Revelations: Blood in the Night
Posted: 2006-09-19 12:38am
((This is a One-Off, based on an RP that I did with Jasmina. It happens roughly twenty years before the timeline in Cycles End.
Names are used jokingly, because I'm mean like that.))
Jasmina tucked Leena into bed, kissing the child gently as she tucked the light blanket around her, and smiling softly as her daughter snuggled the doll Uncle Lorenz had given her over the weekend. Jasmina rose, walking to the door and half-closing it, leaving a light on in the hallway, faint to human eyes, but bright to hers, just enough to scare away monsters in the darknesses should Leena need to rise.
Leaving her daughter to the nanny Sarah's care, Jasmina went out onto the deck, into the still-sultry September night, looking up only to see the clouds obscuring the night sky. Soon, the changing moon will signal the start of Ramadan, the Holy Month. Before then, Jasmina needed to hunt, to get out, before the time of fasting began. She needed to feed deeply before the fast, or she would be forced to break it. While not the best of Allah's Faithful, she did try to keep the Pillars as best she could.
Another glance was given to the overcast skies, and then she turned for the gangplank, walking away from the safety of the houseboat, far bigger than needed in these muddy bayou channels, but able to sail ocean and river equally well. Clad in greytones, she walked the road towards Voletta Proper, nearly invisible along the side of the road, but not expecting many to be driving tonight. Too hot, too muggy tonight, even with summer fading into autumn.
A thought struck her. A cloudy night often drew fishermen to the beach, or various hunters into the Bayou. Cloudy nights were good for poaching gators, or gigging frogs. Hunters were often far from roads, from aid. Silently, she left the road, following what only a true Bayouman might generously call a pathway deeper into the Bayou. As she walked, she drew the shadows around her, melting into them, reforming, taking on the shape of a slim elegant wolf. Unlike many of her kind, she did not become a solid black frightening presence; she was a pale grey, nearly a ghost grey shadow moving thru the darkness, with bloodred eyes the only telling feature to show she was not a natural creature.
Unlike a true wolf (or were) she could not hunt by scent. Thus the slim, elegant grey wolf used her enhanced sight to search for the tell-tale flashes of light that would show her where her prey would be, hunting the hunters, a game she had not played in far too long. Perhaps Lorenz and Keller were right, she needed to return to Voletta. Far too many families in the cities had safe houses where foolish mortals with a death wish would pay to get in and have their blood drank by 'vampires'. That some of them might be real never crossed the mortals little minds ... and some families made sure of that with judicious memory tampering. But not here. Not Now. This was the thrill, searching the night for the evening's repast. It was how she had learned to live, nearly a century past, before the grandparents of today's goth were born.
Goth. Hmph. Children paying homage to writers a century dead. Poe was talented, yes ... but a drunkard and a penniless fool. Part of the romance, perhaps. Lovecraft was a hack, writing penny dreadfuls that came back years later as horror masterpieces. And yet ... both authors seemed to know there was darkness out in the world. Had they seen it? Had they known ...
Light in the darkness, and Jasmina's thoughts were interrupted. She paused, her glowing red eyes focusing on that section of the Bayou. There, again. A flashlight in the darkness. Her rambling thoughts were left for another time. Her prey was located, now, it was merely a matter of bringing it to bay.
Silently, the ghostly wolf stalked the light, her eyes piercing the darkness with ease. As she got closer, she heard two voices talking low, and the sound of water slapping against a boat hull. Her red eyes narrowed, and she approached the site cautiously. A channel of clear water ran thru the bayou here and two men carefully balanced in a pirogue as they gigged for frogs, shining their flashlights to catch as many of the late-season catch as they could.
This would be much harder than she'd anticipated. Two of them was expected. No one hunted alone in the Bayou, not near Voletta. If they were wise they had weapons close to hand, as well. There were odder things than gators that haunted the Bayou Sauvage that surrounded Voletta. The difficult part would be getting to the pirogue without them seeing her first. Her glowing red eyes gleamed in the night as she slulked closer, her ghost-grey body fading into the nightmists that cloaked the vegetation on the shore.
Her prey stabbed the murky water for frogs, unaware of her presence as she judged the distance. Barely five feet from her was the prow of the pirogue, the channel itself just was ten full feet wide. The leap to the boat would be easy, she might even be able to knock it over and the men into the water. That was the only unknown. The depth of the channel. Some, like where the SteamBoat Willie was docked were a full mark twain, to use the old paddleboat term. Others were not even deep enough to cover a gator, another problem in these waters.
