Hey guys, thanks for all you answering tthe cast call and all. I've ended up with nigh on thirty lead characters, so lets hope I don't die in the process of writing about everyone.
NC 17+ I think, it;s slightly gothic, it being a thriller and such, it'll probably have sexual references and implied violence and the like.

Here's ther teaser.

Prologue

“You can't love a monster. All the books say so, all the fairy tales, everyone. How could Hitler have a lover? Why does the vampire always get the girl? This is what they tell us, what makes sense, it's the way things are. You can't love someone who cannot love.
“This is what they say.
“Secretly, we all know better. Secretly, we understand the girls with bruises up their arms who still have dinner ready by six, the genocidal extremist's wife, the junkies to the love and hate that kills them. IN a book somewhere it says that, about some boy, 'Poor thing, trailing after the girls like puppy dogs, doesn't he know women want monsters?'
“And men want porcelain dolls to be pretty and fragile, for them to break, and then they hunger for an equal, someone just as monstrous as them. But when they find them, they fear them, or try to change them into dolls.
“People like the divide of good and evil. It's clean, it's simple. You can love a monster or a victim or a hero. You can't love a screw up. You can't love the average so and so who works hard, gets money, gets a bigger TV. There's more romance in evil.” His mind wandered off. Frank Catkin had given this speech so many times, he was faking it. The words meant about as much to him as Latin Mass. Never the less the young, nubile protégées are attentive, inspired, infatuated.
“People make monsters of themselves so they can learn to love themselves. So they can be their own prodigal son, or rebellious heartthrob who doesn't care what anybody thinks. It's romantic, it has poetry. And the casualties, the injuries, they're nothing compared to a life of sense, of belonging, of a love that seems so real because the hate does, because the cajoling and lies are heightened in an abusive relationship. Because it seems more real, in a Hollywood kind of way. Thanks, girls, you've all be great, I'll see you bright and early tomorrow.” He exits with some dramatic flair, speeding up outside as he crosses the labyrinth dystopia of the black, rotting alleyways, the cold biting at his breath. The stone seems to be molten, flowing and seething. He pulls his black tweed trench coat closer about himself. His eyes glitter, as if frozen by this chill, his hair, displaced on account of recent marital infidelity with said protégées.
“Wait... Professor?”
He doesn't turn around, but pauses. It's almost annoying how much they worship him, love him, want him. Almost being the operative word. He didn't choose them for their philosophical abilities, that's for damn sure.
“I was really inspired by your lecture to us about the antagonism within the everyday human psyche just then, it was really, really...” The voice wanders. It's girlish, but indefinite, he can't quite recognise which it is.
“Now is that all you came to talk to me about. My silly old lecture about silly old things that have no relevance to real life at all. Why they'd muddle up your pretty little head, sweetheart, and where would you be without a head?”
The voice laughs. There's a darkness to it, an ironic twist that sends ants up his spine. It's just the alleyways, they do this to you, old man, he thinks to himself.
“Now don't play this peek-a-boo game with me,” he turns, searching her out, grinning in anticipation, “Come out come out where ever you are.”
“How would you know it's me?” The coy giggle draws him closer.
“I'd know you anywhere.” He growls, on her scent.
“Oh really? What's my name?”
“Aphrodite, the goddess of love.”
“No being silly tell me my name.”
He sighs, humouring her with the guess, “Laura?”
“Wrong.” Purrs the voice.
There is no thud as the pedagogue's carcass eventually falls to the mossy cobblestones, more a wet sloosh, as it slides apart.
There is no need to clear the remains. The alleyway sludge is toxic waste's gift to mobsters.
“It's Mathias.” says Mathias, licking the remains from his lips, a still hungry cat, or big cat, as he disappears into the caterwauling shadows, the new black tweed trench coat licking the ground behind him.

:eeeek: Oooh, I'm definitely hooked, that was an amazing start! I loved the beginning part:

"You can't love someone who cannot love." That's an awesome line. True, it's always infatuation and not love. We pity the tortured souls, the ones we believe we can fix.

And Mathias pretending to be a girl so he could lure the professor into a false sense of security and then kill him? Yikes, that was something I wasn't expecting :eek: but that's what I love about it, it's not predictable! Your writing is superbly well thought out and eerie in this, it's awesome. I definitely want to know more about this Mathias character and what he is exactly. *waits at the edge of her seat in anticipation*

You really know how to write 'em, Shimmy. :hug:

I loved it...Very mysterious. I have a few idea's already but I'll keep my opinions to myself for now, just to see if you'll prove me wrong :P

I already loved it and now that I've read a prologue i ADORE it!!! I so can't wait for the first chappie, or to see how you deal with the oh so many replies you gotto your cast call. lol. Talk to you soon bella

Chloe xxx

FINALLY posting a reply to this!

I LOVE MATHIAS (and we all know why....*drools* Gerrrrrry) he's psycho, his funny...he wins me lots of money....Maaaathiaaas lol. (random outbreak there)

Yeeeeeeeeeeeeees well my poppet please update more. Less time chatting to me on the phone and more time updating lol.

Can't wait till my party and you sleeping over!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

:heartbeat: Pat

Mathias is a Gerry lookalike? Guh...*faints* :faint:

I like him more already, haha.

*eagerly awaiting the first chapter*

ONE: WOLF


To be without a mask is also to wear one. To say 'I am without pretence' is to know that you are lying to yourself. It is just your costume is your skin. Sometimes I think about telling this to Elizabeth. This is her mask, and she wears it beautifully, and no one would know if they weren't a pretender themselves. That would be me, but I'm not one of the people who tells themselves they don't when they do. Neither is she really. He finds the cracks in her armour, and she's the one who breaks through and makes herself burn. She is fire. Vehement, incinerating, luminous, explosive, self eliminating.

I hope that didn't sound so much like bitching, these thoughts. Thinking to yourself this things, these strong things. It feels like blasphemy. Strength is a blasphemy.

My name is Wolf Wintergarten, I guess you could call me a gypsy. Now that it's winter, it's harder to get to shelter, so I go and stay in the city, where it's too expensive to breath, let alone wander.

Elizabeth is my room mate, though you'd never know it, she's hardly in the house I inhabit. Workaholic. You know the kind. Well you don't, she's not really like anybody, so there's that theory down the toilet. People like to categorise things, I thought it might comfort you to think of her as a category, you know, like oh, yes, she's that, I can tell now that she doesn't eat or sleep, has a caustic temper at times, and falls into obsessive behaviour that may or may not make sense to anyone else. She's that. But she's not. But she does those things. Just so as you know. She works for proverbial peanut shavings playing gigs at The Red Stanza, some bohemian slum that everyone winds up in, no matter their morality or income, and works behind the counter for the remainder or the thirty odd hours she works a day. Even the government says that her boss is pushing mimimum wage, which is saying something. A budgie couldn't live off the minimum wage of six jobs, and all up, that's about how many jobs Lizzy's got. Here's to hoping no one invents a time machine so one day she will be able to hake a break without feeling restless.

