Capturing Midnight: A Post Blood Canticle RP

[alldrenched]

Rowan crept silently into the burned out shack, she could smell the mildew and cigarette smoke that clung to the walls, she felt a rat move near her. The floor sagged and broke here and there as she felt her way in the wash of the tv's glow. When she moved further in and glimpsed the man another scent came, stronger than the wine, filling her head. Meth, this was a cook den, the acrid smell melted as she moved toward Lestat's victim. The repulsion she felt for the man he was beginning to melt as she became riveted watching Lestat drink. She gasped uncontrollably, but quietly as the man's eyes began to roll up into his eyes. She sensed, as she opened herself to the rush of thoughts that the man had, that he was peaceful, despite his body's sudden twitches and lurches, which Lestat seemed not to notice at all. He was engrossed in the blood, his skin became brighter, and the tan that had been there showed itself more readily as his body started to fill. She felt no disgust, which almost baffled her. She hated this place but this scene, this romance that was taking place in front of her, and she, seemed removed from the setting; it seemed they floated above the rats that nested below and the broken wood floors and the babies that she heard crying outside.

The feeding seemed to last forever, it seemed he was drinking from the never ending fount. And what this murderer's mind threw out mesmerized her just as much as Lestat holding this ever weakening man in his arms like a lover; such a jumble, the murderer's mind was giving forth eden like jungles and beaches, that quickly became a blood coated bathtub as he hacked apart his own victim, a victim who was still alive even as he was dismembered, and then came a flourish of places, beautiful hotels, bright green lawns, rich colours.

And then it stopped, more abruptly than she had expected. She watched him, reeling as though she had been a part of it, not just an observer, not just the voyeur that she was. She watched as Lestat arranged the murderer, like the spent lover that he was, and then righted his own clothing. When he said well she just stared, unable to explain the chaos, the horror,the confusion, and the beauty of it. But she said nothing like that, what she did say was not precise, though true, and not poetic at all,"I want to leave." She had fallen from her lovely cloud, her little daydream and she saw the man, in all his sweaty horror, dead there in the chair and she wanted away from him quickly.


Stella was swept up by Louis and taken through the streets so quickly it made her head reel, she gasped when they stopped finally, finding them outside of the restaurant.
It was a crumbling little restaurant, the door was opened and you had to push through a curtain of plastic strips to enter. The walls and windows outside were littered with posters for guitar practice or free concerts or lost dogs, and above that there was a picture of a cartoon woman with a big bowl full of smiling cartoon shrimp in gumbo. Mother LeRon's Kitchen it proclaimed in big bubbling off print.

[Jacksbonnielass]

Lestat just nodded, he lifted her up into his arms and jumped out the window, landing in the small courtyard, he launched over another wall onto the streets of the Quarter. He set her down, leading the way down the sidewalk, getting her away from that place. She seemed to have handled it well, except til the last bit. He figured it was the body, most mortals panicked when there was a body involved, he had thought she'd be used to it because of her profession, hell even her position, "Are you alright?" he asked finally,after thinking over it all. " I should have never shown that to you, should I?" he asked again, he was worried it had bothered her, a vampires feeding was never pretty, even his, some other's ripped the neck completely open, the one's who hadn't even been taught how to feed without spilling a drop, he'd been that way at the beginning, and then worked to get better at it.

[alldrenched]

"I'm fine," She said shaking off the daze that the quick flight from the ruined building filled her with. She felt it was odd too, for her to be so revolted by the body of that man, but there was something about it, he was this writhing sweaty beast of a man and then, he was a husk, she had never seen that before. The actual feeding had been riveting, if unsettling, but the body. She had killed people before, with that terrible trick, but they fell, still themselves, just dead, and she had seen people dieing slowly, after bouts with cancer, people who slowly became weaker, thinner, but it was a shock to see that vital, grubby creature become an empty husk so quickly, right before her eyes.

"No, it was interesting," was all she could muster, still deep in thought. She looked at him, at this moment he could almost pass in her eyes for human, so filled with blood, but she watched as he started to harden again, so quickly, though he stayed plump and seemed to be radiating warmth. It wasn't gruesome or grotesque, like she had feared, but the body, the lifeless body, she couldn't take it. Rowan Mayfair who had done autopsies on two of her good friends, the only one in her medical class to not get sick when they dissected their first cadaver, had feared that body, hated that body, was disgusted by that body. But not by his, despite the fact that she had seen what had kept this body pounding through the streets for centuries, she did not fear him. She did not find him to be the parasite others might think of him as, she still loved him, her beautiful fiend.

[boo radley]

"I'm sorry that was..." probably nauseating for her. "Sorry, Stella. But Lestat's..." I stopped. "Let's go inside."

[alldrenched]

Stella just nodded to what Louis said and righted herself, smoothing her clothing which was crumpled both by sleep and by being carried. She walked in and boom the scent hit her instantly. Warm salty bodies and big bowls of creole foods; shrimp and grits gave off an earthy, grain smell, with the salt water scent of fresh shrimp, and rice and gravy, that rich simplicity, let loose the scent of stewing things and salty broths. The spices she could smell made her mouth water almost instantly, she slipped behind Louis, following him to a table with a pretty blond woman at it. She watched plates and people around her as she moved slowly behind him, stewed tomatoes and okra, huge bowls of gumbo with large hands crumbling saltines, plates of grilled and spiced fish, and the ever flowing beer or bloody marys.

