No Way to Handle Things/Who Made Me So Bad - January Catch-All

[dredefulchilde]

Mamma, the weeping

Ealing, 4 January

Jamie Brown died on 28 July 1990. He was nine years old; the victim of an accidental drowning at a crowded water park. Joscelin knows this because he did his research. That is one of the main perks of the modern technological era; all it took was a name on a headstone and a few keystrokes on a smartphone and he had access to twenty-five year old obituaries and opinion pieces about whether the water park was liable for the tragedy.

It also helped him track down the boy's mother, Candice, at her flat in Ealing. She was still grieving, the poor old dear, all these years later.

Getting her to invite him into her flat had been a bit trickier than usual, but once he was in he wasted no time in integrating himself into her little family. Joss excelled at mind control; he had her fully convinced he was her long-lost little boy in a matter of minutes. The arrangement worked well for both of them. He was back in London for the first time since the Seventies, and she had a son to take care of once more.

But it's been six months, and Mrs. Brown, no longer as young as she had once been, is fading fast. He has to find a new blood bag. Soon.

Before that, however, there's an appointment to keep.

An all-night cafe is a strange place for a small boy to be at two o'clock in the morning, but the very large bribe the boy gave the proprietor to keep quiet means he remains undisturbed. Looking quite bored, he idly checks the time on his phone. That is when he hears the footsteps behind him.

"You're late, Lord Coward."


Mamma, the angels

Westminster, 6 January

The Sixth of January marks the Feast of the Epiphany, an important point on the liturgical calendar celebrating the arrival of the Three Kings to the Holy Family. Epiphany marks the end of the Christmas season, and the beginning of a series of holy days culminating in Candlemas in February.

It's also Joscelin's birthday. He is six hundred and seventy-nine.

Birthdays are hardly important in the life of a vampire. Now that he's in his seventh century, they don't exactly hold the same significance as they once did when he was alive. The only reason he even remembers that his birthday even is 6 January is because of the interminable church services he endured as a child before getting to go home and feast.

Still, it isn't every day a boy turns 679. He decides to treat himself - a day at the cinema, perhaps. Or a cupcake at the cafe down the street.

Or a visit to a blood bag for hire. Just to celebrate.


No sleep in heaven

Tower Hamlets, 15 January

It's taken months to work up to this. Tower Hamlets is Islington territory, pure and simple. He's been all around London, everywhere but here, since his return to the city more than six month ago...just not to the heart of the vampire's world.

It's changed a lot since he was in power here during the nineteenth century. So has he. He's calmer now, more patient. Revenge doesn't need to be hasty to be effective. Time is one thing he has a lot of.

He smirks at a figure in the distance.

"Pleasant evening, isn't it?"


Or Bethlehem.

Ealing, 24 January

It isn't raining for once; a small mercy. The full moon shines down on the wintry city, and Joscelin knows instinctively he must be careful--werewolves could be about. But that doesn't matter, not now. Not when Candice Brown is dying in his arms in the middle of an abandoned park.

Joss hadn't thought about her heart when he started feeding off her. It hasn't kept up well with the strain of the constant bloodloss, and it's giving out.

"Help me!" he calls, out trying to get someone's attention. "Someone! She's sick!" It isn't supposed to happen this way. He's stopped killing humans. That was one of the terms of his banishment and he's kept it, damn it.

"You're not going to die, old woman. Not yet."

He bites his wrist and holds it to her mouth.

Comments

Mamma, the weeping

[occultdisciple]

"And a sniper assassinated a man on the courthouse steps a month ago," Coward responds dryly. "Something of that nature, naturally, raises terror concerns."

Which was part of his job. He didn't just answer for London. He answered on a national -- and even international -- scale. He had to look into possible terrorist attacks quite seriously. Even more so when he knew the origin of the assassination and had to make sure that an Incident wasn't caused by accident. So far, the navigation of the waters had been successful.