She nudges me from the sink, saying with her mouth full of toothpaste goop, “The reflection won't go anywhere, Wolfie.”
I nudge her back, “Least I take some kind of pride in my appearance, Miss Denim-Is-A-Lifestyle-and-Religion. I'll stop looking in the mirror when you start wearing lipstick.”
“Wasn't those Narcissus' last words?”
“If he had been as sexy as me, he would have died happy.” I grin, experimenting with the many different ways of parting hair. “You're going out to work, I suppose.”
“No, actually, I was thinking of pulling a sickie and taking you to a theme park. There's a new one down town, they have the best super-fun-happy slide ever.”
My eyes light up. “Oh really?”
“No, not really. More work.” She sighs lightly.
“Doth mine ears decieve me, or are you in a better mood than your usual all-consuming-rage.”
“Why yes I am, Mr Mopy.”
“And what must I worship for this most seasonal reprieve?”
“There's this guy who keeps coming to hear me sing, I think he might be an agent. You know, Antigone Torres came in the other night, and she ended up talking to him for a couple of hours, but no fooling around, she really respected this guy.”
My eyes widen, “Antigone Torres? Serious? As in the actress? As in the famous, sexy, talented actress, who makes up the majority of my wallpaper and dreams?”
“I didn't need to know that, but yes, the very same. I'm hoping he's delusional like you, and thinks I could go somewhere. David said he was looking for me the other night when I was working at the-” she wanders off, “I was working at Woollies down the road.”
I give her a look.
“What?” She speaks quickly, making up for the time of her lie, “I mean, I know there are guys who pretend to be agents because they think you'll sleep your way to the top, but it's not like I'm unprepared of he tries anything.” As she reaches for the top shelf for something, I see the gun, the pepper spray, the knife, all the accessories that the girls of Ratsnest, our city, have grown to be proud of.
“All the same,” I'm hesistant, and wrap my arms about her, offering myself as a second belt of protection.
She smiles, “Wolfie, I'm not a little girl. You know that. I'm better protected than you are.”
I bite my lip.
“Look, I'll call you to pick me up when my shift ends. Will that make you happy?”
I kiss her neck, with the melancholy of the ex-lover. She was mine once, says the kiss to me.
“I'll stay with the crowd and the lights, and if anyone so much as moves their shadow towards me, I'll kick them where it hurts and scream. Now happy?”
I can't breath the word.
“Well you'll have to learn to be. I'm going.”
“I love you.” I stop, “Don't be scared, not like... not like before, but I love you.”
“You're so goofy.” she kisses my cheek, grabs her keys and wallet and heads out of the door.
Two minutes after the door is shut, my heart stops. I dive for the door, smashing it open, chasing after her, desperate, gasping, choking, I vomit into the sickly fern down the hall.
It is now I realise she's never coming back.

(I just snuck my way on, I'm pretending to be downloading songs for my uncle)

That was a great start beautiful.

*jumps up and down* THATS ME!!!! *laughs* ehehehee!

Once again I'm blown away by your writing, you really do have an amazing talent, and I don't know why I'm telling you this since you probably know it but yeah. You're a genius! *goes off and voice switches to Madam Giryness* an architect, a composer, a designer! A genius monsieur! (and duuuude the scary thing is you're like all of those things eeeep!)

:heartbeat: Pat

(Good onya!)

**chuckles** This story shall give me multiple personality disorder with all teh perspectives I'm gonna be working from. Tell me, next chappie, should I still with the preyness, or should I go and see what Mathias and Ian are up to?

omg i love it so much!!! I love (yet hate) the way you describe liz! i sthat ho you think of me?? My god its all so bloody wonderful!! I can't wait for more!!

Chloe xxx

It's how Wolf might see you, if you had gone through the paticular things Liz does. When I write about you, Sun, I take elements of you and emphasize and twist them until they aren't you. Truth being told, my angel, you are so precious, would I to write you realistically, your character wouldn't be believable. Hense the need to make you sound just a little evil from the perspective of a guy who wants in your panties.

ah well at least someone wants in my panties, even if it is wolfie.

TWO: KITTEN



It's okay if you don't understand me. I don't understand anyone, I think that to understand someone is to dismiss them, as something straightforward, as something not worth the riddle. I long for you, at night. No, long isn't the right word. Yearn, I guess. Not the lover's longing, not the ache of the gut, the ache of the ribs. Not the ache of not having your skin against mine one more, but not to breathe the same air as you.

I'm not angry. I don't hate you for what you did. I wish you'd let me be the one to make the decision. I would have decided the same thing, you know, I would have. I'm not selfish. I would have died for us. I have dreams about the days before. About you and Lucy arguing, I can hear her, the ragged screaming, the desperate sobbing. People say that crying is a weak thing, a sign of weakness, but her sobbing would make a lion curl up quiet in the brush, head beneath paws until the coast was clear. Lion. You used to tell me about lions. Did you?

“How can you do this, David?” she takes you by the arm as you walk away with the leather harnesses in your hand, “How can you go along with this twisted sacrifice? Have you no humanity left, that you're going to send her to-”
I see you pull her to the corner of our stone house, speaking in violent whispers I can barely make out, “The black mark fell to me, Luciana. I tried to explain it to you. This is exactly why we couldn't bring the women into this. You'd all get emotionally involved in this and then you'd get us all killed. We have to be objective. We have to be smart. We have to think five steps ahead of him all the time.”
“He's just one man.”
“Hitler was just one man, this is one apocalyptic monster. If we don't do this, he will not stop. None of us will ever see another dawn, and if they do, they'll wish they didn't.”
“You're overreacting. All of you. You're paranoid.”
“You can say that, I'll be busy saving our lives.”
“Why her? It's anyone of our house, why not-”
“Kitty's the youngest, the weakest, we need people who can protect our village-”
“Who will you have left to protect? Answer me that David, who?”
You see me, and you smile. You take me in your arms and you kiss me, and I don't say that I hear everything you are going to do to me. I pretend it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter, does it?

It was a long time ago. Seven years now. I will stop addressing my thoughts to you now. You are probably sick of the voices.

He arches over me from behind, wrapping the cloak about my shoulders, lingering around me. “A gift for you.”
I shiver a little at his touch, which forces a grimace to his lips, an awkward withdrawal of touch. I take his hands, put them back in their place, easing myself back into his desires. He traces the hollows of my neck with messy kisses, smoothing over the previous retreat. He finds ways of making my skin prickle, of making me burrow further into him, which twists the corner of his mouth, and makes him bite his lower lip. His brow furrows as I teasingly squirm from his deliciously torturous affections and he holds me tighter, nibbling a little at my wronging shoulder.
I hum softly, “Bye Baby Bunting, I have gone a-hunting, to fetch a little rabbit skin to wrap my baby bunting in.” I kiss shoulder, and his hands wander, caressing the flesh beneath the cloak. “So you go and get a skin so that you may have another reason to devour me.”
“Perhaps,” The smile plays upon his lips and the play is killing the both of us.
“Well I shall therefore wear nothing at all, and frolic in the snow until I freeze to death and then I will never be yours.”
“Don't play with me, my little sweet one.”
“If you do not wish me to play then why do you keep me living?”
“Playful mood you're in tonight, Mathias.” Ian clears his throat, malicious humour disarming Mathias.
Mathias assumes his refined bitter air, “A hunter finds adrenaline in the recovery of his prey.” He tries to be more objective towards me, more cruel, but the warmth hidden in his touch and the look hidden in the corner of his eye coil about me, passionate armour against the other side of life. He kisses my throat hard, ravenous, coarsely. He pauses, tasting the marks of another. The rage burns. His tightened hold squeezes a cry of shock from me. The outer rapport remains. “You owe me a meal, Milner.”
Ian takes my hand and kisses it, holding my eyes in his, “A banquet.”
Mathias growls and takes a swipe at him.
Ian gracefully ducks the heavy blow. “Careful, cos. Perhaps I won't catch her next time. Or keep her for myself.”
“Food is food.”
“Who would keep food for seven years. You're too attached to this one, Mathias.” he lowers his voice, “I need to talk to you. Alone.”
The unnatural euphoria, the drifting, the heated passion inside me tells me he's teeth are in my neck, but the darkness doesn't take me. I slump a little just the same, pretending to be unconscious.
“Very well, Ian Milner, do tell me what it is you want.”
“Mathias... She loves you.”
“What?”
“Come on, you're not so blind.”
“All prey-”
“That's thrall, that's different. Come on, you remember love, you haven't been one of us forever. She adores you because you treat her like a lover. Who knows, maybe you are her lover, it's not my business, but the point is she loves you, and that means she must die, or both of you will.”
“This is ridiculous. I have to kill her. She knows that. She can't love me.... Can she?
“You were straight forward with her about it, you told her and you are honest. Do you really think I can't see through the façade you present me with, Lightfoot? Don't get me wrong, you're a cold blooded killer, you don't care who you slaughter, and I'm proud of you for that, there's honour in that. It's this whole love thing that's making you all... well, you know. It's killing her, brother, having to love you, and knowing you will destroy her, it's cruel to keep her like this. You know that. But if you love her back, then you might stop hunting, and then you will starve, and she will be venerable to everything you have fought the last seven years to keep away from her, which is a far more painful and degraded way to die. You know this.”
A sigh. “Give us- give her a month. This month. The month of our banquet.”
“With all those people to corrupt her?”
“They won't. I will keep her pure as I have always done.”
“You have mercy.”
“Shut up.”

