Capturing Midnight: A Post Blood Canticle RP

[alldrenched]

Stella made her way into the hall, she was pulling Pieter by the lapels on his trench coat like a co-ed. Oh his scent, warm and so inviting, and that old lust, that mortal lust, the memory of his skin and the real feel of it were combining now into temptation, the purest temptation she had ever felt.

What was it Oscar Wilde said about temptation again? It had been on the menus at Commander's, near the 25 cent martinis, and it had always made her smile as she dipped a spoon into her turtle soup.

Yes, Pieter was everything now, he was the sherry that floated turtle soup, he was good wine,he was rich cafe au lait, he was old physical lusts and new.

She started to kiss him, sparks, magic, and small alarm bells going off in her head that were drowned out now by this lovely feeling.

Pieter watched his feet as Stella led him, he was attempting to keep his eyes off her. He failed, looked up and locked eyes on her in the hall. Brilliant brown eyes, her curls too perfect, her skin more flawless now than ever before, her body seemingly exuding some lovely aura.

Yes, he was drowning, leaning into her, on his tiptoe, then bodies pressed against each other. Her hard and delicate fingers running over his body; his lust for her, how could that be there now, now when she was no longer a woman?

But he wasn't really thinking, they were errant thoughts that floated away from him as soon as they came, like, weren't they in the hall now? was that a pinch or a pierce? and oh her smell, warm like honeysuckles and fruit.

They were in Italy now, all in their heads it seemed, yes, Florence, there was the gelateria in the square where they laughed at her because she bought only strawberries coated in lemon juice, with no gelato or sugar.

Oh and there was the corner in that big square where they burned the books not so long ago, and where they had burnt the witches and heretics in the past. How Stella had fretted just seeing it, how she was repelled by it, the poor Lutherans and stupid rural midwifes died there, slowly burnt. Oh it was terrible to think of now.

And they moved on, the Medici's museum, the Ponte de Vecchio, then they seemed to soar away from it all, to the Motherhouse in London, to her bed room again, and then out, on to flashes of many wonderful things, beautiful places.

Oh god. Pieter realised what was happening now, realised it but could not believe it, and could not fight it.



David watched in horror as Pieter and Stella kissed and a small drop of blood ran from between their mouths, beading up on Stella's now hard skin.

David pulled back his hand and slapped Stella so hard that he hurt himself, a bit. He grabbed Pieter as he fell back from her.

This was too painful, all of it, but too interesting to abandon.


Stella fell back, just a taste, just a taste and she had stopped it.

God if she had killed Pieter, but she hadn't. He was dazed, but she had stopped it. She looked over.

No, she hadn't, Rowan was staring at her, and she realised she had been hit, slapped hard and so she fell back off of him.

[boo radley]

Vittorio, at the least, was amused. Out of all of them, he was the least concerned. "Tut, tut, Stella. That will do you no good." He winked.

[alldrenched]

Rowan turned about, a nurse was coming around the corner. They had to get to the elevators soon. Rowan grabbed Stella who held Pieter though he recoiled at her touch momentarily. Rowan led them quickly down the hall and around the opposite corner, as she did she heard a very familiar voice.

"Yes, check all the rooms here, and show these photos to all these nurses."

The air of authority was unmistakable, Ryan, Rowan thought. If only running wouldn't cause a scene she would have. When they arrived at the elevator banks she jammed the button and made it light the large down arrow. She turned and looked around, Lestat was still with Louis somewhere on this floor but there was no time to find him, best to get this bunch out and down to the basement as soon as possible, besides Lestat can make his own way out.

The elevator dinged quietly, she watched as the group slipped on, like a chaperon on a field trip.

This wing once housed young Stella when she was dying, which she will never do, and in these very corridors her poor hapless family searches for her now. Rowan thought in a classic tour guide voice. As she stepped in and looked forward she saw a silk suit sheathed arm come out of the door way of a room across the hall.

