She's not so special so look what you've done boy

[dredefulchilde]

It's with your sins you've killed me
Islington, 29 May - Locked to Jean-Claude

Millicent is dead. Millicent is dead. MillicentisdeadMillicentisdeadMillicentisdead.

If Joscelin were even halfway as cool and disaffected as he pretends to be most days, he'd be happy. Ecstatic, even. Over the moon. After all, he's wanted Millicent dead for ages and he's never been very shy about letting people know about it. Millicent had been behind the coup that ousted him from the Nest--she still holds onto his daylight jewel as a reminder of that particular humiliation. Held onto it. He supposes that whoever's stepped into the power vacuum has it now. Oddly, he's far less interested in their new leader than he thought he'd be. The man's a right monster, he knows that, but aren't they all?

He doesn't care much besides that. Because Millicent is dead and she had the temerity to die by someone else's hand.

There aren't many vampires left alive who still remember Aurelia. She's been dead for centuries; there was a different Elizabeth on the currency then. But Joss remembers. Aurelia was his entire world, mother and sire both. Even though Aurelia had been killed by human hunters, Joss has always suspected that it was Millicent who told the hunters where they were hiding. She never did like sharing power.

The man out for a late night stroll with his dog, mercifully, never saw it coming. Joss's rage and frustration needed an outlet--that outlet ended up being the man's neck. Death was near instantaneous when the small vampire ripped out his throat, nearly decapitating him except for some muscle and sinew at the back. The dog got away. Once Joss had drunk his fill he curled into himself and let out a sob. Millicent is dead.

That's how Jean-Claude finds him some time later: covered in blood and gore and crying out his anger and grief into an eviscerated corpse. Joscelin has hated Millicent for five hundred years. How can she just be gone?



Thinking of your sins I die
Islington, 5 June - Locked to Natasha

Besides the dog walker, there are now seven more bodies on the streets. They're mostly indistinguishable from the other vampire kills that now pepper the city after Millicent's death, except that an expert might be able to tell that the bite marks are from a smaller set of fangs than usual. After seventy years of feeding off animals and only using living donors, Joss has gone back to killing humans and seems to be trying to make up for lost time.

He hasn't tried turning anyone yet, but that might change soon. Their new leader has lifted the ban on turning children for the first time in one hundred and twenty years, and there are all sorts of disaffected kids in London who would relish a chance at eternal youth. In fact, there's a children's home not far from where he's been spending a lot of time lately. He's watching it, waiting to make his move.



Thinking how you'd let them touch you
Westminster, 20 June

It's the shortest night of the year.

In London, the sun sets at 21:21 and will rise again at 04:43. That's far less than seven hours of darkness when one factors in twilight and the predawn glow. For a vampire without a daylight ring, summer is torture. Joss has always hated it, being trapped inside all the time while the rest of the world blithely dons sunscreen and pretends to live in a country that isn't perpetually cold and damp.

He's chosen to spend the extended evening hours on this Midsummer's Eve inside a museum, studiously avoiding any skylights and generally trying to escape notice by guards as they begin closing for the night. If he's going to be trapped inside until dark, he might as well do it amongst his long-dead peers.

The small vampire turns down a gallery, walking a row of portraits until he finds the one he's looking for. It's inexpertly done, by later standards; the Renaissance had come to England rather later than other countries. But this Portrait of an Unknown Woman, about 1510 still managed to capture the beauty of the sitter, demure in her gabled hood and heavy gown. The artist hadn't known what he'd painted until much later, when she'd drained the life out of him as payment for the work.

"Aurelia," he murmurs, forgetting himself for a moment. It's far too long since he'd last paid a visit to his sire.

Comments

It's with your sins you've killed me

[baisant]

Jean-Claude can smell the blood before he can see what is ahead of him. He has a moment of flashback of stumbling upon Kenzi in a puddle of her own blood and everything that had come to follow that before he steps forward close enough to hear the sobbing. And then he wonders whether he shouldn't just turn around and let whatever has happened take its course, but he has come this far.

He continues forward cautiously amidst the blood and the gore, until he recognizes just what he's looking at. At who, for that matter. It is not a sight he had expected to find. He does not remember when the last time it was that he has seen the other vampire cry. If ever, for that matter. Moving close, Jean-Claude crouches beside the other vampire, not quite daring to touch just in case it should be the wrong decision to make as he speaks up. "What has happened, mon biquet?" he asks, quietly. Hoping that he will at least be allowed such a comment just this once, considering the circumstances. Truth be told, he is worried about the other vampire, although he does not know how well it will go over with him.

Thinking of your sins I die

[outstandingbalance]

It isn't all that hard to find Joscelin, the way it isn't so hard to guess who's behind it. The bite, smaller than her own and she isn't a large woman, and the ferocity. While a trail of bodies is growing disturbingly common in the current climate, Natasha's still a pretty good idea who she's going to find.

And she's not entirely surprised by where she finds him, either. There's a familiarity about the orphanage that leaves her with a flat, cold feeling.

Natasha walks onto the scene with her hands in her pockets, arms close to her body as though she's colder than the night and her state warrant. Her expression is neutral. She doesn't look at Joscelin immediately, though she comes to stop nearby, her heeled boots clicking softly on the pavement. "You can't really think this is a good idea."

Whether she means the killing he's already done, or whatever she imagines he's planning, she doesn't clarify.

[emotioneater]

Cooper is a bit further down the hall, staring much more intently at an old drawing than any teenager in a museum has the right to be. The drawing is entitled Hanging of a United Irishman 1798. He remembers the scene quite well. The British had found a sadistic pleasure in torturing their victims that way, trying to break their spirits before killing them. It hadn't worked on Cooper, too full of anger and rebellious nature to be kept down, even when he was condemned to death.

Sighing, he turns and walks towards Joss, absentmindedly twisting the daylight ring on his finger around and around. He stands and looks at the portrait for a moment, head cocked, as if observing it from purely an art-lover's standpoint. "If ever there was a place for ghosts to haunt, this would be it."