The Guardian Saga

[satindesire]

OOC:

~*{"The Guardian Saga" Thread Rules and Regs}*~

Please try and limit the amount of OOC chatter in this thread. There is an OOC thread just for this purpose which I check daily. I promise, nothing important will be missed if you post OOC stuff there instead of here.

Please keep the subject manner appropriate for nonsexual RP, which means no extra detailed scenes of violence, drug use, or sexual situations. Also, if you are posting pictures for a character description or for any other reason, keep them R rated or below, as well. That means no extra detailed nudity, you perverts! ^_^

Minimum post length of two well written paragraphs of four sentences. Quality over quantity counts here, but please, guys, let's keep this novella-RP going in it's own chosen style.

If you're posing for this thread, please try to keep up with it. There's really nothing worse than a thread that dies because one of it's main characters suddenly drops off the face of the RP planet. If there's a situation that needs to be dealt with by you, please inform me via IM so that I may keep the RP going in your absence. If you have any problems please contact me, as I created this thread and it is my own personal responsibility to make sure everything runs smoothly. If I cannot come to some kind of conclusion I will go directly to the mods of this site to make sure everything is peachy keen between posters.

Acceptable characters in this thread are Humans (mortals or Kine) and Vampires (Sanguarians, Kinder). Besides this, your choices are limited to your imagination...Rich or poor, Ancient or newly Embraced, European, Asian, American...it's up to you after that. Of course, I really don't want to see black-trenchcoated samurai ninjas wielding katanas...but if you really must be that cliche, welcome to the party. :-D

Have a good time...and thank you for posting in "The Guardian Saga"

~*{End OOC}*~


Alais was not one to dally on good luck when it came to pass, taking advantage of what small measure came her way. However, she was questioning her luck one unfortunate evening when coming across an old friend. It was the hottest evening of August, and late.

Chasmine.

The White Bride stood before her, ageless through the centuries Alais had known her. Chasmine was older than she, Ancient even to her dated standards, and not a line or pore visible on that smooth, elegant face.

Still, she was the most beautiful woman Alais had ever seen. Her svelte figure draped in a heavy kimono-style robe, silent feet hidden by the silken folds, a single creamy hand touched her brow in a sign of greeting.

Mercury eyes flicked over the do-gooder, enraged at the interruption. Bitter with memories. “Chasmine. To what do I owe this great honor?” Chasmine folded her hands inside her sleeves, tucked away thus, she looked like a small child. Alais cowed her in size, standing nearly a foot taller than the slender Guardian, but the sheer force of power that radiated from the woman was obvious.

“Alais, recently a watchman in the village of Ilia reported sighting a band of whelping Kinder risen from a nearby crypt. Have you any hand in this disturbance?” Her face was emotionless, smooth, luminous moonstone eyes disturbingly focused.

“As much as I’d love to take credit for such obvious lack of decorum, Chasmine, you should know me better by now.” She had never had trouble masking her emotions in front of Kine and other Vampires…but the Guardian unsettling aura frightened her. Chasmine’s eyes narrowed slightly, thoughtfully. “Yes, I gathered as much.” She drew in a breath and let out a deep sigh. “It seems the Camarilla are having some trouble keeping the Sabbat under control these days. The number of innocent Kine being slain has dramatically increased since your…banishment.”

Alais felt a tremor of rage flood her body, standing goose bumps along her skin. Through clenched teeth, she hissed “What may I assume you’re asking me for, by coming to me with this information?” Chasmine seemed to draw up inside herself, gathering force that pulsed steady and warm under her words.

“Do not mistake my complacency for weakness Alais. I know since Gerald’s death you have been crowned the Black Flame. I know the Balance dictated this. However, Grahamas’s possession has not made the White Flame weak and untapped. I have been blessed with that honor!”

She took a step back in surprise. So this was the flood of energy she felt radiated from the Guardian’s aura. Chasmine had always had a vast reservoir of Mana, but nothing before like this. “The White Flame…”

“Understand this, Alais. Grahamas is not dead. And therefore, he will always be the leader of the Guardians. Should Neodlevar release his hold on my husband, then he shall return as rightful heir to the Gift. But you are not the Queen of this land and your army will not reign under –this- watch. If you cannot come to compromise with the Sabbat I will take their actions as war and I WILL take the necessary action.”