She watched as just Ryan's profile was revealed before the trusty mechanical doors of the elevator whished shut.


All were quiet as the elevator lit up floor number after floor number. Stella was staring at the inset brass light fixtures above her, attempting not to become engrossed in the buttons and the lights in this efficient little machine. She was trying also not to make eye contact with Pieter.

Bea had come and was holding both Charles and Susan now. She was telling everyone that they had no proof of anything, that Susan was wrong, that no one else had felt it (which Michael knew to be a lie.)

Bea was all but saying there was no such things as witches or gut-feelings.

Michael couldn't stand this anymore. He stood and walked to the vending machines. He didn't really want anything but to get away. He pulled out a ratty dollar and smoothed it out.

It took three tries but eventually the machine ate the money and spouted out coffee into the little paper cup Michael held.

Maybe he would join Ryan in his fruitless search, maybe Bea was right, maybe there was no witchcraft.

Michael smiled bitterly at that. Ahh a wonderful daydream that would be, a dull life with no witchcraft.

Michael's heart ached, he wanted Aaron. Aaron had explained everything.

Michael sipped the terrible coffee and walked slowly towards the elevators. He punched the little button and drank more weak coffee.


The little house on Amelia and St Charles Avenue was wrecked with people. Sobs here and there, often overdramatic, and the cars pulling up to rush people to Mayfair Medical, when really only Bea and Susan should have gone.

News, or belief, that Stella was dead was rippling through the family. Had there been such a scene before?

Yes, Ancient Evelyn thought, when her Stella had died, shot by her own addle brained brother, Lionel, and all the glass in First Street burst, leaving shards everywhere.

Only the Mayfairs would name you after such a tragic ancestor. She had railed against it, she had actually stood up then, and spoke, things she did perhaps once a month at the time, before Mona came, Mona who brightened everything for her.

"You can't name a baby that," She had said to Gifford and Ryan dryly. Gifford had agreed, she had been fighting with her brother in law about it for awhile by then, but Susan Mayfair, Stella's mother had loved the name and would not budge.

And how she had looked like her Aunt, it made Evelyn love her when she and Mona came around, little and hungry for stories of Julien and poor Deirdre. Ancient Evelyn would talk to them, her lovely girls she called them, until Gifford would throw a little fit and stop her.

"Stop filling these girls' heads with stories of Julien!" Gifford had shouted, saying Julien like it was a curse.

When Stella was older and had her face rouge and wore tunic dresses she half expected Stella to waltz right in jitterbugging and calling her "Evie" like her own beautiful Stella had.

Mary Jane Mayfair was talking about how she knew Stella was dead across from Evelyn in the living room. Evelyn smiled a bit, she knew the truth but there was no use saying it, no one here would listen really, accept maybe Dolly Jean, and if she said it she would sound like a feeble old woman, she hadn't said anything in so long.

She smirked, Damn you Mona, Ancient Evelyn thought.

[boo radley]

Vittorio looked at Mona for a few moments. Everything was happening so fast.

[Jacksbonnielass]

Lestat walked past Louis, yes they needed to get out of here, but he wasn't going quietly out the back like the others Rowan, I'll meet you in the back, wait for me chere? he sent her. He stode towards the front doors, if he had adrenaline it was pulsing right now. How long had it been since he'd done a grand exit? A hundred years? He couldn't remember. He sped up, charging the front doors he slammed into them one of the sliding glass doors erupting into a shower of glass as he let a laugh burst from within him. Ah the recklessness of it all! Are you watching Marius mon ami? he thought to himself as he sped around the mortals in a flash of blonde hair, he lept on top of the entrance, pausing long enough for them to see him, then jumped to the alleyway beside the hospital to meet Rowan and the others. How refreshing.

