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.

724 words

Then he saw the same ankh on a threshold. He reached up and pushed the wood at the top of the door, but nothing happened. He tried the door, first using human strength, then vampiric strength. The latch clicked open.

Ragest looked around the dimly lit corridor that led downward. The fluorescent lights weren’t bright enough for human eyes. He could see the traps if he looked for them: a piece of twine on the step, one of the steps a little higher than the rest. He skipped over that one, and followed the stairs down, into a dark, damp cellar. Black mold was half way up the walls, and it smelled damp and dank. He walked down a corridor, checking the side doors. All were locked.

He ducked under a large pipe and saw a half-sized door at the end of the corridor. He tried the two doors to the side—locked. He examined the little door, and, as he suspected, an ankh was etched into the door frame. Vampiric strength pulled open the door. He ducked inside.

And fell face-first down a hole.

He put his arms out to try and stop himself from falling, but soon enough, he hit the ground, an echo of his back hitting steel. Ragest would have had the wind knocked out of him, had he any. It was too late that he saw the ladder that led up.

Then, he heard a twang and he ducked. A crossbow bolt stuck out of the concrete wall. A flash of light erupted after he heard something, probably the crossbow, fall onto the steel floor. The light illuminated the floor, and he could see large dirty bird claws on the floor.

“Feathershin,” said Ragest, standing up straight and putting both hands up.

“Ragest?”

“Yeah.”

The light went out, and a small creature that came up to his chest barreled into him. “Son of a bitch! Where the fuck you been?”

“Nice to see you too,” he said, returning the hug. The bird claws clattered on the floor as he stepped back.

“Welcome to my new home! Completed in 1964.”

Ragest followed the creature. They crossed a section, and a thin yellow light above them went on.

Now he could see his old friend. He still had tufts of thick brown hair coming out from his otherwise bald head, and large, almost bunny ears, that stood straight up. Fur, or hair, gathered at the back of his neck and down his spine. He was naked, his skin rough, scaly and phosphorescent. He glowed blue in the dark, just enough for Ragest to see the general shape of the creature in the dim steel tube.

“Is this a subway?”

“No, not really. This is a sewer pipe from the ’50’s. I got it real cheap.” He turned his head back to face Ragest. His face was flat, almost like a pig’s, but had long fangs in front. “C’mon. I got a fifty-inch TV down here with all the cable channels.”

He turned right, and bright light was ahead of them. 

“Why did you leave the cemetery?”

“Oh, long story, that.” They entered the well-lit room. High arched ceilings with assorted carvings in them were above their heads, thick, plush carpeting was at their feet. Just a little further was another room, this time with wood floors and a raised dais at the end of it.

“Elysium?”

“It was. When we had such things.” Feathershin flopped down on a large leather couch. “So, old timer, tell me what you’ve been up to.”

“You promise to tell me what’s been going on?”

Feathershin grinned, showing more teeth than should be possible in a human mouth. “Tomorrow. You can stay here today.”

“That much detail?”

“Of course. I would give you as much detail as you needed, my Prince.”

Ragest shook his shaggy head. “Not anymore.”

Feathershin tried to look doe-eyed. “You’ll always be my prince.” It didn’t work. 

 “And you’ll be my Primogen,” said Ragest.

“So. Spill.”

“I went down south and was in the Confederate Army. Stayed down there during Reconstruction and the wars, and the black uprisings.”

“More than that.”

“Hmm?”

“There’s more than that. You left here for a reason.”

Ragest looked up at the detailed ceiling. “I didn’t want to do it anymore.”

“Why?”

“You’re my Primogen, not my confessor.”

1457 words

#

Antony Giovanni turned his head to look up at his protege. “And what reason do you grace me with your presence, my dear?”

“What do you think about this for Shayna’s wedding?”

“It looks beautiful.”

She beamed. “What did that dog want?”

“He’s old-fashioned. He wanted to present himself to the Prince.” He chuckled.

“What’s a Prince?”

“A vampire who is in charge of the city. He keeps all the vampires in line. It’s a Camarilla term.”

“But you are the Prince, by your definition.”

Antony smiled. “As usual, my dear, you are brilliant.” He got up from the light blue couch and stretched. “Prince of Providence. I’ll need to get some Primogen and a court and all the trappings.” He laughed. “Imagine that.”

“And he’s Gangrel. He’s not part of the Camarilla.”

“He may be older than when the Gangrel left.” Antony tapped his chin. “Ragest. I wonder what brings him to Providence?”

“Maybe he is on his way to Boston.”