In a sizzling burst of snow-white fire, a pair of flawless silvery wings unfolded from her back, and in a gust of wind strong enough to step her back, Chasmine took flight from the darkened forest and vanished.

Alais returned to her manor, unfed and shaken. Refusing to speak to her servants and even refusing all phone calls from her long-time lover, Max, Nearly dawn came before Chloe found her floating in a steaming tub, topped with rose petals.

Sitting down at the edge of the tub, Chloe gingerly touched her shoulder. “Ma’am, you really should feed.” Lids barely parted, the black widow regarded her assistant with begrudging acquiescence. “Yes, yes…I know. I had a…run-in that put me off my appetite.” Chloe reached into a tubside basket and retrieved a bottle of bath oil, uncapping it and sniffing it appreciatively. “Oh? Who was it this time? Forrester? McLaine?”

A snort “No, worse.” The redhead’s expression was surprised “Who?”

“Chasmine.”

“What?! Why didn’t you say-“ Alais held up a slick hand, stuck with rose petals. “No, I didn’t want to cause any undue rumors. This conversation doesn’t leave this room, yes?” She nodded.

“The last time I was face to face with the Guardians, Gerald was killed, Grahamas went insane and I was banished to this…miserable hellhole.” A sigh “I am not counting kismet out, however. Shortly thereafter the Balance crowned me Black Flame and I –thought- I would be free of the Barrier and it’s magic. However, the barrier never fell, as you’re well aware of. Through all my rituals and sacrifice and pleas to The Lathlogar, I received not an iota of word. Not a drop of promising information. Like He refused to speak with me. I thought it was because I had failed to kill Grahamas, but it was because the White Flame has been passed.”

“To Chasmine?” Alais shook her head in disbelief “Yes, Chasmine. I couldn’t believe it. I saw the aura of the Gift on her as clear as day, so much like Grahamas’s own. Not as strong, of course, but Grahamas was –born- to the gift. A physical manifestation of the White Flame. But there, and fully realized. I never knew it was possible, that a Mortal Angel would be able to absorb such power. But…” Trailing off, she unplugged the tub to allow the water to drain, taking the towel her assistant offered.

“This is a dangerous situation we’re in, Chloe. Grahamas spared me because I am his blood, like it or not. It was, of course, guilt that made him spare me…Guilt that he had mated with my mother, and guilt that he was kept ignorant of my birth. Chasmine holds no such hesitation. I am living proof that Grahamas was unfaithful. The one sin he committed in his life, made flesh. I suppose it’s the reason I took the Gift so easily. Like Grahamas, I was born a manifestation of that sin.”

She dried off, wrapping herself in a soft satin robe. Chloe began to run a brush through her luxurious curls. “She came under the pretense of asking about the Sabbat, but I understood her clearly enough. My influence has reached beyond the Barrier too far for her comfort and she wants me….dead.”


Chasmine remembers:

It was an unseasonably strong storm that evening. She had the servants shut up the stables so the horses wouldn’t panic, tried to soothe their minds with the Light but something malevolent seemed to lurk just beyond the edges of her senses. Angel was restless and tossed fitfully, in the throes of a nightmare. Jason procrastinated, pretending to ask questions about forming ice crystals with Mana while he tried to get out of being sent to bed.

Grahamas was late coming in, and smelled of horses and smoke…and fear.

Thunder crashed suddenly when he opened the door, lightning had struck one of the trees by the dock. The rain did not douse the flames that poured from the boat house, sending vast plumes of acrid black fumes towards the manor. He had his scabbards on, which immediately brought Chasmine to her feet.

“Graham? What’s-..?” Grahamas’s long legs ate up the distance between them, he gripped her arm, looking down into her face with eyes steely with resolve. “Call the Guardians. Gerald is out there.”