Marius was waiting for him in the alleyway, "Could you not have contained yourself you impulsive creature!" he scolded, following Lestat with a look of disapproval, "You are the DAMNEST creature Lestat!" he laughed a bit, shaking his head

Lestat laughed pulling his sunglasses down over his eyes, "I wouldn't have it any other way," he said, grinning, he stopped in front of where the others would walk out, leaning against the wall, he wondered where Louis had went during his performance, he knew his fledgling would disapprove in his soft manner that he loved him so for.

Mona had remained quiet the entire time, she didn't know how to react, and was shocked she had had the strength to turn Stella. She followed the others soundless-ly, until she heard Lestats ruckus out front. She smiled to herself "That's my beloved boss" she said to herself, then laughed

[alldrenched]

Rowan felt it, she smiled to herself, the elevator dinged, stopping in the lobby, the large L lighting up. No, no time to stop, if they really were sweeping every corner of this place searching for Stella.

The doors opened a crack before Rowan pressed the close door button.

Michael waited impatiently, turning just as the elevator doors open and the glass doors to outside exploded, seemingly of there own accord.

When the doors closed again he pressed the big down arrow again, frustrated.

The elevator didn't move up or down, Rowan was pressing the B button again and again. Then the big doors slid open again, and there he was, her Michael.

Michael didn't recognise her at first, or perhaps couldn't believe what he had seen, but he stepped quickly into the elevator, sticking his arm in when the doors attempted to close.

Rowan pushed against the back of the elevator as though there was a trick door there that she could trigger if she tried hard enough.

Michael was in a trance it seemed, all that woke him from it as he stared into Rowan's eyes was the hot coffee running into his shoe. He had dropped his cup and it was pooling on the marble floor. He didn't notice Stella who stood as staring as if transfixed at the scene. Pieter was being pulled off and out by David.

Rowan felt like she was seeing a ghost, no terrible to see this man that she loved, this man she had hurt, and abandoned so many times. She couldn't cry, though the tears were there, and she couldn't speak. Loved him, still, yes, but no longer could she be with him, she was not pure and good like him, he needed better, a sweet girl, a pure girl, run away from the man-eating Mayfairs, haunted always though he killed their ghost. He needed some innocent housewife, someone to have his children and set his table, even if that isn't what he wanted.

Michael pressed the close door button without looking and the elevator started to descend to the basement.

"Rowan," he said weakly, cherishing her name, yes, so intimate it seemed, just the name, the way he said it. The hurt in him had bubbled up again, no, he would not cry, a hand was on him, cold and loving, a calm came over him.

He didn't look away but he knew what it was, who it was and he knew what had happened. Stella, not alive, no, not at all, and giving him this love, this calm.

Rowan sat silent, still pressed against the wall as though recoiling from Michael, like he was a ghost, and wasn't he? Raised from her past to haunt her with all she had done, all that she had destroyed. And Stella too, she was a ghost, dead now because of Rowan, like Gifford, like Alicia, like Mona. All Rowan, Rowan who had brought the ghost to life.

The elevator dinged and doors opened again, and Rowan ran, instinctively, coldly, quickly. She jumped the wastebaskets and boxes that laid in her way, she ran fast, as fast as she could, away from this life, away from her Michael, her beloved Michael.

Stella grabbed Michael and tugged him out of the elevator too roughly, not used to this new strength yet. She hugged him, as Rowan ran, damn Rowan, damn her. Stella sent out her little gift, stronger now, yes, it could reach farther, but her heart wasn't in it.

Michael was in a daze, but no, no longer, he refused to stay in this dreamstate when the most important things were happening, her pushed Stella off of him and ran, ran after his wife, his wife who was horrified by the sight off him, and running fast from him now. No, don't think on that.



Pieter stepped off confused and watched as the the doors to the elevator closed. David was gone, as though in thin air, though he probably was just outside. Pieter walked slowly to the main waiting room. People were gathered in groups, confusion, the automatic doors seemed to have exploded, he heard someone say.

One nurse was directing ambulance traffic around to a side door, another was setting up caution tape and a small printed out sign that explained the other exits to confused patients and families.