“He’ll be disappointed when he gets there. If there’s no Camarilla here, there aren’t any there, either. Let’s see if he’ll be a good dog and stay in South Providence.” He motioned to the man at the podium, who stepped outside to gather the two guards.

“Have you fed, my dear?”

“Yes, Uncle.”

“Good. Tomorrow, we entertain guests.”

She actually clapped her hands in glee. “Family?”

“From New York. Your cousins.”

“Oh, good. I can take them…somewhere in this city.”

“No, we’ll be staying here.”

She pouted. Antony reached out and caressed her chin. “Oh, my dear, it’ll be a Wednesday night, and COVID is still rampaging. Very few people are out again.”

“I want to see people again.”

“I’m sure people will come out soon. I have to speak with the new governor to have him lift the mandates. I’m surprised that many of the restaurants here are still in business.”

Three vampires and two ghouls stood around, waiting for Antony to finish conversing with the girl they called “The Princess.” Something had changed when she was Embraced. She was more stupid than usual.

“Frank,” he turned to face the man with the Uzi. “If you would take my niece here home, I have a few other things to take care of this night.”

“Yes, Master,” said the man. He put a hand out to take Ashleigh’s elbow.

“What’s going on? Why can’t I stay?”

“I am just finalizing some things for the visitors tomorrow. Gathering enough vessels, making sure their rooms are to their satisfaction.”

Another pout, and this time, Antony wanted to slap it off her face. He immediately scowled. “Go.”

“Yes, Uncle.” She could tell he was angry at her insolence. She bowed her head and let Frank take her elbow to guide her out the back door to the waiting Lincoln.

Antony passed his hand through his hair. He went to the bar and picked up the phone, dialing quickly. “Gary. Wake the fuck up.”

A sleepy voice came on the other end of the line. “Mornin’, Boss.”

“Meet me at home. We need to go over the books before the Family shows up tomorrow.”

He heard rustling. “Two in the fucking morning.”

“You have fifteen minutes.” He hung up. “Lock up, boys.” Antony went to the back door. The first black Lincoln had left. “Take me by the mayor’s office,” he ordered his ghoul who held the door open for him. He climbed into the leather back seat of the Cadillac.

His driver silently drove him down from Federal Hill, into downtown. He parked right in front of the city hall. None of the cops would bother any car with the low-numbered plates sitting in front of City Hall.

The building was strangely shaped. A rectangle was its facade, with two flanking wings. A typical 1950’s green roof sat exposed like a man going bald. A flag at the top of the building flittered in the winter breeze. He went up the front stairs, tried the door, and it was locked. He pressed a doorbell button to the side, and was buzzed in.

Sitting at the reception desk was a bored security guard, playing some buzzing game on his phone. Antony walked right past him, up the sweeping marble stairs, taking a left at the top. He took a right into the north wing of the building.

He knocked on a door that had painted on its glass, “Chief of Staff.”

“Please come in, Mr. Giovanni.”

He opened the door, passed through the empty secretary’s area, directly into the office of the chief of staff. The blond haired woman with the wide glasses smiled up at him. “You wanted to see me?”

“Thank you for coming in so early,” he said, unbuttoning the bottom button of his jacket before sitting down.

“Or late. I haven’t slept yet.” She chuckled. “What can I do for you?”

“These mandates,” Giovanni said. “They’re killing us.”

“You do understand that it’s because of CDC guidelines.”

“Yes, but some cities around the country have opened up.” Antony made a motion with his hand, not quite dismissal, but more to have her pay attention. “They wear a mask when they come in, take it off when they eat or drink. We can check their temperatures. We can ask for vaccination papers when they start getting them. Something. Please, for God’s sake.”

She frowned, looked down at her desk. “The only thing I can do is ask. The mayor is a democrat, you understand.”

“And the governor is a republican.”

She looked up at him, a momentary twinkle of fear across her eyes. “You wouldn’t go to him, would you?”

“If this isn’t solved in the next few weeks, I’m going to have to.”

“He just got the job.”

“Gina left for Washington, I know.”

“He said he wasn’t going to make sweeping changes.”

Antony rose, rebuttoned his jacket. “Then do something.” He turned and left the room.

“That was worthless,” he muttered, going down the hallway. He looked at the security guard and thought for a moment to take it out on him. Instead, he went to his car, seeing his very faithful bodyguard at the back door.

“Find me a meal,” he ordered. “Something with class.”

#

It was a long fucking walk, on a cold fucking night. Down the hills, up the hills, over the highway and the river, and finally Ragest made it to the North Burial Ground on North Main Street.

