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If I had my way I would stay up here forever and never look down - February Open Post

Leaning from the balcony

Islington Nest, Early February - OPEN to vampires and vampire allies only

One hundred twenty years, almost exactly. That was how long it had been since Joscelin Fitzhomas had last been allowed in the Nest. He was surprised by how much had changed--he saw far more new faces than old--and how much had stayed exactly the same. Everything was so familiar; with the notable exception of the clothes everyone wore and the cell phones most now carried, it was almost as if he had not been deposed in a violent coup, been made to watch as every vampire he'd ever sired was killed in front of him, and had been banned for life.

Huh.

Well, plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.

He initially cast about for a familiar face, but quickly changed his criteria to a friendly one. He recognized many faces, of course, and he also recognized the openly murderous glares he was getting from every quarter. His reputation as a monstrous tyrant had apparently preceded him, because even vampires sired after his spectacular downfall didn't look terribly pleased to have him there.

Ah--a friendly face at last. Finally.

"Rough crowd tonight, hmm? It's almost as if they all remember my rather disastrous attempt at leading the Nest."

As if without a care

Kensington High Street, 14 February - OPEN

Ah, Valentine's Day. Chocolate and cards and plenty of soppy young couples drunk on wine and love and blissfully unaware that they were being watched by a small figure lurking in the shadows. After his embarrassing failure to feed on the American the previous night, Joscelin found himself quite ravenous. He stood a little away from the entrance to the Underground station, looking for an easy mark. It had been far too long since he'd had human blood, and even as old as he was his strength and speed were rather diminished because of it. Ah, there.

Quietly, he approached his chosen victim.

Wondering should I take the fall

Guilty Pleasures, 20 February - CLOSED to Kenzi

News around the Nest was that Jean-Claude had recently turned a pretty young girl. A former witch, even, to hear some of the younger ones tell it. How very interesting.

Joss felt it was his duty, as Jean-Claude's associate and even sometimes friend to investigate these claims and, if necessary, impress upon the newly made vampire the importance of her new situation as the progeny of the Earl of Poplar.

But mostly he was curious.

As strange, or even appalling, as the presence of a prepubescent boy in a strip club might have looked to the casual observer, this was hardly Joscelin's first time in Jean Claude's establishment. In fact, a nod to the bartender got him shown to his accustomed booth, hidden in a corner, and a large strawberry milkshake. If he was going to suss out the baby vampire, Guilty Pleasures was a good place to start.

And apparently his hunch had paid off. There she was, really not very far from where he sat. The others had been right--she was pretty.

"So it's you, then, is it?" He asked, more demanding than anything, putting out his small hand. "Joscelin Fitzthomas de Lisle, at your service."

Or should I take the stairs

The Jolly Roger, 29 February - OPEN

Leap years were somewhat less extraordinary to the admittedly ancient but Joscelin had always found himself fascinated with the idea of it, which came about far earlier than his own long-ago time. It was Aurelia who had first sparked his interest in all things antiquarian, when she was still alive, and in between telling him stories of Claudian Rome and her eventual journey to the newly established outpost of Britannia improved his paltry church Latin with the real thing.

He'd never admit it, of course, but he missed his sire desperately.

Because it was leap day, and because he still had yet to find a human surrogate parent who fit his exacting standards in brainwashed blood donors, Joss decided to debase himself by going to the local watering hole. Blood workers weren't ideal, but he had a bit of cash at the moment and it was far preferable to random drunks and stray pets. Despite his apparent age, certain others of his attributes had him quickly admitted to the back room.

Where he waited.

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Kenzi was certainly dressed the part to be fitting in at a strip club - she refused to go near the pole and stage on principal but she would help out at the bar as much as she could.

She had just sat down a tray to take more drinks out to the clients when Joscelin introduced himself. Kenzi had to take a few moments to realize exactly what was happening because - child in strip club.

"Who what now?"

She blurted to his question before looking at his hand. It was so tiny.

"Kenzi. Malikov."