She decided the water here was probably about ten feet. Not dangerous, but it would be a factor. Pirogues tip so very easily. To make sure, she should take one of them in the water with her ... and hope for no gators. Or at least, no gators until she needed the body, or bodies, to vanish ....
Her back legs gathered under her, her undead muscles tensing under the wolf's skin. One man looked up, just spotting the glow of the two red eyes in the shoremists as she leapt the short distance. He had no time to cry a warning before she hit him, overbalancing the pirogue as her leap carried them overboard, her fangs already sinking into his throat as they hit the murky channel water and sank underneath.
Blood. Hot and salty and thick as it poured into her wolfen snout. She swallowed it rapidly, not wanting to lose any of it to the muddy, murky water surrounding them, preventing the man from truly putting up a fight as her weight and his sank them to the bottom of the channel. Absently, she realized her guess was around the right depth. Above, the other gigger was frantically splashing, trying to right the pirogue, to find the light so he could dive to help his buddy.
But it was too late. Jasmina, with precise skill that was half medical knowledge, half decades of hunting the night, had taken him by the carotid and the jugular, her wolven snout easily piercing both to drain him all the faster. Gulping quickly, she swallowed mouthful after mouthful, his futile attempts to free himself weakening and then stopping. Only then did she let go, and push away from the corpse.
Slowly she made her way to the bank, keeping low in the water like a gator. In this, her undead state aided her, for she did not need to breathe. The other had gone to land, trying to pull the pirogue onto land. She kept her ears flat to her skull as she rose in the dark water, her fur matted to her sides yet still lighter than the water around it, her sanguine eyes burning all the brighter after such a deep feeding. The man was calling for his buddy. Scottie, hmm? A pity Scottie will never answer him ever again....
The undead wolf pulled herself out of the swamp, water rolling off the ghostly fur, her eyes shining like fire in the overcast darkness. She stepped onto the bank as the man frantically backed away from the shore, eyes wide with fright. He named her: LupeGarou. SwampDevil. Prayers to Saints, to Christ, to God himself rolled off his tongue as he crossed himself and wishing for a weapon. Such terror, such rich anticipation... she lunged, pulling up short, just to heighten his fear. Even without a wolf or were's keener senses, she could smell the terror, and it thrilled her. His blood would be full of it....
Now she leapt for real, her fangs going for his throat, doding the arms he tried to throw up to protect himself. Her weight took him to the ground, and she struck deeply. Soon, the sound of his legs frantically beating the ground ceased, and the normal noises of the bayou returned, nightbirds and the last quiet frogs croaking requiems for the dead. Jasmina released his throat, almost gorged on the blood she'd taken tonight. It was heady, rich ... so different from the meager sips at goth clubs, or the full glasses of animal drainings she usually subsided upon. This was how it used to be, decades ago, when she was a new vampire. This was the intoxication, the thrill, the high that so few of her kind could risk reveling and rejoicing in these days.
Yet, she must keep her head. Cover her tracks. Protect herself and her family.
Vampiric strength, aided by her first full feeding in many months, easily dumped the second body, named Allen according to his shirt, into the bayou channel to join his buddy Scottie. Another time she would have riffled his wallet ... but she was long past that need. Next, the pirogue. Carefully, she checked it over, seeking a weaker spot, before stomping repeatedly with her front paws, coming down with her full strength to break a good-sized hole. The pirogue damaged, she shoved it back into the swamp. Nothing unusual. A gator can ram a pirogue, knock men overboard. What little blood was left, and the scent of dead meat would draw whatever gator called this channel home, further adding to the story of a night's giggin' gone wrong.
It was not that uncommon in the Bayou. Generations of Cajun men had gone out in the night, and never returned, lost to gators, to snakes, to the perils of the Bayou Sauvage. What was two more lives? Wet and bloated, Jasmina turned back towards Voletta. Briefly she considered taking wing, to shorten the time and distance, and yet this bloated she would be a poor flier indeed.
No... she trotted back under the muggy overcast sky, her bright scarlet eyes lighting the night around her as her damp grey fur blended into the night mists. The hunt was over. Time to simply enjoy the feeling of running the night, of being full fed, of Being. Later, after a bath to remove the remains of the murky swamp water from her body, she would look in upon her Leena. She was growing so quickly. All too soon these innocent days would be gone forever.
