After Paradise

[alldrenched]

Louis had been let off the plane sometime ago, but he had waited in the airport for the outside lights to grow dimmer. At home he would never be awake at this time, it was too early in the evening and the light had stung his eyes terribly. When the light finally faded, or perhaps his body had just adjusted, he made his way out, hailing a cab which he realised only after he would have to stop at an automated teller to pay.

He often did things like this, he understood the mortal world so well, but things like this made it clear he did not truly, nor had he ever truly, participated in this time.

He had the man stop downtown and he leapt out, stuffing his little plastic card into the slot three times before the cabbie offered to help. He waved off the help politely and got it to work, meticulously lining up the strip on the diagram with the strip on his card. He punched his code and out poured the money, two hundred dollars in twenties. He absently split off some portion of it by feel and not counting and he slipped it through the window to the taxi-driver before thanking him and going on down the street.

Louis's weak senses felt nothing of the new life that was being created as his expensive leather shoes clicked against the muddy sidewalk. He knew, in a general way, that at least five vampiric beings rested somewhere in this city; he knew Lestat must be one of them in a very mortal way, it was logical. Rowan loved this city, in fact, Rowan had a house here, he knew this from Stella, he knew it from what he heard as he stood outside her window like a peeping tom, his feet pressed precariously between bricks or resting on one of the outstretched magnolia branches that seemed too weak to lift him.

He walked slowly around the city, crawling through it, opening what vampiric senses he had to feel for anyone. All that came to him were audible things, things that a mortal would not have been able to hear from where he stood but nothing as supernatural as what another vampire might have done.

He wandered on in his usual manner, his shoulders slouched, his face turned down so he could stare at the sidewalk before him, his hair making his brilliant eyes invisible to passing mortals. He walked in this way, with the long, languid stride of a mortal man, towards the Bay, his good shoes, which were never meant for this much work, being battered as they fell once again against the wet and muddy wooden pier.

[Jacksbonnielass]

Armand pulled himself onto the couch, bringing his knees up under his chin and wrapping his arms around them. He stared dreamily off into the distance, then looked at Lestat, "Go to her," he said simply. He knew Lestat wanted to, wanted to feel Rowan in the vampiric sense. He sat there, weak from the transformation. He needed to feed, yes, maybe later, right now the ghost in the corner caught his eye.

Lestat stared at Armand, then took off after Rowan. He chose his steps carefully, not wanting to be over heard. Yes, he wanted to hold her, but she seemed to be taking to The Dark Gift rather well. He just wanted to see her reactions to this new world, these heightened senses he'd so learned to love in over 200 years. He was also overwhelmed at that he would actually be able to talk to her through thought, How is it mon cherie? he sent to her, standing a couple of feet behind her, his hands behind his back, the breeze playing in his vibrantly blonde hair.

(OOC: ^_^ yay for Lestat muse coming back!)

[alldrenched]

Rowan stared at the water, feeling him next to her. Oh how wonderful it was that they could still feel each other, hear each other. She wouldn't have to know how painfully cut off they might have been. The waves crashed into the deck, spraying her, but the water beaded off her as though she were made of wax. She watched this out of the corner of her eye, curiously. For a moment she wanted to know, needed to know, what was going on in her body, what was happening to her on a cellular level, but she held back. She had forever to inspect herself, and him, to release herself into that madness, that obsessive darkness that could swallow her.

Right now she had to be calm, she had to prepare for the messiness that lay ahead, the finish of her transformation. She turned with her new speed, unleashing it in a tiny test. She blinked and suddenly she was facing Lestat, her back turned to the water.

How is it mon cherie? she heard spoken in her mind.
"Words do not express" she thought in return. She looked him over slowly, with the audacity and wide-eyed scrutiny of a child; his brilliant blond hair was wild yet tamed, laying perfectly against his chest, his tailored, button-downed shirt exhibited the spread of chest shamelessly, and no amount of blue tint could prevent his eyes from glowing. She moved down his body to his loose gray pants which seemed to pour around him, accentuating his hips and thighs licentiously. His body, his dress, his manner even just standing there, eyes a bit wider than normal watching her, (perhaps expecting more of an outward sign of madness,) screamed sex, but Rowan realised instantly her feeling was far different, that the lust she should be feeling was burning on her tongue. Ah, and so this was the only lust she would have now, and the what triggered the old lust would trigger this new lust. How wonderfully dangerous, she thought, looking down the pier at the mist so she didn't drown in him.

"Miss? Are you okay Miss? The Captain needs you to return to your seat, we are about to begin our descent."

Stella groan, allowing one last sour spill of bile to spurt from her into the blue water filled basin below. She leaned against the plastic coated wall and took in a deep breath, coughing as she exhaled. "Okay, thank you," she said, trying not to sound weak or hoarse as she stood up. She washed her face and quickly reapplied her make up before stumbling out. She averted her eyes from the worried flight attendant and collapsed into her seat.

Michael was awake by now, and groggily looked to her, "You okay, Honey?" he asked her, his voice grovely from sleep.