She shook it quickly, as if too weirded out by looking at child in this setting.

"Charmed," the little boy replied, leading Kenzi back to his booth (and his milkshake). "You can call me Joss, if you wish. All my friends do, or would if any were still alive. Joscelin is also suitable."

He took another look at the girl. "I must say, I was quite surprised when I heard that Jean-Claude had turned someone new. Excuse me for saying it, my dear, but you're not our gracious host's usual type, if you understand my meaning." For the many, many years Joss had known Jean-Claude, he had seen him take more beautiful young men under his wing than beautiful young women.

"It's all a bit strange at first, isn't it?" He asked Kenzi, not unkindly. "I hope the hunger isn't too unmanageable? I drank my way through an entire country manor, when I was first turned."

"What does Jo not work for ya?"

Drinking his way through a country manor? Kenzi couldn't even imagine ... actually she could and maybe that was the worst part... besides the fact that thinking about it made her throat stick when she tried swallowing. Talking would work right?

Kenzi shrugged and smiled uneasily against the sudden bloodlust.

"Strange is relative. I was a witch before this, so strange and unusual are pretty normal for me."

Not that being turned into the undead was too normal itself, but she had seen some really bizarre things in her day.

"Jo...?" Joscelin looked like he was considering it for a moment and then tossed it aside. "Not especially," he shrugged.

A witch, hm? Well, Jean Claude had always had a bit of a flair for the dramatic.

"I was as normal as they come, I'm afraid. Bastard son of the Bishop of Ely. Had no idea about vampires or witches or any of it. At least you were prepared? Goodness, I hope you were prepared. You, ah, chose this, didn't you?"

Kenzi shrugs and smirks. She might use it just to spite you Joss, but she's going to be good for the sake of shirking drink duty.

"Grown up in the weird, I think that counts as prepared...," still, there wasn't enough that could really prepare you for a slow and painful death. Which she still picked. Just to say goodbye.

"If you can call choosing life over death choosing. I guess that counts."

It might as well!

Joscelin can't help but laugh a little. It's not a laughing matter. He knows this. But it still brings a smile to his lips.

"Not much of a choice, then. My god, Jean Claude is so sentimental. Did you ask him to do it, or did he offer to? He's quite the chivalrous night, our Jean Claude."

"I asked." She responds in a clipped tone, only because thinking about it made her feel scared all over again. But she's not dying anymore. Despite the fact that it felt like a fucking eternity.

In the interest of stopping herself from getting remotely serious, Kenzi smiles and snorts in laughter as well.

"Does he seriously go up to the weak and dying in the street and offer immortality like that? Cause that's not a very wise business strategy...," Kenzi's eyes drift up to one of the men swaying around the pole and her eyes gloss over just a little. Hungry? Or horny? Who knows.

"Actually that might be a pretty sound practice."

Oh, so she was dying? This is news to Joscelin, though he acts like it isn't. Honestly, from years of knowing Jean-Claude it doesn't surprise him. His sometimes-friend is obnoxiously honorable. Joscelin doesn't know how one can keep such a pesky conscience after all these centuries, really.

But maybe that's because he never had much of one to begin with.

"You'd be the first I know of, but I wouldn't be surprised if it were the case," he says, slurping up the last of his milkshake.

"Just don't go around repeating the favor." Suddenly, he looks serious. "Creating a new vampire isn't something that's done lightly these days; he could have let you die and no one would have thought the worse of him for it. He put his neck out for you. I hope you've thanked him for the gift."

"Oh, is that like... a thing?"

Kenzi didn't know if there was any ban on making new vampires - that wasn't something that was widely advertised in her circles at any rate. If JC was going to be in trouble because of her she wanted to make up for it.

There was some loyalty towards someone who saved your life.

"He's an earl," Joss replies by way of explanation. Then, realizing Kenzi might be too new to understand the complexities of the vampire court, he decides to amend the statement.