ooooooh...thats all I have to say

*grins gleefully and dances around happily* Man, I'm ODing on your updates, lol, it's so much awesomeness in a row, I feel like a kid at Christmas! :shine:

I'm loving this story so far, it's brilliant, the different characters and how they interact and everything, I love the Wolf chapter from his point of view and how he sees Lizzy and everything, and you did their interactions and banter and all that so perfectly! I feel so sad that she won't come back though, awww...*hugs Wolfie*

And the names, gosh, Wolf, that's brilliant, and the Kitty thing since she plays with Mathias like a cat, but she's still naive and innocent like a kitten. And I'm loving the vampireness...guh...Mathias...vampire Gerry...*dies* :ghost:

Other than him being very very distracting, haha, I like his character, he's actually got a heart, it sounds like. What a paradox though, he loves her but it'll destroy him. And this Ian character intrigues me...is he like a fellow vamp or confidante or higher in authority than him or what?

Keep up the wonderful writing, Shim, I love what you're doing with this story! :yahoo

MORE ME!

:heartbeat: Pat

“Nope.” She smiles despite myself, catching his smirk, as a deplorable disease.
“Not even a little? I mean, not even when some random guys comes up to you and says, 'Hey, you, you with the hair I like you're music.'” His fingers trace the edge of the glass, adrift yet tethered to his play.
“Then I look around at the millions of other musicians with hair around me. You were some random guy, I didn't care when you said I was good.”
“You said thanks.”
“Of course I said thanks, it's the polite thing to do.”
“So here you are, adrift in the lidless city, solitary confinement among the lapping masses, and entirely devoid of any emotional inclinations towards peoples affections, attachments, criticisms or betrayals. That's quite an achievement.” He throws the glass with a heavy toss.
She catches it, drying the glass with an easy well worn flick of her wrist. “Maybe for some people. It kind of comes naturally to me. People tend to come with this huge web of baggage and lies, I just want to be free of all that. I am.”
“You gotta watch yourself sometimes when you think like that. Guys like to think they can conquer a woman, make them need them. Some guys.”
She arched her eyebrows, “Some guys like you?'
“Me? No. God no.”
“Then do you have an example?”
“Try....” He looks around the sparsely populated bar, then stops at the dark figure lounging in at a booth, doodling on his napkin, “That guy.”
“That guy? Please. He's one of Ian Milner's cronies.”
“Ian Milner? Really?”
“Yeah, they came up to me before, they're thinking of offering me a contract.”
He stops dead “A what?”
“A contract. You know. To make an album. Maybe tour or something.” She continues drying the endless stream of glasses effortlessly, her voice mellow, relaxed.
“Holy fuck, Lizzy,” He takes her full hands, “And you didn't tell me this before because?”
She pulls herself free and keeps drying. “Because, David, you're my boss, not my mother, and because I'm not going to sign it.”
“But... isn't it what you moved here to get, the reason you put up with minimum wage, the reason-”
“If you're offering me a pay rise, I accept, but I'm not signing the damn contract.”

I chuckle, the buzz of my name on her lips thrilling me. Kit sips her drink, watching, watching beside me. Mathias still waits, drawing on the napkin. The hunt is heavy and sharp in the air, overpowering the stench of stale beer on rotting boards, sweat, flesh, urine and bile. My muscles relent, my appetite demanding appeasement like a whining overfed puppy. Patience. He'll catch her. She'll come.
“This is Antigone? Why is she working in a bar?” Kit nudges me with her sharp elbow, hissing, peering over backs of booths. Her skin is chilled, icy, fearful in the stead of the girl.
“No, God no. This is Elizabeth, and the man she's talking to-”
Her eyes turn to glass, “David.”
It clicks, “He's that David? You mean-”
“I suppose my lord has found him.”
“About time.”
Her neck quivers, like a water bird's. I push her hair back from it, the energy, the hunger drawing me, enthralling me. I am the slave again. I kiss her neck hard, provocatively, the taste of it a kind of madness to my senses. “A taste says her tries the suffering artist 'you look like an angel I saw in an Old Master's painting.'”
She swats me off, not distracted, entirely focusing on Mathias, on the prey, Elizabeth. “50 millilitres he holds.”
Mathias draws, seemingly relaxed, unaware of everything around him. Elizabeth begins to wipe up some tables, edging closer to him. Does she feel the pull towards him? Does she like it? Will he ensnare her quickly, or bide his time further?
“100 says he holds her with a glance.” I gamble with her blood. I am so much in her debt already, but better lose to a friend. And she gets paid, in information, in the odd prey, if I am lenient. With my recklessness she saves lives. I would she lost a little, I'm starving.
“Double says he holds.”
Mathias doesn't even move.
“You cheat.” I growl.
“I use what I have, I survive.” She smiles placidly, “But no, I don't cheat.”
“You lose to Mathias.”
“Mathias is a predator, intelligent, light on his feet, subtle. A good predator is easier to read.”
“So what does that make me?”
“You have other motivations. Mathias is capturing his prey, though he is spiritually involved, he is in harmony with the art of his hunt. Your emotions, your subconscious gets involved. Your behaviour becomes more foolish, more erratic.”
“Ahh but I become less predictable as you said, so there must be an upside somewhere. A thou says he bitches about me being too commercial to get in her favour.”
“8 thou says he holds.”
The waitress comes closer to Mathias. He doesn't budge.
“Told you.” She winks at a guy behind the bar, “Another ambrose on my friend here,pretty please.”
The waiter nearly break a glass. “S-sure, uhh... it's on the house, actually.”
I murmur into her ear, “Enthralling people is an art, Kitten, you use it for a noble purpose.”
“So your objecting has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that you were trying the same thing on this Elizabeth girl about an hour ago?”
“Shh, look, Mathias is hunting...”
“Didn't think so.”
She's really an extraordinary creature, this waitress. Musicians are usually easily swayed, being passionate, thinking with their fingertips, not their feet. I thought a few seductive utterances of red carpets and stages and she'd be begging us to take her. Mathias may be right. I do underestimate them. Our prey. Mathias wouldn't disclose how he found her, why he decided upon her. Perhaps he thought this David cares for her. He kills for vengeance now. When he has a cause, he can decimate cities. So why does he wait? Why does he sit still?
“What is he trying to pull?” I roll my eyes, “He's going to lose her.”
“No, he won't. She wouldn't come if it wasn't on her terms. She has other people to think about. She's... protective... stubborn... clever. Very clever. Dangerous, for Mathias. And he knows it. He's drawing her out with her sense of adventure, of curiosity. Her secret guilty childishness.”
“Will you save her?”
“Will she let me? I think she will save herself, even though she doesn't know the dangers so well as I do. I think she will put my art form to shame, and leave you and my master in utter awe. But she won't kill you.”
“Good to know.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps that will make you more cocky and you'll prove me wrong.”
“Cocky isn't clumsy.”
“Says the cocky man. Before tripping over his own feet. But never mind, you should be concentrating on your prey. So she's not here, when is she coming.”
“Stage types are always fashionably late.” I grin darkly at the pun, “Antigone Torres. Another performer. But she made it to the big time. Her company, though, is going under. They did something about the government that wasn't approved of, and so they've been poisoned by slow degrees, and now they are in heavy debt. So they get they're beautiful star to... shall we say, persuade those of amble funding to take interest in the arts. Luckily, I am a upper class man with a penchant for young talented women involved in the arts.”
“You call it a penchant?”
“Yes. A refined, delicate taste for.”
“In other words you like to abduct and devour them.”
I laugh, “As is my want.”
“Beautiful?”
“Stunning. So says Mathias. I haven't actually seen her yet.”
“Yours or his?”
“We haven't divided them, yet, we have to catch them first.”
“Have you decided whose I am?”
I look at her, “His. Always and forever his.” I pause, muttering under my breath, “You are dangerous, Miss Kitten.”
“You're scared of me. Of all of us. She'll have you around her little finger.”
We hear the sound in the alleyway.
She still flinches a little. “She fought hard. He almost lost her. He is weak. He needs to eat.”
“He has her now. She has relented. You'll excuse me. I have an appointment.”
“Of course.”
I loosen the ropes around her wrists for her a little. A formality. She cannot escape him.
She hesitates, “Be gentle with her, Ian. You're not a mortal. You can be gentle.”
My hand wanders to hers, exploring it, “I know. A always am.”
“You owe me, Milner.”
“Always that too.”