Stella nodded but started drinking the ginger ale left at her seat. Something was terribly wrong, a Mayfair was dead and the nausea bubbling up in her would not end.

"We are beginning our descent into San Francisco International Airport....."

Julien's eyes burned into Armand, the demon teenager who had done it. He put Lestat out of his mind, Lestat was to be dealt with next, and far more harshly. Julien pushed Armand over, letting him roll ungracefully onto his back as Julien moved towards him.

The figures behind him glimmered for a moment then became clear, focused spirits flanking both of his sides; one, a woman in her late twenties with full lips and straight, dark hair cut into a flapper style swing bob, wearing a short cut, purple, sexless gown that she swam in sighed. Her long, lean, and sun-bronzed fingers gripped an oriental patterned cigarette holder and her almond shaped brown eyes were on Armand.

"Oh Ducky," she said in a slow, sad way, staring nearly through Armand.

The other figure was of a woman in her prime, around thirty-five, with pale skin and beautiful, flowing, flaxen blond hair. Her nose turned up at the end, and her loose curls fell into her face as she looked down at Armand, and then to Julien. Her deep, cobalt blue eyes burned red with rage as she looked between the pair, and her pink lips and brow were curled with worry.

"Oh, Ducky," Stella murmured again, looking to Charlotte. How desperately sad she seemed to Julien then, so much sadder than he had ever seen her a day in her life. Ghosts are sad creatures he thought mournfully, detaching himself from the concept as though her weren't a spirit himself.

He turned his attention back to Armand, Armand was weak from transforming his Rowan, Julien had the upperhand, and he used it. He batted Armand about the room with hard pushes as Charlotte made the house shake. She began to break things, she began to wail, her sadness and rage building.

What had Charlotte done? What had Julien done to build and save this family?
Sins against nature to create a better witch for the demon, the Devil himself. And now that demon was banished, and he would not let another devil take his place!

(ha, of course right after you get your Lestat muse I totally lose Rowan and have a work overload. Hopefully this makes sense, I wrote it at nearly six in the morning because I couldn't sleep and I was craving RP.)

[Jacksbonnielass]

(so, I got part of this response typed out. It's sitting on my laptop ready to be finished. College is evil!)

[alldrenched]

As they got off the plane the shaking in her hands didn't stop. Pieter watched it carefully out of the corner of his eye, he watched the paleness spread and shift to green in her usually tan and lovely skin, he watched her eyes too wide with some unspoken horror she tried to conceal. Her mind was locked tight against him, and when she felt his prodding her eyes moved up to his with a warning glare. Pieter gazed at Michael as her hand took his and shoved Pieter's away. He could tell her muscles had stiffened against the shaking, and that Michael, in his grogginess and his depression, couldn't see what he did.

Despite his ever increasing belief that Rowan was dead or no longer human, he joined the charade for Michael's benefit. He stared off through the towncar's window and nervously tapped his pen against the file he held in his lap.

He watched as Stella stared at Michael, her brown eyes burning into his cobalt blues until he seemed to turn away and yawn. He was asleep as soon as Pieter became aware of what she was doing. Stella released his hand and hers began to shake again, in fact her whole body trembled.

Pieter dumped the contents of his lap into a small leather attache case and took her ice cold hand in his. Despite the shaking her fingers were stiff, inflexible in his hand. The joints had locked, her lips were become pale, she was going into shock. Pieter parted his lips, wetting them slightly but stopped before he said anything. She knew as well as he what was happening now.

For Stella the short trip from the gate to the towncar was a struggle. She stiffened against the weakness in her knees and the lurching of her stomach, she didn't say a word for fear of opening her mouth. When she slid onto the leather seats nothing changed; her salivary glands were still on overdrive, her whole body was shaking, and her stomach was still struggling to crawl up her throat. Only Michael's sad glances out the window at this city that had once been his happy home made her control herself. Only his sad, dead blue eyes, which had none of the sparkle or depth they should made her control herself.

Stella took Michael's hand and controlled her muscles, her will alone allowing this. Then she did something cruel, something she should not have done and had never before done to the unwilling. She stared into his eyes and had forced the thought a million ways into him as possible, sleep. Calm. She even rubbed his fingers in a soothing pattern. She couldn't feel bad about the witchcraft when he was out, she didn't have time, her whole body began to shudder and shiver uncontrollably, her body was icy, her joints locked and stiff, her stomach still battling her clenched jaw, her shut mouth. She forced her tongue up against the roof of her mouth held back the weeping and nausea that seemed to dwell just inside her throat.

Pieter watched as Stella turned to look at him, her jawline hard and defined as her mouth was clamped shut. Her hair was a wreck of curls, crushed and collapsed in places, teased and twisted in others. Her skin was pale making her eyeliner stand out against her skin like a Gothic mask. The car stopped very suddenly it seemed and Stella leapt out. Pieter cringed as he heard the delicate groans and the sickening sound of liquid splashing against cement.

