Weak and Powerless (Mickey)

[jon]

Little angel go away; come again some other day. 
The devil had my ear today.
I'll never hear a word you say. 
Promised I would find a little solance and some peace of mind. 
Whatever. 
Just so long as I don't feel so 
Desperate and Ravenous.  

So Weak and Powerless.

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Jonathan loved summer nights.

The darkness was welcoming welcoming. The air was warm and sticky with the humidity of summer. The air was still, silent, as if it was holding its breath and just waiting for something, anything, to happen to disturb the peacefulness that midnight brought. Jonathan hated to disrupt such a beautiful night, but innocence must be shattered at some point. It was just the law of life. 

He circled her, the woman he had brought to his home. She was lovely, he had to admit. Then again, all of the women he brought were beautiful; they all looked like her, after all. And though Jonathan hated her, he would not deny the beauty that hid beneath the coldness of her eyes and actions. He saw her now, even in the woman that was not she. She had her perfect eyes, the gentle curve of her throat. He saw every detail, and his mind modified it to fit hers. 

Yes, this woman would do nicely. 

She whimpered when he knelt beside her, turned her head away when he placed a hand on her shoulder. Her emotions smacked into him, but then fell silent when they hit the wall he always raised. Still, he could taste her fear, and he knew he was doing right. They had only been together an hour, and already she knew what was coming. She trembled with fear and, maybe, a bit of hate. 

This was beauty. This was the true beauty that few men ever saw, ever got to truly experience from a woman. 

He reached up, touching her face slightly, and she cringed away. He stood then, knowing that he had to get to work now or wait until tomorrow. Everything had to be right; everything had to be just as it had been all those years ago. He had to kill her again and again and again, until there was nothing but the stench of death to keep him company. 

"Lucky number thirteen," he murmured, chuckling softly as he moved to the workbench. Three potted plants were waiting for him, their vines wriggling in anticipation. "Well, not so lucky for you, I'm afraid. You're going to die. But I think you've figured that out by now. I wouldn't have brought you out here if I didn't have plans to kill you. And I'm going to hurt you as well. But it's nothing you did, so don't bother trying to wrack your brain for the mistake you made to me. It wasn't you."

He motioned towards the plants, beckoning them forwards. The vines shot forwards, wrapping all around the woman and spreading her body out. One ripped her gag off, but then quickly wrapped around her mouth before she could manage a scream. Not that it would matter; there was no one around for miles. But this was how he had killed her, and so he would stick to it. Even if he had been nothing but a naive, scared little boy then. 

He took a step forward, grabbing her throat and tilting her head back. Her eyes met his, and he saw tears start to bloom. They brought a smile to his face, and he tilted his head sideways. A vine shot forth, and the woman through her head back and tried to scream. He saw her eyes widen in horror and pain as the vine made its claim on her body. He felt justice swell then, just as it had all those years ago. 

"For you, Mother. A little... a little tit for tat, if you don't mind my saying so."

She was crying now, sobs muffled by the gag but tears spilling freely. He ignored it, summoning another vine, and had it wrap around her body. It moved slowly, snaking across her form as gently as a lover's hand. When it reached her chest, it paused, rearing back its tip. Then, it plunged forwards, stabbing through her chest and into her left lung. He shuddered at the blood. 

"You spent years hurting me. Years using me. I refuse to ever let you claim me again, mother. I refuse to let you control me like you used to!"[/b]

But even as he said it, he knew it wasn't true. She still controled him. That much was obvious by the way he still killed her; over and over and over again... But he couldn't stop. Not until she was dead. 

The vines played with her for a while, lashing out and taking shots at her body. Even when she stopped breathing they continued to torture. She had lasted longer than the others, but not nearly as long as [/I]her. He had made her last for days. She had been his perfect victim, the ones the others could not dare touch. 

He collapsed in the puddle of blood that had gathered on the dirt floor, buried his face in his hands, just like always. And there, sitting amongst the death and shame and blood, Jonathan Duncan started to weep. 

Just like always.

----

He awoke from the dream, the memory of the night before, with little more than a shaky breath. He couldn't remember falling asleep. That wasn't part of the course. That wasn't what happened. He was supposed to bury the body near the river, to be washed clean by its waters and then carried away bit by bit. But that hadn't happened. 

The body was still near him, lying in the blood-stained dirt and in a stranger's arms. 

Jonathan bolted upwards. 

The man cradling the woman looked up from where he was nuzzling her neck. Jon's stomach churned in horror at the blood smeared across his pale face, the look in his eyes. It was a look he had seen many times before, but never in real life. Never like this. It made him truly terrified for the first time in years. 