Oh, I loved that chapter! You further developed Liz and David, and the vampire gang, lol, plus Kitty. Mathias and Ian are truly devious, but smashingly charming devious vampires. ^_^ I'm really curious about David, with all the hinting about their lord finding him and everything (who is their lord anyway? I'm not sure I want to know, lol). And I love the interaction between the "gang", it's great, their plotting and lending and owing and everything. Those guys, haha.

I'm eager to see where this goes, it's getting really interesting, or as they say, "the plot thickens". :shine:

:hug: Zeffy

THEY'RE GONNA TRY AND DRINK MY BLOOD!!! *shakes her fist* I'll show you, you smug bastards!! lol. I loved the chappie!! You do the whole snister thing really well!!! And who care about drawing Liz in, they got me in the end!! And I knew what they were up to!
So Can't wait for more, tho I may be a little slow in reading it now that I'm back at school. btw I now have my braces, green and orange (IRELAND!!) lol)

Chloe xxx

I love this, you never cease to amaze me gorgeous. If I wasn't sunburnt I'd bicycle ride to Cooma and hug you like a teddy bear, even though you're better than one.

:hearbeat: Pat

Kitty's 'lord' is Mathias, it's kind of her way of saying to Ian that he is a cad and unworthy, while hiding her affection for Mathias. duh duh duhhhhhhhhhhhhh. My fave character is definitely Mathias. He's got the thrall, baby.

THEIR IN CAHOOTS WITH THE LEAF WHICH TRIED TO EAT YOU!!!!
Good on your Irishness, you sunnylittle lepracaun you. Hope school isn't floggin you too hard. CALL ME TOMORROW CAUSE I'M OLD!!!! OOOOOOOOOLLLLD!!!

Awww, **hugs tight** Love ya, Spudkin. But I don't want you to die of exhaustion and hole exposure. So no bicycle riding just yet.

More chappiness...



Acting is the most complete form of prostitution. You sell your body, but you sell your soul too. Nothing you are matters, it all must die. You must be an abyss, a black hole, a notable absence of anything, leaching on to a word or a phrase and taking it on like a distorted mirror, a dark glass held crooked to humanity. I am the leaf on the wind that the author never saw. I am the spiders web in the wood that never was. I am the flesh that they will rewrite, notes and arrows on my tits and bum on what to improve. Women will watch me and want to be me, and will whittle away at themselves trying to make themselves the nothingness of me. Men will drool over their dog collar ties and fuck themselves swearing devotion in guilty moans over magazines of my leaked empty form. Little girls will use the word hot with alternative meanings, and beg their parents for cleavage jeans and micro mini skirts. I will sit, with the sheet draped around my form, waiting for an invisible painter, with the roses from the stage before disemboweled and crumpled on my scarred and crumpled form, and twenty minutes before, nearly overdose caffeine, and repeat the nights in rabid succession. I am Annie hear me roar.

He is a nice man. He doesn't stare at my tits. That is how you tell. He has clean pink oval nails which are a worry. If he's gay, I have little to no leverage, and I need this. His hands are elongated and soft. He speaks with a refined accent, not condescending but well read, the voice of a man who heard Shaw and Wilde in his head before he could speak. It makes my voice sound coarse, jutting against his in sand paper greys to his neat penguin black and white vowels. We say the nothings of our trade.
The lurid gilt is scratched. Cynnically my mind carves it's dark sgraffito.
“I was lucky enough to experience your performance the other night, that was truly something to behold.”
If I'd know there was a sex scene, I would have brought my tissues.
“That explains why the audiences have been so great recently. The audience really makes it all worth it. There is no greater feeling in the world than being in front of that many people”
... knowing they coughed up 100 bucks a pop.
“Oh, the audience cannot help it, with you entrancing them so.”
If I suck up, she'll want to fuck me.
“Really I don't know why they even pay us. Not that they do so much.”
If I fuck him, he'll fund my company.
“Serious? I knew that an actor's income is not vastly dependable, but a woman of your talent and fame?”
Is she a coke whore?
“The arts are risky these days, we either appeal to the lowest common denominator, and sell out, or we try to do true art and rough it. I prefer my end of the spectrum, better to starve while your work has a semblance of verisimilitude, don't you agree?”
Never met a coke whore with words that big, have you, bucko.
“It's a crying shame. It's like the last twenty years of progression in theatre and the last has just gone into complete recession. Now all we get is Flopsy the Bunny Goes To Vegas: The Musical.”
Would she wear a bunny suit for me?
“Hey, I was in the revival of that!”
Oh God, please don't let him have a bunny fetish.
“And... a fine... exploration... of the human condition.. with satirical inclinations.. it was.”
Is she joking? Please tell me she's joking.
“So, honey...”
What's his name again?
“Yes?”
God, someone's going to see this whore talking to me in public, calling me honey.
“Other than flatter has been actresses, what do you do exactly?”
When we're waiting for your Mr Flopsy, what do we talk about, sugarkins?
“Well, you could say that I'm a...”
How do I say rich playboy who pays people to lay me without sounding vulgar.
“A...?”
Tttttttoday.
“A hunter.”
Please let her think I'm butch. Oh God, what if she's vegetarian.
“A hunter? What do you hunt then?”
Curiouser and curiouser.
“Maybe I'm hunting you.”
I've known the girl for a whole five minutes and I haven't insinuated any foreplay at all. I am such a gentleman.
I wink, “Maybe I'm a little harder to catch than you thought.”
He has no idea who he's dealing with.
“Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I pursue you because you are a challenge.”
Does she like leather?
“So then I should give up, and they I could escape.”
I don't do equipment. I don't do pain. I don't do anything sordid. Well, almost nothing.
“Ahh, but we both know there'd be no fun in that.” his eyes twinkle darkly. “What do you mean by almost?”
“What?”
“I'm curious. How do yo define sordid.”
What? What the fuck's going on, I swear I didn't- “I didn't say anything about it.”
“No. You didn't say it. But you thought it.”
I laugh weakly, “I don't know what you're talking about.” Shit.
He leans over the table, whispering so intimately a blush, something I thought I'd forgotten how to do. “I can hear your blood through your veins. I can hear your organs pumping, squeezing against each other. I can hear every nerve in your body. You are afraid of me. But not nearly enough, and for the wrong reasons.”
“What do you want with me?” I breathe it, feeling my skin so pale, my soul so bare.
“I want you. Like I said. I am hunting.”