(yes I edited this empty post with this because I am going through RP withdrawal)

[Jacksbonnielass]

Immortality suited Rowan, he searched her body in the same way as she looked his, her eyes brightened with the dark gift made him resist sweeping her to him and showering her frame with kisses. No one would ever hurt her, nor kill her, she’d never grow old, and with Armand’s blood, be stronger than a normal fledgling. He smiled at her response, “but of course, take it in, one does not become a vampire everyday” he stood there still taking her in, unaffected by the slight chill from the sea spray, oh how Louis would complain, he, Lestat, had allowed Armand to turn a Mayfair, Rowan Mayfair.

Oh what trouble he was in, he had to resist the urge to laugh, you devil, he thought to himself, how you manipulate people to your ways.

OOC: here is Lestat's response, I'm working on Armand's, damned Armand muse flew out the window.

[alldrenched]

( I haven't decided what I want to do with the Michael/vamp Rowan confrontation, I am kind of thinking that Stella being sick will slow them down so that they get there when Rowan is "dying," but I am not sure, any thoughts?)

Rowan's ice gray eyes landed on the broken reflection of herself in the ocean's waves, for just one second she saw herself, her skin already glowing a bit, like back-lit alabaster, but with a twinge more cooper and peach, her eyes seemed iridescent. The picture was consumed by foam before she was finished with it. As she turned away from the sea and back to Lestat a dull pain began in her jaw and temples, she turned, her gaze searching his for a moment before she understood. A few drops of blood spilled in her mouth and were immediately reabsorbed, and with them the pain abruptly ended. She felt with her tongue the fangs that her canine teeth had become and she smiled, attempting to conceal them the way that Lestat did.

Then she crossed the small distance between them and pressed her lips against his ferociously. Her cheeks burned, flushing with Armand's blood, and her heart started pounding harder as she crushed herself against him. She knew the pain was coming, it was in the mail, in a matter of hours at the very most she would be dying and until then she would experience only pleasure in this new body.

[alldrenched]

Stella pressed her palm against the side of the black car, steadying herself as a new wave of nausea washed over her. She held her hair back from her face with the other hand, her stomach rolling with sickness but empty now. She gagged uselessly then took a deep breath. The immediate relief was a pleasant shock, but as her stomach settled the rest of her body seemed to become more alert. Her head ached, the hand that rested at the nap of her neck began to shake, loosening its grip on her curls. Terror ripped through her, but was quelled, her hands moved to her neck, she held herself together, pressing her fingers into her chest. It was just in time, Pieter had stepped out and Michael was sure to follow, she turned to him, her chocolate eyes dead, her mind closed, and waved him back into the car.

"Motion sickness," she lied with a half smile that didn't reach her eyes. "But I feel much better," she continued as she slide onto the leather upholstery behind him.

When they started the drive again traffic had built up, the opera and theater had just been let out and hundreds of new cars clogged the cities highways.

(just wanted to rp and I figured I would move Stella back into the car)

[Jacksbonnielass]

(okay, not really sure still what to do with Armand, so I'm going to wing it, and assume he can only see things, and himself flying about the house. So it might be a very horrible response.lol)

Lestat kissed her back, wrapping her body within his arms, pulling her closer, he could feel her newly formed fangs through her upper lip as he kissed her, he moved the kisses daringly down her neck, taking in her new scent as he did. The Brat prince was interrupted by an ungodly scream from within the house ,his head shot up as Armand flew out the glass windows.

Armand pulled himself off the ground, staggering a bit and ran in the direction of the two figures on the dock, "The Devil has taken over your house!" bruises were healing rapidly on his porcelian skin as he talked, "Turning a Mayfair has angered something Lestat!" he yelled angerly at the blonde, blowing a curled strand of hair from his face.

[alldrenched]

Rowan's eyes widened just a bit with Armand's appearance but understanding filled her easily. "Oncle Julien" she said in a wistful way, half smiling though an angry roar seemed to answer her from inside the house.

"Not just," a small voice answered as a little girl passed easily through the open window and onto the dock with them. Aunt Stella was about five years old, at the most, and she held Charlotte's hand tightly, dragging her away from their Julien.

"Charlotte look, he is quite handsome, somehow it surprises me every time." Stella mused but Charlotte could not take her eyes off of Rowan.

The resemblance between the two blonds was amazing, despite the difference in their dress and their colouring. Charlotte carried the sun's touches in her skin still while they had been wiped clean from Rowan. Charlotte's hard, cold gray eyes softened as she took in her great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great- grandaughter. She was no longer the icy and angry observer she had been.

Julien raged on in the house, the air inside stirred with his destruction and his ghostly breaths, coming from his nose like the angry puffs of a bull. He was angrier still feeling Charlotte's returning apathy, and hearing little Stella's happy voice. Soon the door slammed open and he marched out, glaring at the group that stood on the dock.

Little Stella released Charlotte's hand and floated through the salty fog to his side. In the blink of an eye she transformed, becoming herself as an adult, her pigtailed,ringlet curls becoming a dramatic flapper cut as she shot up two feet. "Now Julien," she started like an adult chastising a child but under his glare she shrank away, moving back towards the group.