"Vampire society is highly stratified. You're an infant so you haven't got a title yet. You're a nonentity. No offense." He says it in such a way that it's fairly obvious he wouldn't care if offense were actually given. "Then there's the barons, who've got a little power but it's really a rather meaningless title." Joscelin likes to pretend he doesn't care that he's been so demoted, but inwardly he chafes at the loss of power. But even to have come this far in so short a time is impressive. Coward's regime has been very beneficial to him so far, and he knows how to be patient. "After that comes the earls, who are the ones with more power in the Nest. They are allowed to sire new vampires and wear daylight jewelry. Jean-Claude's siring of you was not beyond his station, but it's still something that's quite controlled.

"It didn't necessarily used to be this way. I was sired during what I suppose you would call the Middle Ages. The Year of Our Lord Thirteen Hundred and Forty-Eight. It was a bit looser than."

He sighs.

"I used to be an earl. I haven't seen sunlight in over a century. It does get rather tiring to be always in the dark."

Edited 2016-03-14 00:33 (UTC)

Joscelin was right to explain further, because Kenzi's face went completely blank in that moment before he began. Vampire society was a lot more complicated than she thought it was. In a way it makes sense. If people are going to live forever they have to have some rules or whatever, right?

"Used to be?"

Kenzi attaches to that. How do you manage to fall from that sort of post when you're so old?

Joscelin is a beautiful child, not at all pox marked or blemished despite his medieval upbringing. He has the power to look quite angelic when he wants to...but he doesn't want to right now. The glint in his eyes is cold and murderous and maybe even a little bit insane.

He laughs mirthlessly. "The same way Nicholas the Second went from being Tzar of Russia to being shot to pieces in a cellar in the space of only a couple of years. Regime change is, to borrow the vernacular, a bitch."

Kenzi can't help but laugh in surprise. Joscelin might be waaaaaaay older than she is but he looks like puberty is just around the corner and hearing him curse is funny.

She'll get over it soon. Ish.

"It sounds so wrong when you say it."

Childermass is by no means what one might call 'an easy mark'. Not if they should really know him, to be sure. But he is on his own at night, having just stepped out of a book shop, a package of books in tow. He pops his collar up to keep him warmer against the wind, and with his long hair and his scruffy looks, he seems more of a vagabond than a rich man's right hand man.

As he makes his way down the street, he isn't really paying attention to the people around him. Valentine's Day doesn't really mean anything to him, and he'd rather not be tripping over the reminders of it around every corner. So in fact, unlike his usual attention he might pay to his surroundings, he's rather pointedly ignoring everyone else. For the moment at least...

A man alone on Valentine's Day? How very tragic.

Joscelin watches him from the shadows, just long enough to make sure that he really is alone and not about to meet anyone who would interfere with their dinner plans.

It wouldn't be a hinderance, necessarily, just a complication.

Satisfied that the man is, indeed, quite alone and planning on staying that way, the boy begins to shorten the distance between them. There's a blind alleyway coming up; it's a perfect ambush point.

He licks his lips in anticipation. Just a few feet more...

Childermass can hear the footsteps behind him. Whoever it is, they're being rather careless in their pursuit. He does not chance a glance behind himself or over his shoulder, for that would give himself away, but there is an alleyway coming up yes.

And as soon as Childermass turns the corner into said area, with a quick uttered word he is one with the shadows of the night, invisible, even if he knows that doesn't quite save himself from harm.

"I would ask why you are following me," he murmurs. "Though the look in your eye tells me more than I need to know on that account."

"Well, aren't you perceptive."

Is this what he's reduced to? Is he this rusty at hunting after months of living fat and happy off a blood bag that he can't even manage to procure a meal without it trying to confront him about it? Joscelin wonders if having blood on demand for so long has dulled his instincts, made him weak. Maybe he needs to be forced to scavenge for a while.

And maybe he's really fucking hungry.

He eyes the man's neck, considering. How easy would it be to just close the distance and tear out that throat? Surely, he doesn't need to be as rigid when it comes to not killing humans now that he and Coward have their little arrangement. It's been a few decades, yes, but wholesale slaughter is something that comes as naturally to Joscelin as breathing. Really, he should be commended for how well he's controlled those urges. Rewarded, even, with food that doesn't try to confront him.