This was all becoming more and more surreal. The look on Rowan's face as the elevator doors shut, a look of terror, and the shattered glass sparkled, like glitter tossed haphazardly on the floor.

And his Stella, now eternally young, eternally pretty. He was roused from his daydream by a man.

"Excuse me?" the man said, in an exquisite voice, and a thick French accent that reminded Pieter of his grandfather.

"Monsieur Pieter Bruguière?" He said, his voice seemed stronger now. Pieter glanced up,"Yes sir?" he said, likely a Talamascan, sent to check on their own Superior General, gone mad for a Mayfair, they must think.

"Aucun monsieur, pas Talamascan. Mais je dois parler avec vous, dans privé."

"Mais un lecteur d'esprit néanmoins?" Pieter said, with a small smile. Lies, he looked at the man, a man in his fifties, so coiffed, in a beautiful, expensive, timeless suit.

The man smiled too, and let loose a gregarious little chuckle, "Oui Pieter." He said Pieter's name, so informally.

"Et qui sont vous ?"

"Venez avec moi," the man said, and he led Pieter into a small storage room.


[OOC: I apoligise for my likely maimed French, I haven't used it in so long!]

[Jacksbonnielass]

{ooc: is okay, I use a translator because my high school failed me, they only had spanish and I refused to learn it, long story}

Lestat watched Rowan run surprised a bit, then saw someone run after her, he noticed it was Micheal, he looked at Mona and Stella, "What happened?" he asked, he didn't know weather to follow them or wait for Rowan to return, he knew it was something they needed to work out just the two of them, she had been running from Micheal entirely too long.

Mona finally came around, "I-I don't know" she said, "He got in the elevator when it stopped on the lobby floor, and Rowan sorta, backed to the elevator wall..boss you gunna go after her?" she asked, looking at Lestat closely.

"I'll wait for her," Lestat said, "This is something she has to work out for herself." Chere, are you alright? he sent to Rowan, not knowing if she'd recieve it or not, depending on if she had her walls up or not

[alldrenched]

Rowan's heart pumped in her ears, filled with adrenaline. When give the option of fight or flight she ran, ran far away from her sweet and desperate Michael, he couldn't keep up, not with his poor damaged heart. No, she wouldn't allow herself to think of his damaged heart as though it were some phenomenon, as though he was born ill. All the times that heart stopped had been her fault in the end, and none more than the last time.

Her ears hurt, Stella was screaming her name, Stella who couldn't control her preternatural voice. Rowan ran, though Stella was screaming so loudly now that glass was breaking.

Stella stopped her cries. By God, now her screams could shake the building, yes and glass was breaking again. She would not watch as Michael chased Rowan, with his heart hurting for so many reasons now. She grabbed him by the waist like he was a child and caught up with Rowan. There was no time to be amazed that he was so light, that she could toss him in the air, or that with the thought to catch up with Rowan she was there, disoriented but running along side her.

Michael was running, thump thump skip, thump thump thump, thump thump pain, thump thump thump. He was running hard towards his wife, his wife who was running away from him, fleeing as though he were a dark figure on the street, yes, just like he was a monster.

But he couldn't think about that, he could only think of her, of her voice, she owed him that, she owed him an answer.

Then Stella had him it seemed, she was hugging him, or no, no, confusion but he was next to Rowan, he had caught up it seemed, though he was dizzy now, was his heart failing him?

No, away from here now, Rowan thought to Lestat.

[Jacksbonnielass]

do you need me? Lestat asked, if she wanted him to come, he would, it was all up to her. "Mona, go find the car, meet me..." he hesitated, "Actually just go the direction Rowan went, and I'll meet up with you somewhere, if I don't...well go to Quinn" he didn't know if Rowan would want to leave then and there or what. He pulled his sunglasses off and tucked thme into his pockets, then took off after Micheal, Stella, and Rowan, he caught up with them in a moment, but didn't let Micheal see him, he got in Rowan's sight, so all she had to do was nod ,and he'd get her out of there.

