Joscelin Fitzthomas (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
dredefulchilde) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
undergrounds2016-06-07 08:21 pm
dredefulchilde) wrote in undergrounds2016-06-07 08:21 pm
Entry tags:
She's not so special so look what you've done boy
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.
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.
no subject
Now there's a question to make him pause. Not many have ever asked just what Cooper was doing there in the nest, slowly and unobtrusively working his way up the ranks. He always figured nobody took him seriously, hot-headed and blunt as he was. "Well, I've never been much of a leader. Don't have much of the heart for the job. But I'm damn good at bein' second-in-command."
A position that could sometimes hold even greater value than being the head of anything. The man standing behind the leader could pull strings and manipulate things without too much worry of someone looking at him for too long. He'd held the position before in a nest far away in America and now he sought to regain it once more.
no subject
"God's wounds," he swears. It's like I'm listening to myself. Hadn't this been his exact plan? Hitch his flag to Coward and become his lieutenant? Of course, his plan had also included killing Coward later down the line and taking all the power for himself, but that doesn't need to be mentioned. Vampire politics can be rather shockingly predictable. He's quite sure Coward had been preparing for just such a contingency before his baffling self-removal from the field. He would have been a terrible leader if he hadn't.
"A little advice from your elder, boy: wait for a candidate who is worthy of your pains. When someone inevitably takes Harris out, those closest to him will also fall."
no subject
Cooper frowns a little at Joscelin's laugh, not sure what precisely is so amusing about his comments. His plan seems secure to him. That was the great advantage of being himself. Nobody would ever suspect the vampire of wanting much more than a warm body to feed off of and someone he could occasionally pick a fight with. His ambitions were much greater than that.
"And what're your plans for the future? You didn't come back after this long just t'sit on the sidelines and watch the game pass you on by." He's heard the stories of what Joss had gotten up to before back in the day. With the ban on child vampires lifted, he can't help but wonder if he would be up to his old tricks again.
no subject
"My plans are my own; I've no intentions of sharing them. But I will say this: I'm not about to let myself get overly involved in the current state of affairs. Millicent was a tyrant in the purely classical sense. Her jealous protection of power was dictatorial and overly restrictive, but effective. Raymond Harris is the Caligula to her Augustus, as much as it pains me to speak well of the dead. I have not lived seven centuries just to allow myself to fall under the sway of such a pitiful amateur."
no subject
"Just don't wait too long t'do whatever it is you plan to do. Like I said, the wind's blowin' one direction right now. Won't stay that way for long by your own estimation." He didn't sound either like he condoned or condemned what it was that Joss had on his mind. The old vampire was a wildcard when it came to the deck of vampires. Cooper knew it was players like him that kept the game from getting too boring.