He sighs. If only. "It'll be painless. You don't even have to remember it."

A beat.

"Or I could just kill you."

Edited (Phone tags mean lots of typos.) 2016-03-11 13:14 (UTC)

Childermass raises an eyebrow at the bravado of this child-vampire. Either he's very new and no one has trained him how to hunt yet, which as far as Childermass is aware, is entirely against the rules, turning one so young these days. Or he's just getting really desperate.

He's willing to bet that it's the latter.

"Alas, I have a feeling that the man I serve would not be very happy if you did something like that," Childermass says, very matter of fact, nonchalant despite the fact that they are discussing the possibility of killing him. "And I don't think that it would do the vampires' alliance with him very good either. And we mustn't have that, now, have we?"

"You're Night Council?" Damn. His luck was worse than he thought.

Maybe it truly is time for Joscelin to start paying for his blood. This whole going it alone business is too obnoxious.

"I've an arrangement with Lord Coward as well, actually. But it's no matter." He smirks. "Go back to the man you serve."

In a manner of speaking Childermass supposes he is now. Night Council administration. It's amusing to think about really. Someone who fetches coffees and bustles around paperwork and spies on the other Council members and does the dirty work that none of the Council members themselves would ever stoop to (or at least admit to) doing.

Childermass spreads his hands wide in an almost apologetic motion. "Then it would do neither of us any good to tip the balances on our agreements. Though I must admit," he continues. "I am curious as to what arrangement you might have with him."

Joscelin shrugs. "It would be none of your business, witch," he replies.

"Mortals so rarely have a proper grasp of vampire politics." And vice versa. Joss has no idea who the current Prime Minister is, nor does he have even the slightest inclination to learn. "Your lives are too short for that."

And his life may get even shorter if Childermass keeps asking pointed questions.

Childermass makes a face to suggest that he finds this exchange rather amusing, truth be told. Which is possibly not the best thing he could have done, when faced with a volatile child vampire such as the one in front of him. But Childermass has always been rather a man for living like on one sort of edge or the other.

"Perhaps so," he says. "And yet your friend is curiously keen on our business. Why is that, do you think?"

Valentine's Day.

It isn't anything he really worries about now. Even when he was a young man, there were better times to play at romance than in the middle of winter. Especially a werewolf-related holiday, as he'd always seen Valentine's Day. His holiday of choice was Midsummer. As a witch, especially, Beltane had been his main draw.

And now?

Now, he's furious. He's out hunting, yes, but not for human prey. He's looking for the vampires responsible for the massacre not twelve hours ago. Because that? Wasn't authorised by the Nest. Which meant they were all perilously close to being exposed. Thankfully others had more than enough cause to protect them all.

"I heard about last night."

Joscelin leans against a wall, arms folded across his bony chest. For once, he isn't smiling or teasing or trying to make a joke. He, too, wants to know who did this, how things could go so desperately wrong in so short a time.

"They had to have been young. No one else could have been so stupid."

He hopes Coward can get to the bottom of this and punish those responsible, for both their sakes. Millicent would see inaction on Coward's part as a sign of weakness, and Joss doesn't want to have pinned his chance for a return to favor on the wrong man.

"Dare I ask how many dead?"

"Seventeen," he replies with a soft sigh. Individuals don't matter much to him, no, but something like this is just awful. Too many are dead. There's too much to figure out.

"I have the scene locked down. Guardians only have access and any police they clear." After having let one of the werewolves snoop around a bit too, as a professional favour. "They will be brought to justice."

Someone he considered to be under his protection was attacked as well as someone close to the prospective new leader of the werewolves. If things continued the way they were going.

Joscelin lets out a small whistle. Seventeen young, healthy humans. There was no hiding this. Not now that everyone carries a camera on them at all times. "They weren't even saying that many on the news. My god." They could have downplayed this better a hundred years ago. Even fifty years ago. Now... "Millicent can't be happy. There's no hiding this."