"You did this,"[/color] the man - vampire - hissed. He dropped the body, ignoring the squelching noise it made upon hitting the ground, and lunged for him. Jonathan yelped at the crushing weight that slammed into his chest and took his breath away. 

He tried to fight, but the man wrapped his hands aroud Jonathan's neck and slammed his head into the ground once, twice. Stars appeared in his vision, and the man laid there, limp and lifeless. This was it, then. He was going to die, and this... vampire was going to drain him dry. That was how it worked, wasn't it? That was how the stories told it. 

"You'd make a wonderful apprentice," the vampire giggled. His hands grabbed Jon's, and the man swore he felt one of his fingers break. Something sharp, like nails, pressed against each of his fingertips. Pricked. "You and I, we can... we can..."[/color]

He giggled again, but Jonathan couldn't understand his words anymore. His mind was starting to go fuzzy, blank out. His eyes rolled in the back of his head. 

For the first time in years, Jonathan slept without a single nightmare. 

[mickey]

And if the sun comes up, will it tear the skin right off our bones?
And then as razor sharp white teeth rip out our necks, I saw you there...
Someone get me to the doctor! Someone get me to a church,
Where they can pump this venom, gaping hole!
And you must keep your soul like a secret in your throat;
And if they come and get me, you put the spike in my heart!

The smell of blood pulled Mickey forwards.

Well, it wasn't so much the smell of blood -- that was a smell he lived with every day, a smell he had long grown used to and slightly bored of. It was more the quantity of the blood involved, and the odd noises his hearing picked up, that dragged him further into the forest. It couldn't... it couldn't have been anything good.

And, luckily, he had several bottles of water on him.

Mickey had to keep himself contained when he got to the scene, had to turn his head away to keep himself from vomiting in disgust. There was the body of a woman, mutilated, on the ground, an unconscious man... and a Vampaneze. And he had a feeling he knew just who was responsible for this.

Slowly, cautiously, he inched forwards, trying not to be seen, reaching for a bottle of water from his bag. He was quick to uncap it, quick to draw the liquid within out, into the air. He had to do this quickly, had to time this right -- he didn't want it to come out to a full-out fight, because if it did, the Vampaneze might go back to its kind and tell, and... Well, Mickey didn't want a war on his hands, and he most certainly didn't want to die, even to protect someone from a blood-crazed madman.

Giving a low growl, he lashed out with the tendril of water, wrapping it around the Vampaneze's neck.

[jon]

The Vampaneze had not expected to be attacked. 

The area had been clear; he had been sure to check the surrounding acre or so for his fellow Vampaneze and vampires alike. He had detected none. He ha smelt none. And yet now, above the sweet smell of blood and the stench of death, he could smell the vampire. He knew he had been discovered. 

He sat up, ready to defend himself, when the tendril of water wrapped around his throat. Eyes going wide, he scrambled to attempt to free himself. Desperately, he clawed at the tendril, though his fingers did nothing but slip through the water. He cursed softly, knowing that physical resistance would do nothing to aid him. Yet he could not stop. 

"Release me, vampire!" he hissed, still struggling and clawing desperately. His body bucked and flailed, desperate to be rid of the tendril. "I did not do anything wrong. The woman was dead when I arrived! And you wouldn't tear a mentor away from his new apprentice, would you?"[/color]

He grinned sickly. 

[mickey]

"I somehow doubt that," Mickey growled, clenching his hand into a fist. As he did, the water hardened and froze into ice. He tightened the fist, and it began to shrink inwards, tightening on the Vampaneze's throat.

It was too late to back out, now, and he really... really didn't believe him. There was that glint in the other man's eye, the gleam of a monster gone mad from over consumption of blood. The unconscious person, and the dead body... that only confirmed it in Mickey's eyes, and nothing the Vampaneze said could change his mind.

"Sorry I couldn't do this more ceremoniously. Stakes and whatnot. But y'know." He tightened his fist again, and the ice became tighter, completely cutting off the other creature's airways.

As soon as the body dropped, Mickey went to see to the unconscious man, and the cold anger from before melted into worry. Gently, carefully, he picked him up, cradling him to his chest, and began to make his way back to the city. Whatever the Vampaneze had really done, he hadn't lied about one thing.

This man was one of them, now, and he would need somebody to help him cope with that.

---

His cabinets were much too cluttered.

"God... tea, tea... GWEN!"

<WHAT?!> Chittering came from beneath a bit of cloth on the counter, which stirred; a ferret's face poked out, looking annoyed and grumpy and... Well, as if someone had been disturbed from their nap. Which Gwen had.