She could feel the blood rush from her face, the acid feeling of fear making her stomach clench with sickness. Jason stood from his seat, his hand automatically finding the grip of his blade. “Mother?”

“Jason, get your sister and Nexus to the Temple in Ayenee.” Jason began to protest but was stopped by a stern look from his father. “Yes Ma’am…”

Soon, a small crowd had gathered in the Foyer of the Rhivaldeon manor. The flaxen-haired Leisana, stern Jakob and beautiful Freya were last to come. Leisana greeted her stepmother comfortingly, gripping her shoulders in a crushing embrace. Grahamas shut the door behind the last Guardian and cleared his throat. Immediately, the foyer grew silent, expectancy hanging thick in the air.

“As you all know, Gerald has been on the move in Highlace for some time. The realm has suffered enough from the Dark Hand. He is waiting for us, with his men, on the shore.” Murmurs rose from the crowd.

“We have all trained for this day. Prepared…to the best of our abilities. This will not be practice anymore. This is war. It’s real. It’s here. People will die tonight.”

“GRAAAAHAAAMAAAS!!”

The Guardian spun, throwing open the door. Lightning flashed, showing a sopping wet and grinning Gerald gripping Jason around the throat, the end of a wickedly curved Scimitar pointed at his belly. At his side, Alais Ravencroft stood clad in rain slick leather, and Gerald’s beloved concubine Lindsay.

“I HAVE YOUR BOY! COME OUT AND I SWEAR HIS DEATH WILL BE SWIFT!” From under the rain and thunder, jeering laughter from the grisly army with him.

Grahamas’s cheeked flushed brightly with rage. Drawing Fate and Destiny, he strode out into the rain, followed by the song of metal withdrawing from a dozen scabbards.

The war had begun.

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

December.

The door slid silently open, admitting Chloe. Her once-prim, untouched face bore traces of cosmetic, the faint scent of perfume on her neck. "What is it, Chloe?" The young woman cleared her throat and crossed her arms under her bosom. "Miss Ravencroft, Christmas comes in a week and...and I'd like to take a few days off." Alais looked up sharply from her desk, allowing the papers she was reading to droop, a flicker of surprise tinting her steely expression.

"What?" Came her sharp rejoinder, voice like a bullet on the cold marble walls of the office.

"m-Miss Ravencroft, I've been a loyal employee of yours for nearly seventeen years and I think-" Alais cut her off, standing out of the glossy leather chair that dominated her field of vision. "Chloe, I do not ever recall once in those years you ever asking for time off." Chloe's face blossomed hot, like fire, the force of the blush warming her skin from a faint ivory to a deep rose. "Yes, Ma'am, I know, but I really would-" Again, Alais silenced her by raising a gloved hand, mercurial eyes narrowing sternly on the woman's cowering frame.

She stepped from behind the desk and crossed the floor, stilettos faintly echoing in the high-ceiling chamber. "You met someone." Fine nostrils flare, the scent of sweat and sex and joy like a balm of humanity on the girl. How old was Chloe now? Twenty nine? Thirty? Surely the years could not have passed so quickly…

The secretary said nothing, her eyes falling to the finely woven pattern of the ancient rug beneath her feet. After several drawn-out moments, Alais spoke again.

"Make sure the paperwork for the Darcy-Jones account is finished. You have two weeks." The girl brightened noticeably, but before she could shower her employer with gratitude, Alais stoutly dismissed her and returned to the desk, picking up the papers she had been perusing but somehow, could not find the focus to lose herself in them again. Such frivolities of mortality like holiday spirit and vacations with family seemed so distant now, only a fleeting taste of what they once were remained to blacken the pit of her belly with bitter regret. She pressed the buzzer on her desk. "Marcus, bring the car 'round. I'm going into town for a drink."

Snow blanketed the ground like a soft veil, glittering with the damp reflections of street lights as she passed into heavier traffic. Stuck at a red light, she managed a cigarette from her case and lit it, inhaling the acrid smoke as if it would give her some relief. The high of nicotine might have calmed another, but it merely served to highlight what it was she was missing. In moments like these, living eternally didn't seem like such a wonderful idea. Her cell phone rang, it was Travis Fray, one of her multitude of lawyers.