I hear the voices. There is cloth all around me, not a bag, more like a sheet, soft, silken, like the red silk lining of the coffins in bad horror flicks. I am moving, lightly jolted with each careful step. There is snow. The footsteps break it. It is a softer sound than gravel. The smell if of melted snow, of cold. Cold is a metallic taste, like sucking on iron nails. I could scream. I know that I should. But the footsteps, and the stow lulls me.
“She is a beauty, Ian.” A man. A tenor with a growl to it. I hear his steps approach too. Slow, careful, like the first steps, carrying something too. Someone.
“You have exceptional taste, I taught you well.” It is the man I had dinner with. Ian. Yes, that was his name. Ian...
“I know your tastes at any rate.”
“It shall be a feast of special magnificence. For you especially. You must be ravenous, you haven't truly eaten in a month.”
“I have been saving my appetite.”
“Do not save it for this one. This one is mine.”
“You are quite taken with her. But I was going to take her for myself. I thought her a little too dark for you, after all she's been through. But perhaps we ca make some kind of arrangement.”
“So how many do we have altogether?”
“Guests or dishes?”
“Both.”
“Of prey, we have about 30 in all. About equal men and women.”
“I would they were all women. You and your crusades are taking it's toll on my dinner table quite dramatically.”
“Ahh, but they must find some form of entertainment. It's an extra safety precaution really, not that we need it.”
“How so?'”
“Women become stupid around men. As men are about women. As a general rule.”
“Only when they are sexually attracted.”
“They will be.”
“Oh really?”
“Of course. Women adore monsters. And monsters adore sex, in which women, as a general rule, are a necessary part. That's the only reason Kitty seems to be attracted to me. Because she has to. Because women like terrible men. And all these men are terrible. Villains, the lot of them. Maybe that doesn't seem so seductive to you or me, but for our female prey, they shall seem like heaven sent Casanovas.”
Ian pauses. “How much would you bet on it?”
“What?”
“How much would you bet that every woman of ours becomes romantically involved with the men of rather startling moral depravity before the end of our month of feasting?”
“Anything you like.”
“My choice of the prey, including this Annie, the girl you were hunting before, and Kitty.”
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“You're on.”

BTW...totally stealing that picture of Hugh Dancy. *dies*

and OMG Ian and Mathias bargaining us like we're mere meat! MEAT!

Besides all the bargaining I absolutely loved this chappie! I loved Ian's bating and their subconsious thoughts about each other. Maaan, why does he have to be evil? Can she turn him with the silk of her honey voice? lol.

:heartbeat: Pat

P.S More soon birthday girl.

ok firstly, of course I'll call you tomorrow silly! Do you really think I'd forget???
Secondly, DAMN THAT STUPID LEAF!!!
Thirdly, leave my irishness alone, I can' help that that's how I am!!
Fourthly, school so far has been ok actually.
And fith, and finally, Wicked mad chappie!!! As Tish said, the subconcious thoughts were fantastic, but again, DAMN THOSE SMARMY BASTARDS!! How dare they talk about women like that!!
Looking forward to the next bit!
Chloe xxx

Everyone has their own masks.

I tried to put Annie and Ian in this chappie but it ended up being a whole mess of melodramatics. They will however be involved in teh next chappie, which should be better.

Well Sunny me love, I have gotten you your drummer, Rox by name, Irish by game and quite attractive if you go for the Zac Hanson kind of guys, (there's no accounting for some people's tastes, eh?) And he is in this chapter right noooow...

Along with the history of her boss David and such...