But for now, there was the Blood and the Night.
Names are used jokingly, because I'm mean like that.))
Jasmina tucked Leena into bed, kissing the child gently as she tucked the light blanket around her, and smiling softly as her daughter snuggled the doll Uncle Lorenz had given her over the weekend. Jasmina rose, walking to the door and half-closing it, leaving a light on in the hallway, faint to human eyes, but bright to hers, just enough to scare away monsters in the darknesses should Leena need to rise.
Leaving her daughter to the nanny Sarah's care, Jasmina went out onto the deck, into the still-sultry September night, looking up only to see the clouds obscuring the night sky. Soon, the changing moon will signal the start of Ramadan, the Holy Month. Before then, Jasmina needed to hunt, to get out, before the time of fasting began. She needed to feed deeply before the fast, or she would be forced to break it. While not the best of Allah's Faithful, she did try to keep the Pillars as best she could.
Another glance was given to the overcast skies, and then she turned for the gangplank, walking away from the safety of the houseboat, far bigger than needed in these muddy bayou channels, but able to sail ocean and river equally well. Clad in greytones, she walked the road towards Voletta Proper, nearly invisible along the side of the road, but not expecting many to be driving tonight. Too hot, too muggy tonight, even with summer fading into autumn.
A thought struck her. A cloudy night often drew fishermen to the beach, or various hunters into the Bayou. Cloudy nights were good for poaching gators, or gigging frogs. Hunters were often far from roads, from aid. Silently, she left the road, following what only a true Bayouman might generously call a pathway deeper into the Bayou. As she walked, she drew the shadows around her, melting into them, reforming, taking on the shape of a slim elegant wolf. Unlike many of her kind, she did not become a solid black frightening presence; she was a pale grey, nearly a ghost grey shadow moving thru the darkness, with bloodred eyes the only telling feature to show she was not a natural creature.
Unlike a true wolf (or were) she could not hunt by scent. Thus the slim, elegant grey wolf used her enhanced sight to search for the tell-tale flashes of light that would show her where her prey would be, hunting the hunters, a game she had not played in far too long. Perhaps Lorenz and Keller were right, she needed to return to Voletta. Far too many families in the cities had safe houses where foolish mortals with a death wish would pay to get in and have their blood drank by 'vampires'. That some of them might be real never crossed the mortals little minds ... and some families made sure of that with judicious memory tampering. But not here. Not Now. This was the thrill, searching the night for the evening's repast. It was how she had learned to live, nearly a century past, before the grandparents of today's goth were born.
Goth. Hmph. Children paying homage to writers a century dead. Poe was talented, yes ... but a drunkard and a penniless fool. Part of the romance, perhaps. Lovecraft was a hack, writing penny dreadfuls that came back years later as horror masterpieces. And yet ... both authors seemed to know there was darkness out in the world. Had they seen it? Had they known ...
Light in the darkness, and Jasmina's thoughts were interrupted. She paused, her glowing red eyes focusing on that section of the Bayou. There, again. A flashlight in the darkness. Her rambling thoughts were left for another time. Her prey was located, now, it was merely a matter of bringing it to bay.
Silently, the ghostly wolf stalked the light, her eyes piercing the darkness with ease. As she got closer, she heard two voices talking low, and the sound of water slapping against a boat hull. Her red eyes narrowed, and she approached the site cautiously. A channel of clear water ran thru the bayou here and two men carefully balanced in a pirogue as they gigged for frogs, shining their flashlights to catch as many of the late-season catch as they could.
This would be much harder than she'd anticipated. Two of them was expected. No one hunted alone in the Bayou, not near Voletta. If they were wise they had weapons close to hand, as well. There were odder things than gators that haunted the Bayou Sauvage that surrounded Voletta. The difficult part would be getting to the pirogue without them seeing her first. Her glowing red eyes gleamed in the night as she slulked closer, her ghost-grey body fading into the nightmists that cloaked the vegetation on the shore.
Her prey stabbed the murky water for frogs, unaware of her presence as she judged the distance. Barely five feet from her was the prow of the pirogue, the channel itself just was ten full feet wide. The leap to the boat would be easy, she might even be able to knock it over and the men into the water. That was the only unknown. The depth of the channel. Some, like where the SteamBoat Willie was docked were a full mark twain, to use the old paddleboat term. Others were not even deep enough to cover a gator, another problem in these waters.