Difficult, sometimes complicated, but successful.

"I do have my own work to handle."

[dredefulchilde]

"Oh, right," Joss replies dismissively. "I did read something about that. By all accounts, it was no great loss." The man had been one of their own, killed with a silver bullet fired from an antique gun. "I find the modern world's obsession with terror utterly mystifying. The man was a serial killer, hated by many. Hardly the most appropriate victim of a terrorist attack."

It says quite a lot about Joscelin that he has absolutely no problem with lecturing the head of the Metropolitan Police about how to do his job.

"Have you thought about what we discussed earlier? Am I welcomed back into the loving embrace of the Islington Nest?"

[occultdisciple]

"Which is what I have told the media," Coward murmured easily as he sat down. "In a week, it will cease to matter."

The authorities would accept that the perpetrator who had acted alone was out of the country. And everyone would go back to their daily business.

At the real question, Coward flashed a faint smile. Or, well, rather -- a smirk.

"Welcomed might be a bit strong of a word. You... may stay. But you will be watched. For some reason, they don't quite trust you. Not that I can imagine why."

[dredefulchilde]

Joss made a face. "So no hope of getting my daylight necklace back, then?" he asked, sighing dramatically. "Figured as much."

He missed the little crucifix on its gold chain. Being stuck in the dark all the time was depressing. It had been far too long since he'd felt the sun on his skin (and not had it burned away to nothing).

"I can't say that I blame them. I supposed I earned that reputation." And there were still many, many vampires in the Nest who remembered his particularly spectacular ouster.

"Do I have to move back in? I've got a fairly good set-up going on with my blood bag. It's properly domestic."

[occultdisciple]

"I don't keep a residence with other members of the Nest." He was, after all, a politician in the human world and a member of their society. It would look stranger if he didn't keep his own home. Besides, he'd gone through quite a bit of work to reacquire his family's city home.

"I imagine they'd prefer some distance. Until they're sure what to think about you and your return."

[dredefulchilde]

"Well, thank heaven for small mercies and all that. I never did much like the place." Except when it had suited him, of course. "I do need to find new headquarters, though. Eventually. Old women will insist on fussing and it can be quite stifling at times."

Joscelin straightened and fixed Coward with his most winning and angelic smile. "I do appreciate you coming out this evening. I take it Millicent has not been kept completely abreast of our little arrangement...?"

He certainly hoped she hadn't. It would be much funnier if he just showed up on her doorstep some evening, unannounced, having been fully reintegrated into Islington Nest...

[occultdisciple]

"She is aware you are in London and that I am the one who recommended that you be offered succour within the Nest."

Which meant that if he betrayed that trust, it would be Coward's responsibility to deal with him or die trying. It wasn't appealing, no, but it was another reason to have several political allies. People he could call in a favour with if he needed assistance hunting down a vampire much older than himself.

Or Bethlehem

[constantprisoner]

It's become something of a custom for Sirius to go wandering on the night of the full moon, just in case there are any werewolves about that might need a helping hand. Granted he's never sure how helpful he'll be or if he'll be chased off but the thought has to count somewhere, right? And well, he has to admit he has a soft spot for werewolves.

He doesn't expect to find a kid and his failing mother though, and without a second thought he's on the scene, his new phone out and dialing the emergency number.

"What happened? Are you alright?"

[dredefulchilde]

Joscelin instantly hides his fangs when a concerned onlooker finally comes on the scene.

"It's her heart," he says, perhaps slightly too matter-of-fact for a desperate child clinging to his dying parent. Mrs. Brown's lips are smeared with blood from his wrist, but vampire blood is better for injuries than sickness and he knows that it's probably a stop-gap, at best. Either she needs to go to hospital now or he'll have to turn her, and if he does he can kiss his chances of staying in Islington goodbye.

Plus, after seeing all of his progeny slaughtered in front of him he's understandably reluctant to sire more.

"She's dying."