It had expanded since he last saw it. He was easily twisted around, not sure where the grave that he needed to go to was.

Probably in the front, he thought, as he backtracked  toward the street. Actually, he found the older graves in the middle of the cemetery. He found the grave he was looking for, Steven Hopkins.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t developed his Protean enough to meld into the earth, so he pulled on the tombstone. It came up easily, leaving a thin hole in ground, wide enough for him to squeeze himself into. He lowered himself down, his feet kicking to find the stone step below. He pulled together the tombstone and reset it on top, plunging the area into darkness. However, he could see in the dark. He let his foot slip and he sat on the step. He had to slide forward, his chest rubbing against a coffin above him, air below him. His foot caught the second step, and he eased himself beneath the coffin.

To any other man, it would be claustrophobic. But he was used to it by now.

He slid off the second step, dropping about four feet to the third step. Now, he could stand straight, and see the stone stairs leading down. Ragest followed the stairs, and he was met with a steel door.

“Well, this is new,” he said, and knocked. A hollow sound echoed back to him. He tried the handle. It gave him a hard time, but it turned. The door opened on rusty hinges.

The room he entered had not been lived in for a long time. Everything was covered over with dust. Before him, a threadbare couch even in its better days in the ’30’s was against one wall. Pillows, blankets, a rolled up rug against the wall, and a counter completed the room. He knew there were two other rooms leading off from this one, but he didn’t bother looking. This was the main room, empty and dusty.

“Where did you go?” He started searching through the dusty papers on the counter. He found a pamphlet to a ski resort, a hotel in the Florida Keys, assorted vacation spots in Las Vegas from the 1960’s.

Did he really leave for Las Vegas? Or the Catskills?

* * *

1347 words

{{Diff: 3 Str, Dex 8.9.6,10,10,1}} Ragest shrugged his shoulders and gave the kid a good shove into the street, between two parked cars. The kid stumbled, putting one hand out on the trunk of the car to balance himself. He didn’t drop the knife.

“Fuck you, man.” The kid ran at Ragest, who grabbed the knife and twisted the kid’s arm back. The kid’s body didn’t go as far as Ragest twisted, and he heard the snap of bone against bone.

The kid howled, and Ragest kicked him in the stomach, sending him flying into the parked cars, so hard and so fast that his head broke the back window, causing the alarm to go off.

Ragest walked back up Atwells Avenue, away from the screaming kid and the blaring alarm, as if he had nothing to do with either.

He found his way back to the restaurant, but no guards stood at the front. In fact, most of the places were darkened and closed. One place had a digital clock he could see the time: 3 a.m. Ragest headed back to Terry’s safe house.

Chapter Two

 

Ragest still looked like a bum and smelled like a dog. There was nothing he could do about the latter, as it was part of his Gangrel heritage. He stopped in front of the Blue Grotto restaurant, where the two thin-bloods stood at the door.

“I have an appointment,” Ragest said.

“Yeah. I heard you do.” The thin-blood who had given him the Dog moniker, stepped away from the door. Ragest pushed the darkly-tinted glass door open, stepping into a warmer building than it was outside.

A big bull of a man stopped him. “Hold up.” He held a metal-detector wand up. “Turn around.”

Ragest turned slowly as the man passed the wand over him. The metal detector caught the rivets on his jeans, so the bull had to lift up his coat to make sure that was all that set off the alarm. “Clean,” said the bull.

Another man beckoned, and Ragest followed him past the bar, into the rear of the restaurant. No one else was in the place.

At a circular blue couch casually sat a vampire, his black hair slicked back and wearing sunglasses inside. Two other men, one holding an Uzi, flanked the couch.

The vampire pulled his glasses down to look directly at Ragest. “A Kindred,” he said. “Haven’t seen one of you in a while. Camarilla?”

Ragest wished that Terry had paid attention to the politics, so he’d know what he was getting into. Ragest took the chair across from the vampire and sat down. “Yes. Before the clan left.”

“Old indeed.”

“Only in years.”

The vampire waved a hand, and a slinky woman came out from the rear bar. “Please. Take some refreshment.”

“Thanks,” Ragest said, and the woman settled herself on his lap. He didn’t drink much, not knowing if it was poisoned or tainted. He licked the wound closed as the woman sensually rose from his lap, her hand trailing across his chest as she moved.

“My best vintage,” Antony said with a smile. The girl sauntered away with a playful glance over her shoulder, back to the rear bar.