He doesn't envy Coward one bit.

"I'm afraid I don't have any names to give you. They'll all have been after my time."

Coward sighed a little. "It's easier to hide than you'd think."

Which he hated having to say, but it was true.

"They were a little smart. Midnight rave with only candles for light. Midnight, the candles went out. No one really saw anything. The videos that are online are just bloody."

Nothing specific. So, it had been easy to write off as psychotic individuals who just wanted a slaughter. But he still had to bring them down.

"Millicent... will be satisfied when I can present their heads. Attached to their bodies or not."

"But there are videos, which is more than anyone would have liked." Wherever there was evidence, no matter how fuzzy or tenuous, there would be rumors.

Young ones these days. Far too reckless. What were they, wolves? No one has any respect for the old ways anymore.

When Coward mentions punishment, Joss can only nod. Millicent's concept of justice had always been distinctly medieval. Having been on the receiving end of it before, he can't help a shiver thinking about what's in store for the perpetrators, whoever they are.

"I almost feel sorry for the poor bastards."

"Almost," Coward repeats.

He doesn't let it concern him, really. What foolish, foolish ones of their kind have done. Young as he may be to vampires, he has more sense than that. And, at the very least, he can make a small mark by how efficiently he deals with them.

Because that is what he has to do. Keep his name known.

"I've been feeling a bit bored lately," Joscelin sighs, absently checking his mobile phone.

"My contacts aren't what they once were, but if my lord wishes it I can use them. To bring the perpetrators to justice, and all that." Just give me a few hours with them first. He hasn't been allowed to torture anyone in far too long.

Colin smirked slightly, offering a small nod toward Joscelin.

"If you'd like to bring their heads to Millicent yourself, I'd be quite happy to let you have it."

After all, he'd get credit enough, and Joscelin wanted to regain some status. It would be a proper start.

Talk to Millicent? "Zounds, and actually have to face that unnatural woman? You may have the lion's share of that particular honor, my lord. If having to spend more time with Millicent is a requirement for regaining my status within the Nest I shall be quite happy to remain your humble lieutenant."

Humble. Right.

Valentine's day has been quite lovely for Finnick so far. Brunch with Annie in the morning led to an early afternoon laying in bed, and now Finnick is out in the city in the early evening making arrangements for dinner. He's in good spirits until he senses Joscelin, and it's not like vampires are highly rare in London, but they always put a damper on his mood anyway. He makes a point of marking them every time he senses one nearby, not interested in letting himself become prey in case their sense of smell is as strong as his sensitivity to magic.

He sees Joscelin near the entrance to the underground, and recognizes the look in his eyes immediately. It's a look he's seen far too often, and even if it seems perhaps less intimidating in the eyes of someone who looks like a child, Finnick knows it can only spell bad things for the recipient.

Tightening his jaw, he alters his course a little and makes a beeline for Joss. Call it stupidity, but at least he can tell when he's being hunted - the human in Joss' line of sights has no idea, and Finnick has a chance to let them escape. He walks at a fast pace, fully intending to bump Joscelin off course with his elbow, enough to distract him momentarily and give him a look to communicate how much hatred he feels for all of Joss' kind.

The bump is is all Joscelin needs to lose track of his prey. He turns to face the interloper and for just a moment his desperation for blood shows on his face. He looks feral, inhuman.

It's been far too long since he's had anything satisfying to drink. Stray pets barely count as sustenance.

"Go away," he snaps, childishly. "No fair! I just wanted a little taste. I wasn't going to kill her."

Finnick smiles coldly, wondering if this child can tell what's bumped into him. He knows vampires tend to be strong, stronger than fae at any rate, but he's not about to act like he's on his guard with one this small.

"Don't make promises you can't keep," he says sharply, almost at a hiss. He'd turn and walk away, but that's never a wise decision with one of Joss' kind, so he stares him down instead.