[constantprisoner]

Sirius goes to swear before stopping himself. There's a kid here, so instead he nods and gets on the phone to call for help.

"Ambulance should be here shortly," he said, kneeling down, "Anything else I can do to help?"

He's doing his best to keep his face steady, though he's starting to dislike the situation. It's mostly the smell of blood that's about, which is odd since it seemed a situation where blood would largely stay inside the body and it didn't look like she'd hit herself when she'd fallen. He tries not to concentrate on it but that's the problem with having a sensitive nose.

He'll at least stick around until the ambulance gets here.

[dredefulchilde]

"You can stay with her," Joscelin replies. There's something not quite right about the man. Something about his blood doesn't smell quite human. He's obviously not a werewolf, what with the full moon and all, but there's something distinctly doggy about him.

"Do you know CPR?" It has never exactly been Joscelin's area of study, having spent most of his unnaturally long life killing people rather than trying to save them. This whole situation is extremely novel and strange.

Mrs. Brown's lips start to turn bluish and Joscelin swears, temporarily forgetting he's still playing a part for the stranger.

"God damn you, you old cow. You're not allowed to die yet. Where's the bloody ambulance?"

[constantprisoner]

"At least until the ambulance comes."

He really shouldn't stick around longer than that, given his circumstances. Though, maybe helping someone like this would see a slight improvement to his reputation.

He shakes his head as an answer to the question, his attention focused on listening for the ambulance. He supposes he should have learned at some point, probably did and then forgot.

"That's hardly any way to talk about your mum."

[dredefulchilde]

"She's not my mother, you idiot," Simon said matter-of-factly, rolling his eyes at the stranger. Mrs. Brown's eyes widened, but he fed her another memory of her son and the vague look she wore even in the midst of a massive heart attack returned. "We have an arrangement, is all."

He could feel her pulse weakening. Throwing caution to the winds, and figuring he could always feed on the stranger (who didn't smell entirely human anyway) next to him and use blood magic to make him forget, Joscelin let his fangs descend and re-opened the wound on his wrist. He held it against the old woman's mouth.

"It'll keep her alive until the ambulance comes."

Mama, the angels

[facethewolves]

Alex hasn't been to church since she was a little girl. She never liked going - she always felt out of place among humans - but for a while her mother had insisted. January 6th was Christmas Eve in the Orthodox Church, and Uncle Sergei had always tried to make the pack follow human religious customs and fast until the first star appeared in the evening, which Alex had always hated. Six years ago today, her biggest worry was that she'd be caught sneaking cookies.

She's just come from services at Westminster Cathedral, just to keep up the pretense of being American and sort of touristy. There's a cafe nearby, and she decides to stop in for something sugary when she spots a little boy on his own. That's not enough to set off alarm bells until she gets close enough to smell him, and while the faint lingering aroma of blood doesn't necessarily mean he's a vampire, she can't help but snarl at him as she passes by him on her way to the counter.

[dredefulchilde]

"Careful, little dog," Joscelin murmurs mockingly. "If you're going to bark, make sure you've got the bite to back it up."

He raises his glass of hot chocolate in a mocking salute.

"Didn't expect to counter a wolf tonight."

[facethewolves]

He's definitely a vampire. Alex bristles when he calls her 'little dog,' her brow furrowing and her fists clenching as she tries to tamp down the urge to show him that her her bite is plenty worse than her bark. Attacking a little boy in a bustling cafe would only draw a lot of unwanted attention.

"Aren't you out past your bedtime?"

[dredefulchilde]

Joscelin smiles, clearing a space next to him and indicating that she ought to join him.

"Well, it's a special circumstance tonight, isn't it? It's my birthday, you see. My six hundred seventy-ninth. But everyone knows that six-seventy-nine is the new forty. Or twelve in my case, I suppose."

He swings his legs under the seat, looking for all the world like a child out for a special treat.

"Will you join me in a piece of cake?"