My mind is elbows and knees. The corners scrape the edges of my skull. Voices float around me, bubbles of blurred sound that burst when reached for. There is an Irish accent, slightly alcoholic mocha coffee, foamy and light at the edge of it, concealing the lower rich, dark, bittersweet, ground, caffeine enriched tenor. “I don't know about that,” it lilts, “Sure folk-rock has been assimilated into pop but that doesn't mean it's diminished as a genre of its own. Just cause the wannabes try and copy us doesn't make us any less weird. Say, shouldn't have she have woken up yet?”
“She hasn't had a decent kip in... well, ever, I think she's just making a deposit on her sleep debt. I wouldn't worry yourself about it, Drummer Boy.” A familiar cheeky purr. Wolf?
“What was her name again?”
My eyes blur, flipping from lens to lens. Clearer, blurrier.
“Priscilla Elizabeth Von Girliesworth. But she loves it when you call her Prissie Elizabeth. Or just Elizabeth.”
Flip. Consciousness. “Wolf, honey, don't try and make me kill the nice man, it's enough work having to kill you.”
“It's ALIVE!!!!” Wolf grins crookedly, his mouth confused with the joy and guilt of being sprung. “You know, you could kill me, but that would mean you would never find the secret location of the coffee.”
“But I need coffee. Can't you tell me before I kill you?”
“Impossible, it takes an expert to lead the way.”
“After that then can I kill you?”
“Now that's not much of an incentive for me to show you, is it? And then you'd never be able to find coffee again. Think about it, Lizzy, a life without me and without coffee.”
“Assuming I'd leave the coffee to begin with.”
Wolf bites his lip. “Damn. Go on then, make it quick.”
I consider it, “Do I have to? I'm tired. And it's...” I glance at my watch, “Holy shit, I should have been at work six hours ago.” I half fall off the red velvet couch, shoving my body around the room,” Look, can you get my good jeans from the washing machine and... I don't know, put it on the oven to get them dry, I'll go and get a shower, and... no, fuck it, I don't have time for that. Fuck fuck fuck. God, Wolfie, why didn't you wake me up? I need to call, tell them something happened, like.. I don't know, my whole family died or, no, that's not good enough, I-” I stop. There ground far far below is licked with white, and the air is filled with it. All else is black, charred, dead. There is a melodic moaning wail that comes up then subsides into musical weeping. “Where the fuck am I?”
Silence.
The room is stone, with rich blood red armchairs and couches. The walls are lined with books, messily bestrewed like a card castle made by chance. There is a writing desk by the window, and it glows in the cold light. There is music on it, and there's a guitar leaning against it. The man sitting with Wolf is twisting drumsticks about his fingers compulsively, almost absentmindedly. They weave hypnotically, effortlessly. His hands hand strength in them, but simultaneously the kind of precision other musicians must hate in him. The tendons of his arm, like the hammers of a piano accompany the rhythm, leading to the muscles in his forearms and shoulders. My body could be like his, the body of a musician by breathing, whose very existence is geared around his art. A body never sold for a bill's down payment. I envy this body of his. The body that can fight and defend and say no. My fingers long for it, like they do for thr guitars I will never be able to have in the music shop, the touch of the thing I could never be nor have.
“Oh uhh, yes.” He looks away nervously.
Shit, was I staring?
“My name's Rox. I'm-”
“A Drummer, I know.” I try to smile, “Liz. Don't listen to Wolf he's-”
“Eccentric?”
“I was going for full of crap, but so long as it stops you listening to him, whatever works.”
“Hello Liz.” Says the accent, “How did you know I was a drummer? You're a fan of the band?”
“How could I not know you're a drummer? What band?”
“It doesn't matter. We're kind of obscure to everyone here. Must be an Irish thing or something.”
“So...”
“Rox.”
“That's it. Rox. Do you have any idea what we're doing here? Before you answer, you should know, if you were involved in this little prank of Wolf's you will die.”
“Why would you tell me that if it'd make me lie?”
“Killing Wolf is different. I can always kill him later.”
“Fair enough. Well, I have no idea where we are. You're in this room because we thought you should wake up with some company and your room wasn't as cosy. I carried you out here, and Wolf made the fire. We seem to be in a tower some where, in the east by the looks of things, and the trees here are really really weird.”
David is standing in the doorway, “This is Lyre's Lair.”
“Who's the lier that put us here then?” Rox almost smiles.
“Lyre.” David doesn't return the mirth, “The instrument. It's called Lyre's lair, because the trees and vines around here grow into the shape of lyres. The vines grow up and strange the trees, then grow straight back down to the ground, hanging down like strings, then they run out of nourishment too and die like the tree. The wind blows through them and makes strange noises.”
“David, how do you know about this? What's going on?” I sit on the writing desk, putting my feet up on an armchair.
“I used to live near here. In this place is a man so evil he would destroy all life in this world and think nothing of it. Everyone within distance of take-out is under his stranglehold, forced to pay blood sacrifices to him. Young women are preferred. He... devours them. He's devoured whole villages who haven't offered him any women of their own free will.” He moves into the room, dragging with him a pale girl with dark hair. “And now he's infected another to be his kind. We must destroy her now, fight back for our freedom, while we still have a chance” He takes out a sharpened stake about the length of his forearm, lifts it above his head. I look away despite myself.
“Hello husband. Where you been keepin' yourself?” She turns the blade as it lies against his neck, peering into its reflection. He lies there, on the floor. How did she move like that? “Gee whiz, what a pretty speech maker you really are, David. But you don';t rate so well on accuracy.”
I watch, frozen. Hang on- “Husband? David? What-”
“Fourteen years. Though, admittedly, I wasn't around for the last seven. But really whose fault was that, David? Huh? I'm sure your friends are just dying to know. Of course they will be dying for a lot of other reasons if you have anything to do with it, but that's not the issue at hand.” She looks up at us, “'Oh, let's play a game, Katie, let's play a game, I'll tie you up, and then I rescue you.' But when did you try and rescue me, David, WHEN? I was stuck there for three days, I was almost frozen to death and still I waited for you.”
“The cold was supposed to numb his bite, the things he'd do to you, my love.” David's voice splits. “I had no choice.”
“What could you have known of his bite? What? What could you have known of him? You were so caught up in your own deception you're trapped yourself in it. His name is Mathias Lightfoot. I don't expect you to remember my name, there were enough of us, I realised that was the reason for the pet names, but you will probably be hearing it a lot now. Kitten Hawthorn.”
“Kitten Hawthorn?” Wolf moves closer to her. She doesn't react. He moves her hair back from her face with a delicate gesture of his forefinger. “You're of the Hawthorn tribe?”
“That's what Mathias told to me. He said, 'What kind of prey are you? You are a Hawthorn, a warrior. Have you forsaken what you have known all your life?' But I had learnt nothing of the ways of my people, no way to defend myself. I was no warrior.”
“You were young. Too young to teach.” David gurgles.
“I should have learnt from birth. It was my birthright and you stole it from me. You told my tribe you would love and protect me, told them about the Creature, how he would devour me and them if you didn't take me and teach me how to fight me. But you never even showed me a sword, not even a pointed stick. You married me when I was seven years old. You didn't show me how to even move undetected, to hide myself. Because you were raising me as a sacrifice, as the fattened lamb. So when the mark fell upon you and you were to give someone of your house to him, you had a house of wives to chose from. A house of livestock, of slaves, chattel. Only when my would be killer is about to tear my throat from me do I find you are the one who killed me, who was killing me my entire life. Only then do I find I was meant to be something more than the plaything of a pervert.
My master is honest with me. My master has allowed me to learn more than the ways of my kin. My master is fair and open and gentle, and he sees me as precious. He hungers for me, but for all of me. He follows the morality of his own kind, his own conscience, and he destroys injustice. When a family would not offer a sacrifice, he would spare them, because they loved each other enough to stand and fight. Each prey is either given, not taken, by every person who has loved them and who does love them, and willingly they go to him, or else they are causing the deaths of many others, and he seeks their venegence, as he is doing in your case, and to all the men in this place. This is their month of feasting, and he has been weeding you out for many years, David, he has hungered to digest your soul with every fibre of his being. He shall probably take his time. First, he will seduce and consume everyone you love, by their own consent and then... then you will know every thread that holds you to life as he cuts them from you.
“I appologise, Lady Elizabeth, Lord Wolf, Lord Dunestain. This is not your quarrel.” She leaves, the silk of her dress making a soft river like noise as it sweeps back angrily.

“Bitch.” David growls, sitting up slowly.
I sit beside Rox. We stare.
“Will you all quit looking at me like that?” He sighs, “Look. She's evil. A whore. She.. she was in love with me, I said no. Spurned lover. She lies. I mean, you don't think I'd-”
“I do not think that you should malign my sweet one, David.” The eyes glow in the shadow of the bookcase.
“The Shadowed Creature.” David starts, “I... I have brought to you these prey, I knew they would please you, the girl is especially-”
The creature laughs softly, “Poor little chameleon, you don't know what colour to turn now, do you? Biting at the hand that feeds you even still.” he looks at me. The man. The record company man. “I am sorry, Liz. All that has been said about this boss of yours is true. He has been deceiving you, as so many have in your life. You are the only one who has been telling the truth in this room, one of the few in this whole world. Well, the truth as it concerns the fate of others. But don't worry, your secrets are kept close to me. Wolf shall not know, so he shouldn't start trying to find out.” He says pointedly, “He has his own imago to keep up. And I would listen to Kitten if I were you, she's traded herself for the lives of my prey thousands of times, and she will try to again, for you, for David, for all of you. So should she die in that pursuit, perhaps you'll not be hasty to believe David's patriarchal profanities. I hope to see you all at dinner.”