"What is it, Mr. Fray, don't you think it's a little late to discuss court matters?" On the other end, the masculine voice didn't seem put off by her brusque manner. "Miss Ravencroft, I received an interesting deal today, by way of fax, no less. The cowards couldn't wait to send it via snail mail, I'm guessing. Seems like they're dropping the case between yourself and GrieCom." Alais let this information sink in for a moment, allowing the car to pull forward as the light changed to green. "That's excellent, Mr. Fray."

A pause. "Write up a countersuit for slander. You still have the emails we both received?" Laughter on the end of the line. "You're a shark. Of course, they're all documented. What should I ask for?" A faint, unpleasant smile touched the corners of her mouth. "Sink them."

In the heart of the city, music could be heard pouring from perpetually swinging doors, crowds filled the streets as they gathered, bundled in furs, diamonds glittering on wrists and ears and throats. Turning into the valet parking lot of one of the more...eccentric...clubs, she pulled the chinchilla more closely around her shoulders and left her keys with the red-vested minimum-wager, a fifty dollar bill pressed in his white-gloved hand. The bouncer for the VIP entrance recognized her, allowing her inside without trouble.

Base throbbed like a heartbeat under her feet, matching the pulsing, writhing crush of bodies in different measures of undress that crowded the roped-in dance floor, partially obscured by a trio of ceiling-high speakers. Windowless inside, one could easily lose track of time in the almost otherworldly atmosphere of highly-charged sexual energy. The Forbidden was the world's most exclusive Sanguarian-owned nightclub, owned and operated by some of the eldest and most wealthy Vampires this side of the planet.

Hunting on a piecemeal basis in the West had become dangerous business after the 17the century, when the spread of European settlers became more organized, turned from outposts to towns to bustling cities, the largest and most oft hunted soon became rife with Slayers, Camarilla, and the Sabbat alike, keen aristocratic eyes always on the lookout for the stray predator bent on making a name for themselves. Soon after the spread of the Sabbat's influence, Sanguarian businesses begun to spring up like wildflowers along the more wealthy 'burbs, offering a sanctuary for her kind. Food, goods, and rest...a place where one could be safe from the outside world and all it's multitude of dangers. It wasn't just about sunlight and starvation anymore.

The Slayers had become organized.

The VIP section was strangely empty this evening. For a moment, a prickle of...something...crept up the fine hairs on the back of her neck. Eyes narrowed, she perused the few bodies who made their way to and fro the private bar, the red-velvet walls subduing their voices to a more tolerable level. Even though it was not typically obvious, she could not mistake the acrid stench of hate that radiated from the red-corseted woman in the corner.

She couldn't have been more than twenty four, of an athletic build, her firey-red hair cropped in a soft halo of curls that sprung wildly about her disarmingly angelic face. It was the eyes that clued her in...sharp, steely with resolve.

As bold as ever, Alais approached her, not without a touch of a smile. "How on earth did you get in here? Your kind isn't usually allowed." The woman seemed put off a moment, not able to quite hide the flicker of surprise that colored her expression. "What do you mean?" She asked, a faint accent tingeing her words. Charming. She would have been attractive in another life, if the Slayers had not gotten to her first.

"Don't play games with me, girl. I know why you're here. And you know that's not allowed. This is holy ground for Kine." The Slayer straightened, licking the soft expanse of her full lips. "It seems that everything that was said of you is true. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised." Alais waved a waitress away, lifting her arm to block the Slayer's escape route and lower the curtain to give privacy to their little booth. "No, little one. You should be."

Thank God, or...whomever. Thank the DJ. The music was too loud for the screams to be heard.

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

 

[satindesire]

March.

It was still early in the evening in the Ravencroft office, three young girls were carefully going through a mountain of papers, highlighting paragraphs and jotting notes. A cheery fire blazed in the mantle, casting a welcoming glow on their mostly-naked bodies, glittering jewels and strips of sheer cloth only serving to highlight instead of conceal their nudity.