“Mmhmm. So you’re Prince?”

He laughed. “Nice of you to think so. Who told you that?”

“Rumor at the university.”

“There aren’t many Camarilla left in the city. The Sabbat is all over the place, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“I only got here last night.”

“You’re lucky they didn’t hunt you out.” He stretched out his legs under the table. “Yes, they’re everywhere.”

“You’re doing nothing to stop them?”

“Why should I? They’re doing nothing to me or my family. If they hunt out the Camarilla, all the better for me. Less trash I have to deal with.”

If there was one thing Ragest hated, it was someone who didn’t follow the Traditions, at peril to everyone’s unlife. He knew in Atlanta that the politics there got so down and dirty, the Lasombra took over and the city degenerated into chaos. Humans rose up to “combat crime” while the vampires were weak. Ragest heard the stories, and that was enough to make him wary of gangs of humans.

“How long have you been here?”

“About fifty years.”

“Do you know what happened to the lick before you?”

Antony shrugged. “No idea.”

“So you just waltzed in here?”

“Had to take out the Cammies.” He leaned forward. “You still a Cammie?”

“As needed. You going to take me out?” Ragest looked at the man with the Uzi, who moved his finger to the trigger.

“Where you gonna hang out, and how long you here for?”

“By the university.”

{{Ragest: Man, Chr: 4,6,10,3,6,8 (37)  Antony: Man, Chr, Dom: 4,5,8,10,7,7,7,1 (49)}}

Antony frowned. “Not there.”

“Where do you suggest?”

“South Providence. Plenty of people there late at night. The McDonald’s is open 24 hours. Lots of people disappear from there. Shootings, stabbings, drugs, prostitutes.”

“Sounds like fun. Why isn’t anyone else there?”

“Why go there when you can stay here and get what you want?” Antony leaned back. “You interested in joining the Family?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“What do I have to do?”

“We can find something for a Kindred of your talents, I’m sure.” Again, a grin. Ragest didn’t like this vampire. He was too proud, too haughty, too fancy. Most of the Giovanni were similar, but not as bad as this. Someone needed to take this one down a few pegs.

However, Ragest knew he couldn’t do it here, in the lick’s haven, or by himself. He wondered if his old Primogen were still around. Terry couldn’t be the only Camarilla vampire in town.

Ragest looked at Antony’s manicured hands, gold cufflinks, crisp white shirt sleeves out of a thin wool suit jacket. Ragest heard a door open, and both of them looked to their left.

A woman, in a shining pink dress and white high heels, long black locks of hair cascading down her chest, barely covering the lace that stretched across her bosom. It was a spring dress.

She wrinkled her pert little nose. Ragest watched as the smile on her face disappeared when she smelled him. Her eyes passed over him, dismissing him, and the smile returned when she focused on Antony. “Are you busy, Uncle?”

“Never for you, my dear. Oh, this is one of the Camilla Kindred. Can you tell?”

“He—is he the—excuse me.” She put her hand over her nose, inhaling perfume that must have been on her wrist.

“Yes,” Antony said. “He is Gangrel. It’s not unusual for them to have some, er, animalistic features.” He grinned again. “Be patient, Ashleigh.” Antony tilted his head. “I didn’t get your name.”

“Ragest.”

“Perfect for a Gangrel. Is that your first or last name?”

“That’s my name.”

Ashleigh tittered, her hand down from her face now. Ragest gave her a sharp look, something that would normally stop a human in their tracks and apologize {{Ragest: Char, Man: 5,4,2,8,7,4. Ashleigh Char, Man, Dom: 10,10,7,9,1,7,8}}, but it didn’t do anything to Ashleigh. In fact, the gave him the glare right back {{Ashleigh Char, Man, Dom: 1,10,3,8,7,1,6. Ragest Char Man 9,9,10,6,8,9}}. He didn’t move, sit back, or give her any reaction whatsoever, as the glare just merely washed over him. Antony chuckled.

Ragest felt his namesake, his rage, the Beast, just below his throat, in the depths of his chest. He got up before he said or did anything that he would regret. He glanced at the Uzi. Though it would pepper him with holes, it wouldn’t kill him.

“South Providence,” Antony reminded him. He waved a hand. “Take what you want.”

“I’m not antitribu,” Ragest said, almost snarling.

Antony tilted his head, and again lowered the sunglasses. He looked up at Ragest over the glasses. “Of course not. Ex-Camarilla.”

Another giggle from Ashleigh followed Ragest as he went to the door.