See us at dinner??/ SEE US AT DINNER??? Why so you can try and eat me? I don't think so bucko!!
Ooooh little irish drummer boy rox eh?? (and my taste is easily accounted for, its a little quirky but good none the less) I like the irishness!!!
And it's creepy that you've called my boss David seeing as thats the name of one of my real bosses lol.
Fantastic chapter as always, though I must say I'll be ever wary of guys who ofer me a deal.
Can't wait for more!!

Chloe

Ahaha, stick it to Ian :neene:. I like Mathias too, he's all kinds of vampire. *laughs* Did I seriously just say that? :lol:

Ok, first chapter...Your mastery of banter is a treasure, I love reading these parts every single time...the seemingly harmless flirting with Ian and Antigone, oh how she will regret it. And man, those two better stop their betting or they're going to get in all sorts of trouble!

And that last chapter, holy cow! :ghost: I just...you just...that was...*dies of awesomeness* You developed so many things there...I was thinking, ooh, Wolf and Lizzy and this random Rox guy, you know, sitting by the fire and everything's cool and then...Lyre's Lair! Ahhhh! *hides* They don't want to be there, no sir! lol. I love how you've intertwined David and Kitty and Mathias in a web of interesting pasts...didn't expect David to be Kitty's ex. That was super intense! I was seriously left in awe, your storytelling and character development is off the charts, my friend. You are awesome. :hug: I can't wait to see what Mathias does about the situation, and how Wolf is involved with Mathias and Ian and all the rest of them. :lalala: Ok, yeah, I'm already biased, haha. ^_^

Amazing, fantastic last chapters, my friend! *gives you many warm fuzzy Zeffy hugs*

That would be somewhat of a dillema for you wouldn't it... dinner-get eaten, but also Zac-like irish drummer boy there..
Davids are actually nice people. My friend Dave is awesome, and a brilliant guitarist.
here is more, but there is only slight mension of Rox and the luminous Liz, I hate to say. But they are in the next chappie, I'm pretty sure.

Mathias is zee thrallmeister.

I don't know if she's regret it, she's a pretty smart woman...

lmao, thanks Zeffy. I was pissed off with that last chappie frankly, cause it seemed a bit melodramatic, which I think this fic has a tendency to do at times **glares at it**.



This next chappie is more kind of fantasy, establishing the different scions of Mathias and Ian's race, and such.
If anyone has preferences about their characters and such, yell them out or forever hold your peace. Like... for those who have not been mensioned yet, whether you wanna be a hunter or prey, or whatever, and such like that. Also you can answer this question... Immortality or death?

*********************************************************************


The scintillating organic alignment of my kin and our collected prey are driven by the tides of the music. How tedious it is, this side of us. Granted we are known for our charm, for our grace, and that requires this charade of comradeship. Each of us, playing with fire, out for all we can get. I peruse the design placidly, the movement of each scion of our kind a different colour picked out in the flames. I hear Ian's voice in my mind, as he first explained them to me, my own as I explained them to Kit, though, unlike myself when I was taught, she will never be our kin.
“Each of us has our own eccentricities. We as a species are defined by this. Some prefer to change our shapes to particular creatures, to be faster or stronger or just because it is what comes naturally to them. Each of us has a lair, a place of comfort and fortitude. There is but of a few of us to each, we are not pack animals. To each lair, a dialect adapted to each manner of hunting, or several should the need for diversity grow. This also establishes the identity of each scion and allows them to communicate amongst themselves while in the company of other perhaps more conniving scions without risk of being betrayed.
From Silvyan Rook, Alespex, the birds of our kind. Cold, precise, beautiful creatures to all but themselves, they are on the fringes of our race and shun company unless there is prey in it. They prefer the company of their own and of birds, and seek prey that is entirely unlike themselves. They have an affinity with art and very succinct poetry.
From Sombre Den, Celistja, warm dark creatures of passion. Bear-like, incredibly strong and sinuous, not easily provoked. They are very particular on prey and upon whom they take in, secretive and exclusive, but vastly affectionate once you have won them over. Poets of food but not veracious in appetite. Lovers of riddles and keen observations, also of fiction and the communing of souls.
From Dark Canopy, Eliygia, the fair shadows. Stealthy, graceful, willowy and agile. They could be compared to the bats, the gliders, but they are far more beautiful and fierce, the night creatures that hang on the air. Delight in gatherings, warm hearted and open, but unyieldingly persistent when on the hunt. Masters of instinct and emotion. They make their fellow creatures their study and are virtuous at mimicry and dance.
From Licked Sanctuary, Lysancious, the blood thieves, and the human-like hungry. They live among their prey in the city Rat's Nest, watching, waiting and wooing. They are the seducers, slaves to the hunt, their lust and vivacious desires. They value their prey above all things and are highly protective of them and their free will. They never go where they are not beckoned, never take what is not already their own and given willingly.
From Thorned Vale, Usqrwaha, the wolves and the wanderers. Bohemian dreamers, bound to their solitude. They tend to lose themselves on the way to reality, forgetting to tend to the necessities of their existence. They are not driven by the hunt, but by the euphoria of new emotions and experiences. They are nomads, gypsies of a kind. Each is a skilled musician and singer, able to steal the heart, will and soul of anyone within earshot as is their want. They hate love though it possesses them...”

The list in my memory never goes far. Kit was a far better student to it. She knows each dialect living of my kin, and most of those dead. The knowledge has served us both well, no one thinks that her kind would be able to understand any but their masters, if that, yet she is far better suited to the intricacies of our species than myself or even Ian. These things are complex and never much interested me. Our own scion of Lyre's Lair, it is all I have ever known, all that has ever mattered to me. A scion of misfits, of Ian and myself. We are Liana, a word someone found that had something to do with vines and rainforests, that seemed to suit. Kit knows what is said of our clan, and she finds it no end of amusement but she keeps it from us.