"And I thought your kind were supposed to be wise," Joss shoots back, acidly. "Why make a mess when you can erase memories instead."

He looks up at the fae.

"I make it a point to avoid fae blood but maybe I'll make an exception in your case." He smiles, showing fangs once again. "I could do with a little sun, don't you think?"

"I wish all of your kind would take a walk in the daylight," Finnick says, his smile fading just a little, "but you won't be getting my help."

He scans the people around them - none close enough to hear, though it must look strange, he a grown man glaring down at someone who looks so young. For all Finnick knows the vampire is older than him. He's young for a fae, so it's not unlikely.

"Don't you have some hapless sire to get back to? I'm sure they're wondering why you wandered off during playtime."

Joscelin is unconcerned. "She's dead." He sounds bored. "I'm quite alone. Tragic, isn't it?"

He's scanning the crowd for another likely mark--and a quick exit. If things with the fae get a little too heated, he can always pretend to be abducted. He might even manage to convince the rescuing Good Samaritan to take him home; he could do with a more permanent blood donor solution.

"Haven't you got anything better to do with your time, fae? No humans to trick? No witches to steal territory from?"

"Oh yes," Finnick says, his smile returning to its full icy force. "All crimes equal to killing someone for their blood."

He knows if he stops talking, the vampire will just find someone else to prey on - he realizes that he hasn't quite thought this through. It occurs to him that he could just kidnap him and kill him, but to get him alone would be a feat without drawing attention or getting himself killed in the process.

"Besides, you and I both know time is relative. Well, perhaps you measure it the spaces between meals. I don't have any irritating obligations like that."

"You're so dramatic," Joss scoffs, rolling his eyes. "Are all the fairies this unimaginative? It was politics. Drinking human blood had nothing to do with it. Besides, it's been five hundred years." And yet it still stings, though he'll never admit it. Aurelia was the closest thing he had to a mother since his father consigned the real thing to a nunnery at some point during the late 1330s. He still feels her loss acutely.

Just another reason to hate Millicent, really. Even if she wasn't the one who ordered Aurelia's death, everything can be traced back to her eventually. One ancient vampire removing another from power.

"Time is relative, yes. Which makes this conversation even more of a waste of it, really. Now if you'll excuse me, fae, I have a human to not kill. For someone who apparently knows everything, you can be quite dim."

Finnick has no idea what Joss is talking about, but he's not about to reveal that. He's only been alive four and a half centuries, which makes this prepubescent vampire older than him. It's not humbling, just a minor annoyance.

He smirks, pretending he's not deeply unsettled at the thought that a human is about to die to a vampire and he can't do anything to stop it. It happens every day, and he knows it, but here he is effectively powerless to stop even one attack. "It will always be a mystery to me why the Night Council tolerates soulless killers like you," he says sweetly. "Be on your way, then."

Another eye roll. "You wound me. Really, honestly, you do. I shall have to go back to my home and rethink the last seven centuries of my prolonged existence because one little fairy has hurt my feelings and in doing so made me see the error of my ways."

So perhaps that's laying it on a bit thick, even for Joss.

"Why do you care so much, anyway? Bit sensitive, are we? Nobody's been clapping because they believe in you?"

"Because," Finnick says evenly, still smirking. "If I had the opportunity to choose between any hapless human's life and yours, it would be the human's life almost every time. There are a few witches I wouldn't mind seeing gone, but your kind is truly despicable in every way."

It's not as if he can lie, but Finnick looks hard at Joss in complete sincerity to drive the point home. "Did I tell you to be on your way?"

"Did you? I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over the sound of your smug sense of moral superiority," Joss replies airily.

"Still, I've got places to go and people to exanguinate, as you so helpfully pointed out. Good day, sir."

With a flippant wave and a rather rude gesture, he disappears into the crowd.

Edited 2016-03-22 04:37 (UTC)

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If I had my way I would stay up here forever and never look down - February Open Post

Guilty Pleasures

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Kensington High Street

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Kensington High Street

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KENSINGTON

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