Mona nodded, she knew she probably wouldn't see Lestat for awhile, "Oh, tell Stella to find me!" she yelled after him, busting more glass, she winced, then went to find the Porsche.

[alldrenched]

Rowan nodded and as they took off into the air Michael collapsed.

Michael looked around, Rowan was gone, gone so completely that it seemed she had never been there at all. He sat in down in the wet alley, and looked up, glad to see that Stella was still there, that it wasn't some mad hallucination. Was this it, was this representative of their relationship now, or forever?

Cold neurosurgeon that she was it seemed Rowan could talk herself into anything, and she could change like mercury. Like some patients tumors she could remove parts of herself, even things she loved, from her thoughts so completely. He thought of Lasher, dark haired, a six foot two new born outside the house of First Street, skibbling around and then falling, then lifting himself, learning on his feet. And Rowan screaming, Rowan tearing at Lasher, but he never knew whether she was protecting him or Lasher.

If only she would talk to him, if only she could answer him, that he deserved, he deserved answers; Why was he cuckolded by wild and unnatural things?

He thought of the note she left as Stella helped him stand.

"Goodbye my Archangel Michael,

Saint you are, that I am not, I can not stay.

Get married and have children, real children, and live happily. The house is yours until you die, and I doubt Stella will be upset by this.

I love you. "

It had been on his desk when he awoke, two nights after she left. Was that it, was that it? That couldn't be, he wouldn't allow that to be all.

His heart hurt terribly now, Stella was pulling him slowly along, back to the hospital, to sit.


Pieter stared at the shape before him in the dark. Then with a crack, and a little laugh, a match was lit. The storage closet looked like a fine hotel suite in the dim light. Then the man went and lit every candle in the room. Pieter turned, his hand laying on a fine velvet Louis the sixteenth chair. Real, it had a grain facing down, and when he ruffled the grain the feeling changed, as it would in life.

"Beau est-il pas ? Je n'ai pas vu réellement cette pièce en cinquante ans." Then the man made a face like he was thinking about it for a moment.

"Plus probablement, mais vous devrez me pardonner, je ne maintiens pas le temps maintenant. " The man took one of the chairs, a gold chair, and crossed his legs. He looked incredibly elegant, his long, lanky frame resting on the curved chair. He gestured for Pieter to sit as well.

Pieter did, not here, not really here this chair, he thought and then he wondered momentarily what he was really sitting on, the man faded a bit, then came back into sharp focus as Pieter took the cup he was being handed. The fragrance was so familiar, like vanilla and cookies. He put it took his lips and sipped it. Velvety on the tongue, creamy and wonderful. It was a cup of the best hot chocolate he had ever had.

"Who are you?" Pieter asked softly, now English seemed far more native to him than French.

"I think you know?" the man said, with a small smile playing on his lips. He drank from his cup,"Ahh, I haven't tasted that in so long. Drink some more please."

Pieter took another sip, rich, and thick, it if cooled it might become one soft chocolate bar again it seemed. And there was the light flavour of, the light flavour of... something bitter, and good, and delicate. Coffee, like it had been kissed with espresso.

"Oui..." the man said smiling, it was becoming clear now that he had only the memory, and the feel from Pieter's mind now, he couldn't actually taste this like Pieter could.

Pieter looked up and stared at the man for a moment, he knew who he was suddenly, though he had only seen portraits of him much older.

"Ahh, Julien." He said softly.

"Oui," Julien said again, with a wink. Yes, Julien seemed quite happy now, he laughed deeply. The room was growing brighter, the sun was coming up through the windows, and a breeze was ruffling the sheer curtains. Yes, far more real than it had been a moment ago. Now the polished silver spoon in Pieter's cocoa was throwing back a distorted reflection of him, and he could hear the street cars outside, and in them, women laughing, and children crying.

The Julien stood up, "Some music now,"he said with his French accent ringing through.

He touched the needle of the gramophone to the record and out it poured.