She decided the water here was probably about ten feet. Not dangerous, but it would be a factor. Pirogues tip so very easily. To make sure, she should take one of them in the water with her ... and hope for no gators. Or at least, no gators until she needed the body, or bodies, to vanish ....
Her back legs gathered under her, her undead muscles tensing under the wolf's skin. One man looked up, just spotting the glow of the two red eyes in the shoremists as she leapt the short distance. He had no time to cry a warning before she hit him, overbalancing the pirogue as her leap carried them overboard, her fangs already sinking into his throat as they hit the murky channel water and sank underneath.
Blood. Hot and salty and thick as it poured into her wolfen snout. She swallowed it rapidly, not wanting to lose any of it to the muddy, murky water surrounding them, preventing the man from truly putting up a fight as her weight and his sank them to the bottom of the channel. Absently, she realized her guess was around the right depth. Above, the other gigger was frantically splashing, trying to right the pirogue, to find the light so he could dive to help his buddy.
But it was too late. Jasmina, with precise skill that was half medical knowledge, half decades of hunting the night, had taken him by the carotid and the jugular, her wolven snout easily piercing both to drain him all the faster. Gulping quickly, she swallowed mouthful after mouthful, his futile attempts to free himself weakening and then stopping. Only then did she let go, and push away from the corpse.
Slowly she made her way to the bank, keeping low in the water like a gator. In this, her undead state aided her, for she did not need to breathe. The other had gone to land, trying to pull the pirogue onto land. She kept her ears flat to her skull as she rose in the dark water, her fur matted to her sides yet still lighter than the water around it, her sanguine eyes burning all the brighter after such a deep feeding. The man was calling for his buddy. Scottie, hmm? A pity Scottie will never answer him ever again....
The undead wolf pulled herself out of the swamp, water rolling off the ghostly fur, her eyes shining like fire in the overcast darkness. She stepped onto the bank as the man frantically backed away from the shore, eyes wide with fright. He named her: LupeGarou. SwampDevil. Prayers to Saints, to Christ, to God himself rolled off his tongue as he crossed himself and wishing for a weapon. Such terror, such rich anticipation... she lunged, pulling up short, just to heighten his fear. Even without a wolf or were's keener senses, she could smell the terror, and it thrilled her. His blood would be full of it....
Now she leapt for real, her fangs going for his throat, doding the arms he tried to throw up to protect himself. Her weight took him to the ground, and she struck deeply. Soon, the sound of his legs frantically beating the ground ceased, and the normal noises of the bayou returned, nightbirds and the last quiet frogs croaking requiems for the dead. Jasmina released his throat, almost gorged on the blood she'd taken tonight. It was heady, rich ... so different from the meager sips at goth clubs, or the full glasses of animal drainings she usually subsided upon. This was how it used to be, decades ago, when she was a new vampire. This was the intoxication, the thrill, the high that so few of her kind could risk reveling and rejoicing in these days.
Yet, she must keep her head. Cover her tracks. Protect herself and her family.
Vampiric strength, aided by her first full feeding in many months, easily dumped the second body, named Allen according to his shirt, into the bayou channel to join his buddy Scottie. Another time she would have riffled his wallet ... but she was long past that need. Next, the pirogue. Carefully, she checked it over, seeking a weaker spot, before stomping repeatedly with her front paws, coming down with her full strength to break a good-sized hole. The pirogue damaged, she shoved it back into the swamp. Nothing unusual. A gator can ram a pirogue, knock men overboard. What little blood was left, and the scent of dead meat would draw whatever gator called this channel home, further adding to the story of a night's giggin' gone wrong.
It was not that uncommon in the Bayou. Generations of Cajun men had gone out in the night, and never returned, lost to gators, to snakes, to the perils of the Bayou Sauvage. What was two more lives? Wet and bloated, Jasmina turned back towards Voletta. Briefly she considered taking wing, to shorten the time and distance, and yet this bloated she would be a poor flier indeed.
No... she trotted back under the muggy overcast sky, her bright scarlet eyes lighting the night around her as her damp grey fur blended into the night mists. The hunt was over. Time to simply enjoy the feeling of running the night, of being full fed, of Being. Later, after a bath to remove the remains of the murky swamp water from her body, she would look in upon her Leena. She was growing so quickly. All too soon these innocent days would be gone forever.
But for now, there was the Blood and the Night.