“Oh, and make sure you move on soon,” Antony called. “I can’t protect you from the police.”

“Yeah,” Ragest said, and threw open the door, loudly tinkling the bells above it.

It was still an early night,

* * *

The place was empty, except for people who looked like waiters and waitresses gathered near a podium at the front door. He paused at some stores, a jewelry store, a pawn shop, Venda Ravioli, a couple of convenience stores containing dusty cans with white labels facing out of the windows. A bridal store, a laundromat, another restaurant.

This one, however, was lit up. Two men stood guard outside.

No, correction: two thin-bloods.

Ragest turned slowly to face them. One tucked his hand in his coat pocket. Ragest looked to try and see if there was an outline of a gun or something else.

“Can I help you?” The second vampire made a pushing motion with his hand to the first one. He took his hand out of his jacket pocket.

“Antony Giovanni.”

“Got an appointment?”

“How do I make one?”

The two of them looked at each other. It reminded Ragest of a bad comedy movie, where the gangsters didn’t know what was going on and would stare at each other, hoping one of them knew. Neither did, and the second vampire looked back at Ragest. “You gotta have an appointment.”

“I understood that,” Ragest said disgustedly. “Why don’t you check and see if he’s busy?”

{{Difficulty 6. Manipulation: 5, 5, 5, 6}} “He’s busy.”

“Then I’ll make an appointment for tomorrow night.”

The first thin-blood gave him an up-nod. “What’s your name?”

“Ragest.”

No recognition. This might be good. “You a dog? Cuz you sure as fuck smell like one.”

“Yes,” he said, drawing out the word as a sigh. He only hoped he wouldn’t get this attitude from Giovanni. If he would, he’d have to show him his place.

“Ragest the Dog.” The thin-blood laughed. Ragest only gave him a hooded look, and the baby vampire let his laugh trail off.

“Come back tomorrow,” said the other thin-blood.

Ragest continued down Atwells Avenue, toward a church. The road curved sharply to the right, so he followed that to a well-lit area.

This, he realized, was the real red-light district. He smelled pot, blood, and sex on the wind. To his left was an open bar, still thrumming even though it was only an hour until closing time. Past that were two store-front churches, one in Spanish, one in English.  Beyond that was a bustling take-out joint. A couple of girls tried to get his eye, but he hunched in his shoulders to cocoon himself from them. Maybe another night he would try their tainted blood, but not today.

A boy, about seventeen and too lightly dressed for the weather, approached him. Ragest saw him flick his hand.

“Yo. Gimme you shit.” He let the blade from the knife catch the light.

{{Diff: 3 Str, Dex 8.9.6,10,10,1}} Ragest shrugged his shoulders and gave the kid a good shove into the street, between two parked cars.

The building looked familiar, at least. The First Congregational Church was located at the base of Williams’ Hill. When he left, it was still new. Now he could see the banner above its doors, “Providence 3^rd District Courthouse.” The building looked like an old maiden in the middle of a modern group of buildings, gathering her shawl against the cold, wet winter.

He approached the building. He had to present himself to the Prince in the building, to make sure he wasn’t going to be in anyone’s feeding grounds, and also to make sure that no one would go after him. Not that he had a bounty on his head, but you never knew what people thought of you after you left a city.

He noticed the cameras above him. His Obfuscate powers didn’t really extend to technology. He’d have to see Feathershin to see if he could teach him that ability, now that he needed it. These cameras could see him in the dark as a moving black dot. He went around the back of the building and looked for the stone that would open to Maria’s haven.

A stone with a barely-etched, well-worn ankh symbol that could not be noticed by human eyes, was still in the back wall of building. He pressed hard, much harder than a human could, and he heard the rumble of moving stones. A hole should have opened up in front of him with stairs leading down below the hill.

Unfortunately, the cobblestones in the rear were covered by a layer of concrete. He was confused. Who would cover the Prince’s lair? Unless she had moved havens, and was located somewhere else.

He walked over to the spot where the hole was, and stomped his foot. There was a hollow sound from beneath him. He could force his way through, but it would cause a ruckus and make some security guard come see what was happening. He didn’t need that.

The clock at the top of the building said a little after midnight, still early in Kindred time. He would have to search to find some Kindred in the area, to find Maria. Maria’s typical haven was libraries. Other than the restaurants and bars that he had passed, he didn’t even know what was beyond. He doubled back, went back to the first building he noted was the modern library.

Cameras, dammit, he muttered to himself as he walked around the building. There had to be an entrance here somewhere. He looked for the same markings along the walls, the ankh etched in concrete. Nothing was there. He heard someone coming up behind him. He smelled the death on him.