Mickey sighed, shaking his head. "D'you know where I keep the tea?"

<Oh, because a ferret is going to know... Yeah, I'll get back to you on that, bro.> And then she disappeared back under her cloth, muttering something best left unrepeated.

As soon as Mickey had gotten home to his apartment, he had layed the man out on his couch and turned the volume on the TV down, so that he could rest easier. If he was lucky, the man would wake up soon, and not after Mickey had gone to bed for the day -- people who woke up in strange apartments didn't tend to stick around for very long, and he still needed to have everything explained to him. Granted, that wasn't going to be very easy, either.

Besides, the tea was for him.

"Here it is!" The Vampire grinned, triumphantly, pulling out the box. Several others promptly fell. "...I'll get those later."

[jon]

The first thing Jon realized upon waking up was that the hands were no longer at his throat. 

He could still feel them there. He could still feel the icy grip, the strength of the monster as it tried to strangle the very life out of him. It sent a shudder down the killer's back. He had always been the predator, but never the prey. He had never felt such fear in his-- Well, no. No, that wasn't completely true. He had felt that same sort of fear only once before. 

And it was best if he didn't think about it. Not then, not ever, lest he wished to go out and find another victim then and there. But, given the fact he had just washed his hands of another victim, Jon had a feeling he wouldn't be able to stomach another murder so soon. It was always so bloody and violent, and he always felt weak the day or so afterwards. 

Carefully, wincing at the pain in his bruised body, the young man reached up to grab the back of the couch and pull himself up. But as soon as his hand touched the soft cloth, his entire body tensed; he knew he hadn't passed out in the middle of an apartment, or even anywhere near one. He lived in the middle of the woods, near an abandoned train station. No where near civilization...

Swallowing hard, Jon managed to used all of his strength to push himself up, off of the couch, and stand. His body swayed once. But then he straightened, shuddered and looked around. He didn't know this place; he had never been here, never even seen... He was beyond confused. 

But then he heard a voice. Jonathan turned towards it, tightened his grip on the couch. The wood beneath creaked slightly. 

"Who's there?" He called. 

[mickey]

"Who's there?"

He was awake.

Mickey breathed a sigh of relief, moving to poke his head into the living room. He gave the man a warm smile, trying to put on the kindest expression he possibly could. "Oh, thank God," he said, chuckling. "You scared me, y'know. I thought you weren't going to wake up until I had to go to sleep, and that wouldn't have been very good at all.

"You, um... it's probably a good idea to sit down." Mickey swallowed, somewhat nervously. "You may feel a bit queasy, after the blooding, a bit... sick, but that's normal. I mean... Of course it is, you would expect it to be, wouldn't you?"

Well, he wasn't doing too good a job of this, was he? Mickey had never been good at the whole Vampire thing... his sire had been so much better. He had been calm and collected, and Mickey was just awkward. Then again, he hadn't really had enough time to get used to being on his own, let alone... let alone learn how to counsel a fledgeling.

"Would you like some tea? 'Cause I was going to make some. I can, um... put some ice in it, if you want. I understand most Americans don't like it warm..."

[jon]

Jonathan nearly jumped when the man poked his head inside the room, but instead slipped his body into a defensive position, one hand going out, towards the side. He could sense life nearby, the sort of life that he could control, and knew then the man had a few potted plants.

They weren't his ideal weapon, but they would do if need be.

But then the man started to talk, and Jon felt himself becoming less aggressive and more... confused. He didn't even know this man, and yet he seemed to be concerned over him, especially after the night before. The thought brought a sort of half-smile to his face; he wouldn't be so concerned if he realized that the woman hadn't been killed by the vampire that had attacked him.

He wondered what would happen if he told him he killed the woman, and the vampire was just cleaning up his messes.

But he decided not to do so, since he was starting to feel queasy, and the man was obviously at full health. With a shudder, Jon let go of the back of the couch, noting the way the wood creaked in relief, and fell so he could sit. A shudder went down his spine.

"Would you like some tea? . . ."

At this point, Jonathan was feeling bad enough to drink anything the man offered him, and so he nodded. He licked his dry lips, trying to push the memories from the night before out of his mind, but unable to do so. He glanced up at the man, green eyes sort of soft and dull.

"What happened to the woman? And the... the..." He really didn't want to say "vampire" aloud, because it made him seem like a loon. Which, granted, he wasn't exactly sane, but he didn't need others to realize that as well. It ruined his fun.

[mickey]

Mickey swallowed, still unsure how to go about saying what he had to say. So, instead of saying anything for the moment, he instead glanced away, muttering, "Right, tea, yes..." and retreating back into the kitchen, to begin preparing the drink.

