GRAAARGH!

Aug. 10th, 2010 04:27 pm
fangsandamullet: (demonic)
Tonight I had some silly girl tell me that “newborns cannot be made without permission”. As if whatever weird vampire society she comes from has say over every last one of us, regardless of blood. You know what? I’m makin’ newborns. And Hell hounds. And nobody—NOBODY—is gonna have a say in that except me and the person I’m bringing over. How dare that bitch interrupt my thoughts on Michael and Star to nag me about a set of ethics that don’t even apply to me? I don’t know who these sparkly, yellow-eyed vamps think they are, but they do not dictate terms for the rest of us! Goddamn. I guess I shouldn’t have expected them all to be like Blackbird.

I killed and drank twice before I could calm down. I had been mourning Starr and Mike and she just came up, figured out I was a vampire and decided to lecture me on my regrets on not turning them. What the fuck? Where the fuck did she get off?

I don’t need anyone’s permission to make a family. To make sure I’m not alone anymore. NO ONE’S. I’ve been free since Max died. People who can’t handle that need to stay the FUCK out of my business.
fangsandamullet: (I dare ya)
Can't imagine why. *whistle...* Think I may need to party.
fangsandamullet: (...whatever.)
Tonight I found out what ended up happening with the Emersons and their kids.

What a messed up thing. Car accident. Finding out Michael had regrets. Meeting his daughter.

Whom some other vampire thinks he has designs on. I’m gonna fix that one straight off. Nobody messes with the Emersons but me, and I…I got some mixed feelings. I like Nicole. She’s pretty cool. I think she could adapt the way her parents couldn’t. And talkin’ to her reminded me just how tired I am of runnin’ around without a crew. I’m stronger now than I ever was, but let’s face it. I’m like a wolf. “Alone” just doesn’t suit me.

Speaking of wolves, think I need to pick up some dogs for the new place.
fangsandamullet: (heh heh heh)

Everybody wants to know why I let them live.

 

They killed Marco. They killed Paul and Dwayne. They made a real mess of me. Forced me to play possum, run, and then spend a nasty long time healing.

 

It’s a complicated thing. The whole mess was complicated. None of it, from the beginning, was how I would have handled the situation in Santa Carla if that fucker Max hadn’t been pulling my strings. There would have been no outsiders comin’ into the hotel. Nobody would have dangled my girl in front of that horny idiot Michael. Hell, I wouldn’t have let him in in the first place if Max hadn’t demanded it. Who the Hell wants some mama’s boy on a second-hand crotch rocket cluttering up his crew? We already had a kid around, fer fuck’s sake. (That wasn’t my idea either.)

 

Anyway, Max wanted a new wife. He wanted to have everything he had walked away from when he had a fuckin’ pulse—wife, daughter, sons, even little kids around. He fixated on the damn redhead, and used us to try and draw her and her kids in. The endgame was supposed to be that he came in to rescue her and them from us. We couldn’t even avenge Marco or use anything resembling tactics. Nope. It was the old, “chase the assholes around the darkened house but don’t slaughter ‘em all” schtick. STUPID! They’d had hours to rig the place, and two hunters on board. Max didn’t care—he’d been invited in. Half the shit they did to us wouldn’t have worked on him. I think he’d decided that he wanted rid of us. Me. That he planned to “start over” with the fucking Emersons.

 

The bottom line is…yeah. My boys are dead because of Max. I had to run from Santa Carla because of Max. He used my boys and I like slaves, and the great big irony of all of it is…the Emersons were the ones that set me free.

 

Does that get them or those hunters off the hook?

 

Heh-heh-heh. Hell no. But the thing is, living as Max’s slave taught me a few things about biding one’s time. Waiting for the right opportunity for the right kind of revenge. And some things are worse than death.

 

What I found out while I was healing up is, my crew and the Emersons weren’t the only kids that Daddy dear tried to adopt. At the very end, when he decided we were too much trouble, he ended up with maybe four or five experiments-gone-wrong up and down ten miles of beach. And none of these noobs had or have much in the way of common sense. They made new vampires like they were trying to start a zombie apocalypse with fangs. In fact, it has gotten downright ridiculous over there in the last twenty years. And the Emersons and the Frog Brothers are just stupid-idealistic enough to keep fighting the good fight until they’re picked off one by one. Their lives must suck exquisitely by now from their attempts to stem the tide.

 

Oh, wait. Did I say Frog Brothers? I meant “Brother”.  Seems that one of them sprouted fangs and started hunting his bro in the interim. Not a surprise that he’d kill and end up stuck that way—those boys were born bloodthirsty. But I’m sure the surviving one still wonders how that vampire blood got into his coffee thermos.

 

Or how it could taste so much like coffee.

 

I’ve only gone back to Santa Carla a few times—when the bitterness over my boys hits too hard and I start thinking about revenge again. But all I have to do really is look around at the current carnage…or check in on Star and Michael, still living in Gramps’s house. Like a couple of idiots with a death wish. Michael’s chasing vampires and alcoholism with equal fervor, usually with really messy results. And as for Miss Stake-In-The-Back Ex?

 

Star is twenty years older now. Three kids. Grey hairs. Her eyes are more sunken than mine from all the sleepless nights. Her hands shake. You tap the window once, and she jumps and stays skittish for minutes afterward. She’s terrified. Every night, sunset to sunup. Doesn’t matter that she doesn’t know I’m still around. Doesn’t matter that I haven’t laid a finger on her. She’s in Hell now—as scared of night and dark and open sky as a tiny little kid. And not just for herself.

 

Her boys are all in their teens.

 

And I know at least one of them is hangin’ with entirely the wrong crowd.

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David

August 2010

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