“Hey, buddy, what brings you around here?”

He turned. The young man was of such thin blood that he barely smelled like a vampire. Thirteenth generation? At the very least. He looked like a typical Brujah, leather jacket, mohawk haircut, leather pants and steel-toed boots. In the cold, he didn’t even bother wearing a shirt, so would be noticeable to humans. Was he Sabbat?

Ragest looked around, his nose trying to sniff out others of the pack. No, he wasn’t Sabbat.

The vampire smiled. “You’re new in town, huh?”

“You could say that.”

The vampire nodded.

“This your hunting grounds?”

The Kindred shook his head. “Let’s get out of the sunlight, huh?” He pointed above his head, to the camera pointing at the back door. They stood outside of the frame, but if the camera moved, it would catch them. Ragest followed him as he went around to the front of the building, walking a little ways down Empire Street. He pushed open a door to a store that had floor to ceiling white curtains in the window.

Ragest paused at the door.

The young vampire said, “C’mon man. I’m not going to eat you.”

“What’s to say I won’t eat you?”

“Then that’s the chance we have to take, huh?”

Ragest entered the store, leaving the door open. The young man nodded. “Overcautious. You’re older than me.”

“Who are you?”

“Name’s Terry. You?”

“Ragest.”

Ragest waited to see if the name brought any recognition. It didn’t, at least immediately.

“Brujah?”

“Through and through. In answer to your question before, my feeding area is a little ways south of here, near PPAC. I run through the queer crowd.” He walked over to a wardrobe. “I hope that doesn’t bother you.”

What was a P-pack? Sabbat? Gay Sabbat?

Ragest tensed when Terry opened the wardrobe. Inside were two naked young boys, probably around twelve or thirteen, hands and feet bound and a leather red ball stuck in their mouths, wrapped around their face by a black leather strap. “Hungry?”

Ragest shook his head. “Had a snack downtown.”

Terry slammed shut the wardrobe. The boys whimpered in their prison. “So what brings you here?”

“Old stomping grounds. Where’s Prince Maria?”

“Who?”

“You don’t know who I’m talking about?”

Terry grinned. “Ain’t no Prince in these parts. But if you feel like groveling to someone, there’s always Antony Giovanni.”

“A Giovanni? In charge here?”

Terry shrugged. “More or less. My sire told me the Cammies are all in hiding.”

“Why? Sabbat?”

He shrugged. “No idea, to tell you the truth. I didn’t ask after that. I was more interested in getting my own shit together than worrying about the politics.” He sat down in a dusty wing-backed chair. “Take a seat.”

Behind him was a puffy chair covered in a dusty sheet. He lowered himself into it, gripping the arms to make sure he didn’t fall into it.

“This your haven?”

“You kidding? Just a safe house with some fine wine in the cabinet.”

“Tell me what’s going on.”

“Whaddaya mean?”

“The Giovanni have the Sabbat under their control—“

“Oh, no, buddy, that’s not how things go around here.” Terry sighed. “Look, I don’t know or care about who runs the place. Just so long as I can get my dinner without worrying about whether some Sabbat or Cammie will stab me in the back while I’m eating in the alleyway behind the men’s spa. You dig?”

“Then who do I—“

“Nobody. Giovanni. Who the fuck knows? The Traditions don’t matter here.”

Ragest rubbed the stubble on his jaw. “So you don’t know Maria?”

“Nope. Who was she?”

“She was the Prince when I left. It’s only been about four hundred years,”

Terry’s eyes widened. “Whoa, man, really? And I thought I was old! When were you here, in the 1800’s?”

“I left in 1802. More than half these buildings didn’t exist.”

“Man, you’re out of step.”

“Can you bring me to the Giovanni?”

“Nope. I don’t go up to the Hill unless someone’s starting shit in my spa.”

“The Hill?”

“Federal Hill. Look, I’ll take you to the beginning of the place, but you’ll have to find Antony on your own.”

Ragest rose, a predator ready for a fight. “Take me there.”

#

Terry patted Ragest comradely on the back as they stood under a pineapple-decorated archway.

“You can sleep in the spa today if you need it,” Terry said. “I’ll tell Malcolm to give you the last coffin on the left.”

“Appreciate it. Where’s your spa?”

“Across from The Dark Lady, right next to the garage. Third floor. Tell Malcolm I sent you.”

Ragest nodded once. “Thanks.”

“No problem, buddy. And good luck.”