The worst thing was, he didn't know exactly how this man and the woman were related. Had they been siblings? Lovers? Friends? If they were close to each other in any way, he'd feel guilty for not having gotten there in time. It... No one deserved to lose a loved one. In any kind of way. Mickey knew that all too well.

Once the tea was being made and okay to leave unattended for a few minutes, Mickey made his way back to the living room, sitting beside Jon. "I..." He swallowed again.

"The woman's dead. I... I couldn't do anything about it. I didn't have enough time to bury her, so I had to leave her there. And the man..." Mickey bit his lip. "The man who blooded you is dead, too. And I'm sorry, I'm... so sorry, but you're one of them now.

"Well..." He looked back up to Jon. "...partially, anyways."

[jon]

I already know she's dead; I'm the one that ended her life! Jonathan couldn't help but think as the man expressed his deepest condolences for the departed woman. He wanted to snort and tell the man that he didn't know the woman, that she had just been his for a night of entertainment. But that would cost him dearly. 

So he buried his face in his hands and shuddered. 

"She was... I didn't know her well," he admitted; the only part of his story that would be the truth. "We met in a bar yesterday and hit it off. I was just showing her one of my favorite spots. We were just going to hang around, flirt a bit... This wasn't supposed to happen." He rubbed his hands over his face, shuddered again. "God, I didn't mean to get her killed. I didn't mean to get her hurt. I just... We were just going to hang out..."

There was pain in his voice now, a tone he knew well and could mimic easily. He knew it would be good enough to fool this poor man, who apparently believed the creature had killed the woman, and not him. He almost chuckled at the nativity, but managed to pull it in. He had to be polite, after all. 

But then the man mentioned "blooded," and Jonathan had to look up. He didn't remember swapping blood with the monster; all he could remember was the pressure on his chest, the hands at his throat... And the sharp pricks in his fingers. Was that it, then? Was that how the real vampires did it?

Somehow, it seemed so anti-climatic. 

"Are you telling me that I'm..." he searched for the right word, licking his lips in the process. His eyes flicked to the nearby plant, then back over to him. "Are you telling me I'm a vampire? Or... 'partly', as you put it?"

[mickey]

Mickey shook head head, biting his lip. Well, it was now or never. He had to get everything out now, or risk confusing and alienating and just plain wierding out the other man. He just... This was going to be hard to do. He'd never told anyone else about the world of Vampires and Vampaneze, had never even talked Vampire stories to anyone who wasn't of the clan.

Where the hell was he supposed to begin?

"You're not... a Vampire, persay," he said, swallowing. "I suppose by human definition, you could be called one... but you're not. You're half-Vampaneze."

And then it all poured out. Vampires, Vampaneze, the tension between the two clans, all the basics on either species, and a few less-then-basics that Mickey threw in without meaning to (he nearly told the other man everything he knew about Vampire Mountain and the princes). And when he was done, he felt... well, less awkward, for one. At least he could say things now without throwing the man for a loop.

"I'm... I'm a Vampire," Mickey said, somewhat quietly. "I have been for a few years now. But that man -- the man who blooded you -- was a crazed Vampaneze. I mean, I know they sound like monsters, but most of them really aren't that bad of people. They only do what they do because they see it as honorable, carrying a bit of that person's soul with them. But a lot of them go crazy, after being on the Earth too long. Maybe it's the amount of blood they drink, or maybe it's all those souls in them. And that's what that Vampaneze was. He'd gone insane. And he blooded you." He looked up, back at Jon. "And you're half-Vampaneze, now.

"I... sorry. I didn't introduce myself, did I?" Mickey chuckled, somewhat nervously. "Michael Weiss. Everyone calls me Mickey."

[jon]

He listened in silence.

It was a lot to take in. He had been prepared to believe he was a vampire; he was ready for that. But then... but then the man - Mickey, Jon remembered - told him he was not a vampire, but one of their cousin-breed. Vampaneze. What the hell was a Vampaneze? Apparently he was, now.

No. No, he was only a half-Vampaneze. But that didn't make sense. He had never heard of "blooding" resulting in only half-creatures; in every story, they always formed full-blooded monsters. But, if what Mickey was telling him was the truth, then he was a half-Vampaneze, and he was supposed to drain his victims.

That would mean he would have to start attacking both men and women. After all, he was not willing to have a woman's disgusting soul in his. He would never taste a woman's blood - never. He could spill their blood, yes, but he would not drink it.

"Jonathan," he murmured, when Mickey said his name. "But most call me Jon."