She loved this smell, it accosted her, like all things about New Orleans, the heat, the humidity, the floral scents of this decaying city.

She looked to the girl now, she recognised her, though she couldn't place where she knew her from, likely just from around the Quarter, Stella assumed.

[boo radley]

I sat on my own, three pictures of Lestat in front of me, writing notes in the margin of the notes my colleague had compiled for me. Then I felt a presence, and not a human one, a vampiric one, a supernatural one. I looked up. There was a black-haired woman I’d known from before… A Talamascan thing. And there, next to her, was Louis, Lestat’s beloved. I gaped.

"Come, come, dear," I say to Stella, when I notice the blonde she's staring at. She's gaping at me. Obviously she recognizes me. I smile at her and bring Stella with me to go sit with the beautiful woman. "Hello there."

[alldrenched]

Stella glanced at the pictures, and the methodical writing next to them, looked like Pieter's handwriting, or perhaps Roe's ahh, Talamasca, I must know her from the motherhouse. She watched the stunned girl go pale a bit when she looked to Louis. Stella felt like saying hello, or attempting to pry into her mind but the oppressive heat in this restaurant and the pills she took too regularly left her confused, stopping her. Stella slipped into the booth next to Louis. This whole night feels like a daydream. Or this month, this year, and I will wake up in my lovely bed on First Street and find my lovely Mona soft and living there, flopping around in her high heels and cashmere sweaters, and David will be calling me to say I have slept in and I must be sure to get out while the sun is up to search in the vampire homes, and Rowan's chocolaty voice will be whispering in Michael's ear again, and, Stella sighed. That was the true daydream.

She turned her attention back to the blond Talamascan, she didn't remember her as part of her small group of vampire specialists, but then, she hadn't stepped foot in a Motherhouse in years it seemed now. She stayed in hotels since David left. Yes, she thought, the last time she had been in a Motherhouse it was too bring her cruel punishment on her brothers that had betrayed her, the men that had almost ruined her two families, the Talamasca and the Mayfairs.

She looked back at the slender girl, not from here she could tell immediately, she wasn't burned the deep lovely shades that New Orleans brought with it.She smiled at the shocked girl despite herself.

As the girl looked at her she began to think about how she must appear. Stella was dressed in a beautiful green silk dress, tailored to fit her perfectly, but crumpled terribly by sleep. Instead of her usual high heels she was wearing white mary jane-like sneakers, which she had slipped on before going down to the kitchen to get tea for Michael. She wore very little make up, and what little she wore was smeared, her eyeliner thick and dark under her eyes. Her hair was mussed from sleep and the wind as Louis had run her over here. If she had on better shoes and was sprawled out on a couch, she could be an ad in a couture magazine. Heroin chic.

[boo radley]

I looked at Louis for a couple of moments, because I knew that I knew him. Not personally of course, but that I did. "Bonsoir," I mutter, and stretch.

I look at Stella for a moment, then back at the beautiful blonde girl. "Ah, so you are French, then?" I asked. Her accent was like that of a native's wearing off. Before she could respond, I continued. "This is my..." I paused for a moment. Now was the time to decide how I felt about Stella. Or was it? Perhaps I could get away from it. I didn't know - after all, I had watched Stella as a child, growing up, and it felt quite... inappropriate... to think of her as a lover. Even if we did appear the same age. "...friend, Stella." I did not know if she was all right with me saying her name. But I knew when it was safe or unsafe, and I counted on her to trust me. "And I am -"

"Louis de Pointe du Lac," I say with a small smile, cutting him off. "Yes, I know."

I'm barely taken aback, but knowing a mortal in a vampire tavern, I assumed she knew many vampires names. Which is why I should not be shocked to see the pictures of Lestat on the table and her lovelorn eyes aimed at them.
She was one of many.
She was not Rowan.
"I see you know my friend Lestat, then." My heart lurched forward at his name.

"Know him?" I laughed. "Monsieur, I can only wish."

[alldrenched]

Stella was relieved that Louis did not say her last name, the Mayfairs were like the Rockfellers, or the Kennedys here, she would rather slip anonymously about. Her emerald was hidden though no one outside of the family, besides a select few of top Talamascans, knew what it meant.

" A Talamascan as well?" she gestured to the papers, as they were moved she saw her own hand writing there, notes on the side about the house. Ahh, she remembered the night she had written it, frantic after spending the whole day in Lestat's flat, long before she would have ever thought her Mona would be a vampire, or that she would be sitting next to this beautiful stranger, a sister to her, and her Louis.

Stella's eyes drifted to a man at the bar swirling a glass of red wine but never drinking it. In her eyes a vampire could never pass unnoticed, they looked like what they were to her, corpses reanimated, lit from within by a beautiful spiritual flame. Yes, and the woman near the back, oh there is a door there. Her eyes wandered the place, it was new, not the building but the restaurant, the chairs were not worn enough, the bar was unscuffed. A vampire bar, and she had been so hungry, so enthralled by the whole experience, by Louis leading her, not following any more, that she hadn't noticed.

She looked back to the girl, flinched and looked at the table, pain again, from her stomach, another terrible cramp.

[boo radley]

"Sadly," I say. "I'd prefer to search on my own for the answers to my questions." Too bad I can't without the Talamasca noticing.