The buzzer rang. One of the girls jumped up from the floor, running barefoot across the office and pressing the button, spoke "Miss Ravencroft's office?"

The secretary from downstairs spoke "Miss Ravencroft has a visitor. A one Mr. Bradley Forester." Alais's head turned sharply, mercurial eyes narrowing into gleaming slits. Her expression steely, she nodded to the girl, and she spoke again. "Send him up, please." Alais nodded towards the door, and the three girls gathered their papers and slipped on silent feet out of her office, leaving the room curiously empty.

She pulled her blazer on, buttoning it to conceal her lace camisole, and sat, crossing her legs in the chair, eyes never leaving the door. A few eternally long moments later, a soft knock came and she beckoned them to enter. Chloe peered in, then opened the door for a stocky redheaded man in wrinkled chinos and scuffed leather loafers.

"Miss Ravencroft, Mr. Forester to see you." She nodded, and the secretary closed the door.

"Your kind is not welcome here, Slayer." She rumbled, steepling long, manicured fingers in front of her unreadable expression. Forester's grin would have been charming, were he not a notorious killer of her kind. "Well, being blunt certainly is one of your strong points, Alais." He replied, seating himself in front of her desk as if he owned the place. Her eyes burned hatefully on him, the sharpness of her canines not quite concealed by the full plane of her lush, glossy mouth.

"So. Come to gloat over your latest triumph?" She asked, leaning back in the chair and crossing her arms below her ample bosom. His eyes flickered over her, appraisingly, and he shrugged as if he hadn't a care in the world. "I came to give you news that...I think you'd find quite interesting.”

"Out with it!" her whisper was hellfire and brimstone. A muscle in his jaw twitched, and his Adam’s apple ripped with a nervous swallow. "The Sabbat is supporting me in my...efforts, Alais. They want you, and they want your lover. And they've promised me a rather hefty sum of money for both your heads." Although he could not read it, a flash of fear skimmed across her face, followed by a sharp disdainful laugh.
"So what am I supposed to do with this information? I have always known that the Sabbat has no love for me. That they have decided to ride with scum such as yourself makes no difference to me. They cannot TOUCH me." She swept a hand out, as if to show him her fortress.

"Here....I am God." Forester stood up, beginning to pace in front of the fireplace.

"No doubt that your security is unmatched. I doubt I could have made it past the front gate without an appointment, much less on an assassination mission. However...I have come to strike a deal with you."

Her eyes narrowed. "Speak."

"An offer. You give me access to your partner, and tell me who he is....and I'll leave you alone." Another laugh bubbled from her, and she swept a hand through her thick, curling black hair.

"Do you really suppose the Sabbat would accept that you have sided with me?"

"That's the beauty of it. They wouldn't ever know."

Her nostrils flared, expression hotly vengeful. "I will never give him up. He is mine. Do what you think you can...only know this. I have lived for nearly three millennia, and to this very day, not one slayer has ever bested me. Remember this, Forester, before you ride herd with the Sabbat."

His face was unreadable, as if fury had washed away all other emotion. "I'll find out who he is, Alais. I'll find out and I'll let the whole goddamn state know who the dirty cop is who you've got under your spell. He'll lose everything, his badge, his credibility...and he'll blame you. You'll be the end of his world, Alais. If you love him, you'll give him up."

Alais stood from the chair, towering above him with hard, flat eyes that spoke volumes. "Pray to your god that you never cross my path again, slayer. Or else our next goodbye will not be so pleasant."

He stalked out of the office, the door slam echoing across the vast manor. She sat down in the chair, exhaling a shaky breath. Pressing a finger on the buzzer, she told Chloe, "Call Max and have him meet me here as soon as he's off duty. Tell him it's urgent...and to be in civilians clothes. I don't want an audience."


In the foyer where he waited, a trio of girls passed, staring and whispering excitedly amongst themselves. The times when Max was at the manor were the good days, when Alais was happy, and their punishment and torture did not come so swiftly, or harshly. They were free to roam the manor at will, do as they please, go as they wished, while Max kept Alais firmly entrenched in her quarters upstairs.