Ragest watched as Terry sped down Atwells Avenue, heading back toward downtown. Ragest turned back to the hill.

He would have sighed, had he the breath to do so. More restaurants and bars, but this was all Italian-named stores and food places. Expensive and new cars were parked on both sides of the street. He didn’t know where to start.

Ragest walked slowly, making sure he was noticed. He looked and smelled like a bum that didn’t belong in the fancy section of town here. He stopped to look in one of the windows of a restaurant. The place was empty.

1788 words

This time, Ragest wanted to be sure to make it to Providence. He used to know how to get there, especially through the woods and using what would now be considered “back roads”. Most of those back roads constantly intersected with the three and four lane roads in Warwick. He knew the names of the roads, but the names had changed in the last four hundred years.

He followed Route 2 north, avoiding the highway and keeping to the side of the road. It was still early, and he found his way to a Burger King. A few people sat in the parking lot, checking their phones. He had his choice of meal.

He tried the door of an SUV, and it opened because it was unlocked. {{str 8, 7, 9, 8}} The woman in the driver’s seat stared open-mouthed at him. He closed the door with his right hand and took her right hand with his left.

Ragest turned on whatever charm he could, which wasn’t as much as say, a Ventrue, but it was enough to at least put her at ease by the time the over head light faded. {{Manipulation 9, 6}} Gently, like a lover, he caressed the left side of her face with his free hand, and leaned in.

She surprised herself, surrendering to this man who had just jumped into her car. She tilted her head, exposing the artery. When he Kissed her, she let out a sigh of pure pleasure and ecstasy. In all his years, it was a common sound coming from a woman, something that he half-expected every time he did this.

He drank his fill, leaving her woozy and dizzy. She dropped her phone on the floor as he released her. She closed her eyes, cottony sleep coming down on her.

He locked the door behind him.

 

#

Filled with borrowed blood, he continued north, avoiding the lights and surveillance cameras as he ran in the darkness. When he crossed the line from Cranston into South Providence, he knew he had come upon the rougher section of town.

Everything was dirty, even the snow. Yellow or black or gray slush crunched under his feet. The gray covering the buildings was supposed to be snow, but looked like cotton out of the fields. Not quiet white, but closer to being gray.

For a moment, he was cast back to the first time he went to Virginia, to see the slaves at work in the cotton fields, picking the puffy white flowers, trying to avoid the brown branches in them. How the fruit of their labor would be taken from dirty fields to the gin, loaded in, separated and washed and rinsed, ready to be thinned out and spun for thread. Those were the days, when everyone knew their place.

Now, he focused on the well-lit McDonald’s in front of him, full of cars in the parking lot with their competing bass and rap. He remembered South Providence as being where the richer section of town was, and now…the houses that were considered mansions were long gone, replaced with tenement apartments, vacant lots, and abandoned houses.

Ragest continued north, out of the neighborhood. The Travellers’ Hostel was at the farthest north of South Providence, overlooking the expressway. He crossed the bridge over the still-busy highway, and found himself on what he thought was familiar ground.

But it wasn’t.

Before him was a large auditorium that looked like it had been built in the 1960’s, at the height of Andrew Lloyd-Webber. Oval shaped, it had frosted glass windows along the top of a silver metal sheet that jutted out like an awning above the sidewalk. The six doors looked like simple beige plywood with silver encasing them. The building was dark.

He walked past the building to the base of a tall building right after it. A blue shield with a caedecus logo hung on a billboard about sixty feet in the air, back lit with “Blue Cross Blue Shield of Rhode Island” in black letters to the right of the blue shield. It could be seen easily from the highway.

Ragest walked around the base of the building, next coming upon mills that he was familiar with. However, there were no factories spitting out coal smoke, and no children running through the archways and the cobblestoned streets. No teenagers hawking their father’s, grandfathers’, or uncles’ wares outside of the factory as they waited for workers to come out, their money in hand.

Instead of the factories, they were nightclubs. Most were closed—he didn’t know if they were permanently shuttered, or if it was just the wrong night to have a club open. Regardless, he approached the area cautiously.

Ladies of the night hung around outside the clubs. Most looked well-used, and would probably be acceptable to a man coming out after drinking about six hours. That, he calculated, meant the poor slob of a man would have started drinking since four in the afternoon.

It was early, merely 11:30 according to the digital red clock he saw through the window of one of the bars. He could grab a snack here.