My pulse is throbbing against the music. It has been far too long since I have been amongst such an abundance of prey, it is quite unsettling. Ian has affixed that young actress' eyes in his gaze. She has been adapting to all this so beautifully I cannot comprehend it. She is quite a remarkable creature, beautiful and deep, cool and clear like some unfamiliar river. I should not have chosen her. Not for this.
I stride through the crowd long legged, and all part for me, if only for my sense of purpose. “My dear,” I offer her my arm, “This music was written for you, you cannot refuse me this dance.”
She nods slightly, not lowering her eyes as she does so. Aha, defiance, strength. I moisten my lips with the soft keen edge of my tongue, my appetite already whetted.
“Lightfoot, you would deprive me of my mea- conversation.” Ian toys with a glare. As an afterthought he mutters in Liana, “Spoilsport.”
I answer in our tongue, “Milner, you startle my quarry. You taught me gentility, and then behave like a starved rabid dog. Hypocrisy is for mortals and fiction, not you, old man.” I turn back to the actress, “I am sorry my sweet, Milner was enquiring about a private matter.” I take her arm and lead her into the dance.
“You are Mathias Lightfoot then?” She says, focused on my face, her body dancing almost of its own accord.
“Quite so, Antigone Torres. I appologise if I do not get your name right, I have so many people here at the moment it tends to make me... slow witted.” I stare back, unintimidated by her bravado.
“No that's right. Call me Annie if you want, or, well, anything, I don't mind.”
“I wouldn't deprive your name of it's full justice. It is a beautiful name, and suits you. It tends to have that same bittersweet theatrics to it, if you will forgive me for the assumption of some part of your nature.”
“It means 'against birth'. Which makes sense, I've never had any kind of fondness for pregnancy or longing of becoming pregnant.”
My lip curls, “Nor have I.”
“I will admit my name has been something of a boon in my career though, they'd rather put Antigone on a poster than a name that real people are called.”
“Names are helpful creatures. My own has been invaluable, yet it's true meaning is 'gift of God'. Probably, were meaning a consideration in names, 'against birth' would have served me better, it sounds slightly more dark and menacing.”
“So what does Ian's name mean?”
So she has fallen for his wiles. Well, well, well. “It's another form of John. 'God is gracious'.”
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I am not looking at you in any way unlike my usual manner, Antigone. I am simply observing you...”
“And what do you see?”
“I see that you are interested in more of Ian than his name.”
Her cheeks darken, and her eyes drop down. I have caught her off guard. It feels lowly, disgraceful,
“My dear, I merely wanted to warn you. It is his way to seduce his prey. It is our kind. I believe the world would be at a loss were I not to give you a fighting chance against you,” ...if only that this way he shall become more creative.
She looks back up defensively, “No, no, you have the wrong idea, I have no idea what you are talking about. I am captive here, a fucking captive, nothing more.”
“But of course.” I pull her closer in our dance. Damn Milner. “But he certainly is attached to you.”
“Is he?” Childlike and wide eyed. Oh God.
“He has looked at no other prey, but that is what you are, my dear, you are just prey to him, and you should realise that. The sooner you fall for him, the sooner you lose yourself. You will not even realise that you are losing yourself even when he has you. It is a beautiful existence, but... perilous. Immortality or death. It is what each of us asked ourselves.”
She looks away, “Who is that girl you keep staring at?”
“Kit.” I answer without thinking. What? Where did that come from?
“I've seen her in the Red Stanza with Ian. Are they in love or something?'”
A low growl purrs out of me, low and rich and full of jealousy. I frown, “I'm sorry, I... instinct. No. No, she is 'Cian.”
She studies me.
“Aviacian. There are quite a few here, with their masters. They are warrior prey, they work with my kind to save their own. Most are 'Cian for perhaps a few months. Kit has been one for four of her seven years as my prey. They cannot be like your kind, or like mine, though generally they favour mine, they find it less hypocritical than your own, probably because they have to get into our mindset to out think us. They realise that love is part of thrall and that it clouds their judgement. They belong to one master whom they are amiable with. It's symbiotic, we benefit as they feed us, they save mortals...”
“Perhaps I could be Ian's-”
“You can't.”
“Why not?”
“Because...” I sigh, “Ian is the one who made me who I am, but he is not the best of hunters to succumb to.”
“Who else would I? You?” She eyes me critically.
“I'm not going to pretend I do not want you. You are... thrilling. I cannot describe to you what your scent is doing to my senses.. my instincts. You are fair beyond measure, but what I say, I say as objectively as I can. I have come to regret letting Ian taking you, in choosing you. You would have been far more of a benefit to the world free and among your own kind.”
“You can't go back on something. Ian doesn't. Neither do I?”
“Perhaps you will, my dear. Ultimately.” The music reaches it's climax and nears it's death. I linger upon her, my unfamiliar river. “Very Well, I suppose, that I shall just have to give you a few pointers Antigone Torres.”
Curiosity. “What do you mean?”
“Ian likes to become something like a wolf, but bigger, sort of like a bear. Soft furred, sweet smelling. He'll probably try to sleep at your feet in this form, or with his head upon your stomach, or maybe even pretend to be a dog despite his size and try and get his tummy rubbed. When you see this creature, know it is him and act accordingly.”
“What did you think I'd do?”
“You can never be too careful. I would rather not he would be so invasive upon you. Here...” I slip her a small bottle.
Delicately she palms it, “This is-?”
“Blood absinthe. The more he lusts for you, the less strategically sound his actions. Rub it into your skin. And you should pay close attention to how the Aviacian behave, perhaps they will let you in on their defences, teach you the tricks of the trade.” We near Ian, and I glance at her, “You know I have always admired actresses. They are hunters too, I think. Just different prey.”
“Everyone is hunting something.” She glances back and seems to look though me. It is disconcerting.
“Yes, I suppose they are.”
She kisses my cheek with the recklessness of a woman in love, resting her head on my shoulder as the music slows and becomes more intimate. “Do you mind her dancing with them like that?”
I close my eyes slowly, “Who?”
“You know who. Kit.”
“Do you mind Ian staring at the other prey like that?” I try to exorcise the melancholy that has crept into my voice, “It is their job, their survival. Ian needs to feast to live, and when he's not feasting upon you, the longer you live and the longer you can be with him. Kit toys with other hunters to win mortals for Liana, our tribe. She is risking herself for me- for our tribe to flourish.”
“Do you ask her to?”
“I probably wouldn't feed right were she not watching over me. That is more than asking. She has no choice.”
She murmurs against my skin, “What does her name mean?”
“Kit is short for Kiustiana. That is all I know.”

Ian extracts her from me. He is somewhat peeved at my thievery. I suddenly long to tell her that I see Ian sees more in her than he does in prey, that he has never done this before. The desire flickers and then comes reason. I am cruel. It is bad enough I have done this to Kit. Perhaps she sees though me, and him, just as Kit did.
I think of her too often.

The singer I took the other day is playing a guitar and singing, one of the villainous mortal men playing drums beside her. He stares and stares at her. I hate him for it. I shall feast upon him tomorrow.

**********************************************************************

Loved it loved it loved it!!! Mathias and Ian are rather intriguing, and Annie is beautiful!!!
However I do NOT like the idea of Rox being eaten, I mean just cause he has a little trouble blinking and moving his eyes about y'know, thats no real reason to discriminate against him!

Would you like to make Matthias anymore like Blue?? *twacks you for being so brilliant*

:heartbeat: Pat

I finally get around to this and I'm awestruck once again at your exemplary skills at words and the dynamics of a chapter. It's all woven together in this perfect fabric, I just don't know how you do it. You're awesome!

Things I loved about this chapter (particularly, I loved it all as a whole):
1. When Mathias talked about the different races, I think that's brilliant, of course there's got to be more than one type of vampire or werewolf hunter out there. The names are really cool and original, I like that. And they were all unique. Such great worlds exist in that mind of yours, Shimmy.
2. Mathias' side comments about his observations of Antigone and everyone else around them (hehe, the feasting on Rox tomorrow thing was amusing). You clearly gave us a picture of how Mathias sees people and plays them into his own plans and hopes and goals. It also defines Antigone and Mathias' relationship as something that's flirted with.
3. The idea of the 'Cians and the symbiotic relationship they have with the vampires. I don't think I would have thought of something like that, it's really great! It gives them their own sort of little ecosystem, the whole "I'll scratch your back if you scratch mine" idea in that. Ahhh, Kitten is a very interesting character, though I think she knows more than Mathias and Ian give her, they may regret that later. :tehee:
4. This line:

Do mine eyes deceive me? A theme? Huzzah! This could most definitely be an opening line if this story ever became a movie. :shine:
5. Blood absinthe! I know that idea all too well, haha. Catnip for vampires, how brilliant. ^_^

Overall, two thumbs way way up! So says Zeffskel & Zeffbert, lol.

Oh, and to your question...I think my character would most likely be prey, lol. And hmmm, maybe she would go for immortality, if a certain door were opened involving a love interest. ;-)