"Mr. Payne. It's good to see you again. Miss Ravencroft will be downstairs very shortly." Chloe, red-headed and slim, always dressed to the nines in some ungodly expensive business suit, motioned towards a corner-bar where a bottle of chilled wine stood in a gold-plated bucket.

"Would you care for a drink while you're waiting?"

From upstairs, the sound of the office door closing echoed, then the sound of high heels on marble steps, quickly. It was unlike Alais to rush, preferring the tortuous buildup of anticipation. Half of their attraction came from not seeing each other enough. While Alais hid away in her manor in Ayenee's badlands, Max was always kept busy with his job on Earth. And the Sabbat on both worlds were never far behind

She appeared 'round the corner, in her business attire, again unlike her. She crossed the floor at a half run, nearly toppling him as she flung herself into his arms. "Gods! Max-...!"

He caught her in midair, his arms winding around her torso, spinning to bleed off the force of impact. “I know, I know…” was his harsh whisper, his breath good brandy and clove cigarettes. Perfection.

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


Alais Remembered....


It had been a cold winter, and spring had come so late that the market was still largely empty of vendors when she and her sister went into town. Flidias, though her twin, had sprouted into early womanhood and was more than proud to bind her shift more tightly around her budding bosom. Stopping at every polished copper mirror to look at her reflection and contemplate the budding mounds that looked more like swollen lumps of a spider's bite instead of full-grown breasts, infuriated Alais to the point of storming off in search of a better playmate.
Turning a corner she had not been down before, she was assaulted by the rich scent of drying herbs, faint musical tinklings heard by the way of the chill breeze that filtered down between ancient carts carved into fantastical creatures...Dark purple dragon wings sprouted over her head, the glossy pink of a snail's shell, the yawning, terrible maw of a great panther. Lost in the magic of the wooden carts and the tales that surely whispered just below the chipped, antiquing surface, she continued down the grassy path, anger forgotten.

A flash caught her eye, and she turned towards it's source. A cart, laid open to reveal it's dark, fragrant interior. Jars of herbs and poultices promising cures from anything from a headache to infertility lines one shelf, objects of copper, brass and silver glimmered in another. Fetishes and totems in gruesome shapes...a many-armed man whose vast belly was an open mouth lined with razored fangs, a goat-legged woman with seventeen pendulous breasts...carved of glass and jet and stone, lined the bottom.

Taken aback and totally absorbed, Alais jumped in shock and fear when a sudden voice prompted her attention. "A young woman such as yourself should be in such a place as this." Looking up at the owner of the rich, foreboding baritone, she was again shocked to see the nut-brown face of an ebony-skinned man standing in the steps that led into the cart. "I-I'm sorry!" She said, her voice stolen by surprise into a mere whisper. "I promise I didn't touch anything! I was only looking!" But to her thankfulness, his glossy, dark face split into a smile that revealed a mouth full of large, square, white teeth.

"Did I scare you?" before she could answer..."Good! Now come inside and I shall have your day."

Although her better logic dictated she probably should turn and run away, look for her sister at some jeweler's mirror and run back to the Temple, inside the musty, dark interior she went. It did not come as that much of a surprise to see that the cart was MUCH larger on the inside than it appeared, and she was ushered to a table where she was gently but forcefully sat in a chair, handed a cup of hot, honey-sweetened tea, and then joined by the dark man.

"How old are you, little one?" She bristled at that statement. Her sister, damn it all, had always looked older. Always ran faster, always been better liked by the priestesses and tutors...."Thirteen." Although she didn't mean it to, it came out hard, her eyes dropped to the cup in her hands, sorrowful and contrite. "...thirteen. I...have a sister whose my age, too."

He took the tea cup from her hands and closed her own, much smaller and lighter, in both of his. He smelled like spices and oils and sweat...not unpleasant. The smell of work and health and good things that suddenly made her understand how boys could be okay sometimes. Not disgusting, like she had thought before. "Your eyes are far too sad for one so young." He stood up, drawing her along with him, and ushered her outside. Feeling something hard and cold in her hand, she opened them up to reveal a large yellow stone, uncut but still a nearly perfect jewel. Turning swiftly on her heel, she opened her mouth to promise she didn't know she had it, hadn't stolen it, and to please NOT tell her mother....