Ragest opened the door to the bar—and it was merely a bar, not even a nightclub. A very long bar stretched along the inside wall, and three bartenders of both sexes stood around, bored. It wasn’t very busy, so he couldn’t really dip in, suck blood, and leave. {{Chr, Appearance 10,2.9,2,1,8,6}}

The female bartender stood up straight, dropping her phone in her apron. “What can I get you?”

“What are people drinking these days?”

“A guy like you?” She assessed him, and her nose wrinkled. “Maybe a rum and coke to keep things safe.”

“What if I don’t want to be safe?”

She rolled her eyes, as his scent became stronger. Dammit, he whispered to himself.

One of the male bartenders stood up straight too, also pocketing his phone, and his nose wrinkled up in disgust. “Who let the dog in?”

The female looked at Ragest, who did his best to gather up his threadbare coat to make himself look like he was freezing. That just wafted the scent around.

“Dude, how many dogs you got?” The other male bartender looked directly at Ragest. When he did, Ragest caught his eye. {{Chr, Manipulation: 5, 1, 5, 8, 5, 6}} The guy stood up straight. Ragest tilted his head. He wasn’t falling for his charms? What the hell?

“You gonna drink something or what, dude?” Even if he smelled bad, he knew he would be served if he had the money.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have the money. He could be considered a bum, just getting in out of the cold. There were ten people, total, in this bar. He could take them all if he had to. But he wasn’t going get chased out of here just yet.

He turned to the woman. {{Chr Manipulation: 9, 6, 5, 3, 6, 6}} She gave him a smirk in reply.  “This guy’s a bum. He ain’t got shit.”

The first male bartender waved a hand toward the door. “Don’t need your kind in here. This is a respectable establishment.”

{{Spend Blood Pool point}} Ragest stood up straight, widening his eyes, and this time glaring at the second male bartender again. He staggered back as if punched, a wave of pure, what, power? Command?

“Come with me,” Ragest said, walking out the door. The bartender followed, as if on a chain. Ragest could hear the other two bartenders telling him no, and him turning around to say, “I’m taking a break.”

Using the Power of the Blood like that, many higher generation vampires would be wasted and would therefore drain this poor young man. He had relied on his own abilities, but, as pointed out earlier, he was no Ventrue.

After feeding from the young man, he left him among the detritus of the alleyway. No one had bothered him.

Now, he just needed to take a visit to the library.

#

Ragest passed the restaurants and the bars, taking a left onto Empire Street. He passed so many restaurants and bars, that he didn’t know if the library was still down the street. After he passed yet another restaurant, he saw the right edge of the Providence library building.

He picked up the pace, jogging by the tiny mall and bar, and stood on the corner of Washington and Empire Streets, looking up at the old library.

But this wasn’t the library he was looking for. He walked down Washington, crossing to Fountain, and he came upon a bus terminal. Everything was closed; only a few late-night busses ran, going to Rhode Island Hospital and an express to Woonsocket. He walked through the well-lit area, passing by the parked busses and the bus drivers as they smoked or drank coffee. After crossing through that, he came upon a fancy hotel, which overlooked a three lane street.

It was late, so there weren’t that many cars on the street. He easily crossed the three lanes, to a bridge that overlooked a river. He knew this as Providence River, but it was an Indian name that escaped him for the moment {{Moshassuck River}}. After all, he left at 1802, so it was more than four hundred years since he’d been here.

“Hey, bro, got a light?”

Ragest turned to see another bum coming up behind him. The man held out the well-ended butt of a cigarette that he probably picked up off the ground at the bus station. Ragest looked at the dark-skinned man, remembering for a moment the Providence of the 1800’s, when free blacks often approached whites for things. Once he went South, though, things had changed. A lot. He easily fell into the master/servant role; after all, he knew what a ghoul was, and he made them as he needed them. Like Ceci.

“Don’t got no matches,” Ragest said.

The man raised an eyebrow. “Matches? Man, I don’t think they got matches or matchbooks anymore!”

“Well, I ain’t got one.” Ragest looked out at the river, flowing quietly beneath the bridge.

“You new here?”:

“Not really. It’s been a long time. Where’s the College Library now?”

“Fuckin’ Brown, Rizzdee, or URI?”

“Which is older?”

“Brown, I guess. Ivy League school an’ all. Fuckin’ snobby rich kids.”

“Yes. Where is the Brown Library?”

The man noticed that Ragest didn’t clip his words, that his accent was clearer. “Um…Up there. Behind the courthouse.”

Ragest nodded, and looked in the direction the man pointed. Across from the bridge was a large statue, and beyond that, a small courthouse. Ragest gave the man the barest of nods in thanks.