[facethewolves]

Alex watches him as he sits there swinging his legs, undoubtedly fooling all the humans around them into thinking he's just an ordinary little kid. She hates him, even though she's never met him before. Hating vampires has been ingrained in her since she was an infant, and she spent a long time thinking they'd killed her family. That sort of loathing didn't just vanish because she'd learned that vampires weren't responsible.

She leans down so the humans won't hear, every muscle tense as she tries to remind herself that she can't hit him in public, and snaps, "If I stick around here, it'll be to make sure you don't make it to your six hundred and eightieth."

On some level she knows that, if he really is that old, a fight between them won't go in her favor. But the prospect of losing has never stopped her doing anything before.

[dredefulchilde]

"You see, my dear, there might be a small problem with that. Even if you are a wolf, you're a very young one. You're what, fifteen? Sixteen?" It's difficult to gauge human ages these days. They all look so very young to him. "Small as I am, it would not be overly exerting for me to rip your arms off."

Joss gives her his most saccharine smile.

"I would not overly object were you to attempt it it, of course. I find I could use a bit of exercise. Gets the blood pumping, you see."

No sleep in heaven

[livesarejuststories]

"Very pleasant."

Lagertha spoke calmly. Her physical glamour was still up, as it always was in this realm, but, after dark, she makes less of a secret of the magic pulsing around her. It's safer for this very reason.

Some vampires like to try and make meals of fae. Others manage it. However, her age and power... Well. She has a fair bit of confidence that she's enough of a match for any but the Ancients. And, well, even then... There was respect to be had between creatures such as they. Beings so old and so versed in history and its tales.

"Let us keep it that way, hm?"

[dredefulchilde]

Joscelin is old enough to know magic for what it is. In life, he had not possessed the gift; he'd been thoroughly unremarkable in that regard. Still, after several centuries as a member of the vaguely magical undead, one does tend to pick up a trick or two.

"A fae descends amongst the mortals," he says with a slight smile. "Don't worry. I have seen far too many of my brethren seduced and destroyed by the particular temptations of your kind. I have no intention of repeating their folly."

Fae blood is said to be the purest and most delicious of all, but it is also maddeningly addictive. As much as Joss would like to try it to see if it really is as incredible as they say, he values his unlife far too highly.

[livesarejuststories]

"Dangerous things deserve respect," Lagertha murmurs with an expression to mirror his, "and our kinds are dangerous enough to each other to be due that."

An acknowledgement, in her own way. He has seen his fellows ruined by fae; she has seen others she cares for killed by vampires. They are dangerous, and, so long as they don't forget it, they can tolerate each other easily.

"The mortals are interesting, especially right now."

[dredefulchilde]

"They are, aren't they?"

Joscelin adopts a friendly, open posture, leaning against the side of a building. He tosses a cheap rubber ball from hand to hand.

"They stare at their screens all day and think that means they're communicating." He has one of those screens too, of course, but he finds he's not as quick with new technology as modern children are. Must be a sign of old age.

Then again, he remembers when the printing press was the big new thing.

"Though, I must admit that Angry Birds is quite an amusing game."

[livesarejuststories]

"I have a blog," she chirps. "It's made the world quite a bit smaller, and it's changed communication."

She doesn't mind computers much. Or phones. She has a smart phone in her pocket, loaded with plenty of apps. But his comment about the game makes her laugh.

"Candy Crush Soda. It's a good way to spend a few hours."

[dredefulchilde]

"A...blog." Joscelin rolls the word around on his tongue and finds he doesn't like the taste. Such a vulgar contraction. "A fae with a blog. My goodness, what is the world coming to? What do you blog about, fae?"

He is genuinely curious. What does something so ancient have to say on the Web?

At least they have phone games in common. "I did enjoy Flappy Bird, when that was still...what's the terminology these days? A thing."

Boys 'his age' are supposed to be attached to their devices, aren't they? It's his way of fitting in.

Or so he tells himself.