...but she was not at all surprised to see her strange dark man was gone. The cart was gone, and she was standing alone in them midst of a field of grass untouched by the wheels of a faire.

....Alone in her study, before the golden warmth of a flickering fire...Alais wept.


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

"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned."

"Speak child."

"It's been...nearly Seven hundred years since my last confession. I have done...terrible things. Spilled and drunk the blood of the innocent. Killed for the pleasure of it. Destroyed entire towns, bringing destruction to women, children, and the infirm."

The priest's blue eyes were wide in the decorative grate between them. "What manner of prank is th-!"

She cut him off, raising a slim white palm. "You will do me the honor of hearing me out, Father. Now." Something in her voice stilled his tongue. Seeing no other option, he settled stiffly back into his seat.

"Yesterday I killed a man. Feeding brings me...such pleasure. When I was mortal, before Jules took me, made me into this..." Mercurial eyes gazed down at her clasped hands, white and cold and still above the black leather of her skirt. Cold and dead. "...monster that I am...I never had the opportunity to ingest any..." She paused, looking up at the priest from her seat in the confessional booth "...mind altering substances. But if a high is what I was looking for, I get it."

She traced a white finger down the richly detailed door in front of her, almost...longingly. "He was so beautiful. Young. Fresh. Weak and soft. Maybe...seventeen? A whore, I think. I was in Vegas for the unveiling of a new condominium complex and I -had- to have him." The sharpness of her teeth threatened the soft skin of her lower lip. She bit down the urge to let them free. To rend and slay!
"He had the most beautiful skin...peachy and firm, like fruit. Sweet-smelling. When he got into the car I noticed his tennis shoes were scuffed and dirty. He had wine on his breath. I offered him champagne, but he wouldn't take any."

The pink flash of her tongue-tip moistened her lips. "He stared at me, silently, for some time. We sat there, on those beautiful seats in the back of the limo...Louis Vuitton, you know, did the interior. Personally oversaw it. Terribly overpriced but it's good for impressing the young...In any case, I drew him to me, it didn't take any skills or magic tricks. He came to me willingly, nuzzling into my breasts like a child. I could feel his heart pounding under my hand, like the flutter of a frightened bird's wings."

The priest's ragged breathing was the only counterpoint to her tale. She removed a stick of crimson lipstick from her purse and coolly smoothed it on. "He was drunk. Drunk on wine, of all things! I could taste it on his skin, the sweat of his skin was hot with it, when I sank my fangs into his throat. He didn't struggle. Just...laid there. Willingly."

The burring zip of her purse, and she sat it at her feet. "He wanted to die. I could feel it in his blood. His sadness. His desperation. He only said one thing..."Tell Father Patron that I'm sorry." What...do you think he meant by that, Priest?" Those terrible eyes, so hungry., So empty, fixed on the pale face of the Priest through the thin wooden mesh that separated them.
"When I opened his wallet, I saw he had an ID from New York. It didn't take much investigating to see that he used to come here...for Mass. For...I don't know, Father...what did he come here for?"

The Priest was silent, his mouth hung open, his terror plain in the air that was burning between them. Hot like brimstone. Hot like hellfire.
"He had blue eyes, Father Patron. So very blue, like the sky after a storm." She looked down, picked up her purse, and set it in her lap.
From the outside of the confessional booth one could hear a crunch, as in breaking wood. A muffled sound of pain. Some moments later, Alais appeared, bowing slightly to the nun who passed. The nun paused, lifting a hankie to Alais's face.

"Oh, dear, it looks like your lipstick ran a bit." The gentle nun dabbed the sticky crimson from Alais's cheek.

Alais smiled, pink-cheeked and warm. So very warm. Flush from the kill. "Thank you, sister. I'm sure Father Patron values your services very much. In fact......"



"...I'm sure of it."