but tell it Slant” was being prepared.

“Don’t lie,” said Ragest, turning to Feathershin. {{Ragest: Char Man Leadership: 2,3,3,5,10,9,1,6 Feather: Char Man: 8,2,9,8,3,6,2}}

Feathershin looked down. “Maria dismissed everybody after thirty years.”

“Why?” Ragest put a hand on the cold concrete of the gazebo’s railing. “Anarchs?”

“Sabbat. Actually, the Irish.” He pointed northward, his finger following the trail before them, running parallel to the interstate. “Man, do they multiply like rabbits. Like the ‘spics after them. Once they bore one of those whelps here, they were automatically citizens. That’s always been bullshit as far as I can tell.” 

“Fet, America is a colony. Nobody is really born here.”

“We were here first!”

Ragest again looked at Feathershin’s face. Underneath the flat face, the fur, bald head, and spiked teeth had been an indigenous person, cursed by a damn white European to the eternity of ugliness. Feathershin had told Ragest his past; how he had helped the Europeans in what was then called Georgia set up the penal colony there. He didn’t remember the date he was Embraced, but knew it was because the colony was going to spread west and needed ample people to guide them. The Irish and the Scots Embraced willy-nilly, creating near armies of Nosferatu and Brujah. The English warlords Embraced as well, not caring if they were indigenous or not. Most of them were Ventrue, but they didn’t last long. 

Feathershin was from Cherokee blood, and moved north with his clan mates to the teeming cities of New York and Boston. It was from Boston that Feathershin saw Providence becoming a new wide city, quiet but bustling, and he moved south out of the way of the overloaded English in Boston.

It didn’t take long before Feathershin met up with Ragest. Ragest had established himself as Prince Without A Council. This was long before the Gangrel decided they wanted no more to do with the Camarilla. 

Ragest, with Feathershin and other vampires’ assistance, closed up ranks in the city and established the Council, the Prince, the Traditions, and Elysium. The Revolution hit, and many vampires were killed, especially in Newport. The Hutchinson Vampires begged for and got assistance from Ragest, who never let them forget that they were going to be his subordinates from now on. Newport, instead of becoming its own city, because a “suburb” of Providence—the Rhode Island of Providence Plantations.

Now Ragest looked at the skyline of the City, the rotunda of the capitol; the four skyscrapers that filled the horizon with their blue and white lights along the sides; the white Mall to the north of the capitol, six floors of parking garages flanking it. The whole thing was meant to be metropolitan. It looked like a New England Town trying too hard to grow up.

He heard someone panting. It was about the same distance away as the highway. Ragest couldn’t see in the dark at such a distance, but Feathershin turned toward the area the sound came from. “He had to go to the bus station to find Hector. It’s cold tonight.”

Ragest peered into the night, and could see the moving shadows as they struggled their way up a hill. “Don’t worry, babe, it’s some good shit,” he heard a man say in Spanish to someone else.

“It better be because it’s fucking scary out here.”

When Ragest turned back to look at Feathershin, a different person stared at him. Pale, almost gray, but with black hair and a chiseled face, Feathershin had assumed the form of his favorite actor, John Travolta. Thinner than him, not quite as broad, but he had assumed the face down to the dimple on his chin. 

“Didn’t like young John Adams?” Ragest asked with a smirk.

“He got old. Nobody knew who he was.”

“Except when he was president.”

“Even then.” 

Three people came out of the dark air. Hector stumbled in the snow but righted himself immediately. 

“And who is this lovely creature of the evening?” Feathershin said, holding out his hand to help her into the gazebo.

“Don’t matter,” she snapped.

“Gina!” Hector looked terrified.

“Don’t Matter,” said Feathershin. “Come. Sit down.”

“Not there. It’s fucking cold.”

“Perry, please be a gentleman and offer the lady your coat.”

Perry took off his coat and placed it on the bench. She sat down on it, gathering its edges. It barely covered her exposed skin. Perry hugged himself. Ragest knew the man would freeze, so he gave him his coat. He didn’t need it. Perry’s eyes dipped down in thanks.

“You got stuff?” Gina demanded.

“I got stuff.” He held up the vial and syringe.