Written 6/21/2011
Quite a few things have happened to me over the course of the past week. Not the least of which is the decimation of my reputation. It was not golden to begin with and now I am a laughingstock. Any hope for success or advancement in Chicago is spent.
The fallout created serious questioning on my part. Leading me to write some very maundering ponderings. They are included below because it is reasonably good. The conclusions I drew continue to be in my thoughts. Only now, my outlook has begun to change.
There is something special about a piece of cold, hard steel in your hand. When it’s made by Smith & Wesson, it is even more special. Just last night I put a vampire into torpor so I could take his fucking gun. All perfectly legal apparently, as the Elgin authorities oversaw it all. Dressed all in black, Orcus hid the cold still form away in his cave. From the luck of a draw, Wyatt Michael will now rest in unpeace.
This gun will not elevate me in the eyes of Chicago’s citizens. Never will I hold a position of any power and they will mock me until the end. Fine then, let it be so. My happiness will lie in the warmth of this fully loaded firearm.
Yes, you did take everything from me, Mr. Beasley. Not stopping until you drained me of even my self worth. Now I am here with nothing left to lose. Even the right to my own existence is no longer my own. If Grace had still been alive, I might have felt differently. Yet, she is gone and every gathering it seems I’m forcibly reminded of that fact. Since that is the case, there is no longer a purpose to any restraint. The purpose of a vigilante is clear-cut and this gun feels good in my hand.
As I said, the gun was procured from Elgin a few nights ago. My trip out there was a spontaneous decision brought on by restlessness and aggravation. No matter how well Isabella means there are limits. Recently, her couch has been my home. All because Sonny decided to play a joke on her. Using me to do so and naturally I am letting him. This is a sacrifice of my own comfort and sense of security. Obviously I have no will of my own.
Any rate I had to get out of there. There was news of a gathering in Elgin at the Ventrue hotel. Due to circumstances that will not be mentioned, Reynolds had summoned me. It was my decision to go and part of me hoped for an Evengii sighting.
Completely by accident, I came across Keli on the streets. Easily she offered me the use of her car. Since it would be rude to take her car without her, she came along too. So together, we drove to Elgin. Confidentially, I’ve never driven more than a block before. Overall I still did fine. Vampire reflexes being quite the commodity.
Once there Keli and I met an interesting fellow named Wyatt Michael. We had never spoken but had seen each other. All I knew of him was that his tutelage was under Lady Isabella Bianchi. Standing in the hotel lobby Wyatt and I flirted for a while. Exchanging jibs as we compared our chosen careers. In Mr. Michael’s opinion his job as an escort was higher class than mine as a streetwalker. Frankly in my opinion it was comparing apples to apples. Eventually he offered to demonstrate his considerable skills up close and personal. Flattered, I accepted the offer. In a rash impulse we brought Kali along with us.
The ménage à trios went well. As I’ve come to expect, the act itself wasn’t overtly satisfying but pleasant. The scent of Keli was more enjoyable than the movements my body was making. Using an oral caress on Mr. Michael was my intended climax. It has always been a favorite activity of mine. Then he upped the ante when he shoot blood out of his dick straight into my mouth.
The shock sent me reeling backwards. Where I was overcome from the ecstasy of the blood. The pleasure was awe-inspiring but it did not last. Moments later it had turned to rage. Once again I had trusted and than I was betrayed.
It was his fault, this man I had touched so eagerly minutes before. Suddenly I was all precision and skill as I attacked my enemy. Innocently following my example, Keli revealed her own knives. Somewhere I knew killing him would be an overreaction. Only in that moment I could feel I was winning. The growing taste of victory erased doubt from my mind. For once I could fight back against a wrong done to me. The power of it all was intoxicating.
With shaking hands he shot his 38 calibre revolver in self defence. Old fashion for certain from what I knew of guns. It’s origin will have to remain a mystery. Twice he managed to wound me but my ferocity proved greater. The pain was nothing compared to the fear in his eyes. In that last moment he looked at me and begged me to stop. In response my knife slashed across the whole of his body. Blood sprayed me as he dropped to the floor; silent and still.
The gift from Mr. Fitzpatrick dripped with blood. As did I, while I stood over him. Thinking it was a game, Keli moved to attack him once again. Quickly I stopped her, weary of the consequences. Not for her because she had no concept of what she was doing. The blame would fall on me. Like I had been told, killing should not be done casually. Despite my driving need to prove that I was a predator worth fearing. This savage act took back my power but I still have some restraint.
The next step was seeing that Keli and I were dressed. Before I began my attempts of formulating a plan to move a seemingly dead, bare corpse. My answer was provided when Orcus kicked down the door. As before, he was dressed from head to toe in black, including over his face. Wouldn’t you know it, the gunshots had been exceptionally loud. As a result mortal authorities were on their way.
My attempts to explain the situation were ignored as Orcus kicked out a window. Picking Mr. Michael up by the ankles, he swung him over his shoulder. While simultaneously barking at Keli and I to gather our possessions. The gun was on the floor and I made a split second decision. Picking it up I tucked it into the waistband of my jeans.
The getaway left me muddy and miserable but it was orchestrated to throw human authorities off the scent. Our destination was a dōjō and once there Regent Reynolds was summoned. The Regent was more concerned with the situation at hand than my misadventures. Impressively he executed a ghoul not long after arriving. Inserting his sword into the creatures heart and turning it for extra punishment. The foolish ghoul had admitted to killing Kindred and that could not be abided.
The story of the night was relayed to him by me. Despite my embarrassment at articulating Mr. Michael’s vinculum scheme. Apparently my argument held up because no punishment was issued to me. Instead Lord Reynolds ordered Orcus to revive Wyatt. This didn’t last to long as he attacked Keli who defended herself. When he descended into torpor again, it was decided he would remain there.
At this very moment in time he is rotting in Orcus’s cave. This end result is in my favour as I now have his gun. There was a Merket in Elgin working security who attempted to take it. That didn’t work out for him as I will never let this weapon go. Load the rounds, spin the chamber, flick off the safety, aim, point and shoot. Are you looking at me, Motherfucker? Are you really?
Written 6/18/2011
“I have an existential map. It has 'You are here' written all over it.” - Steven Wright
Both cinema and popular culture have provided me with the necessary steps for an existential crisis. It begins with a set of bad choices on an individual level. These choices accumulate with irreversible harm done to another. Our hero stares into an inevitably steamed up mirror. Usually he is at least half naked. “Who are you?” He demands of the mirror exuding angst.
The mirror declines to answer and the protagonist reacts badly. A flurry of events creates more bad choices and more harm caused. At a critical juncture, a key conversation unlocks the truth in our anguished young man’s heart. Through many tears, this champion accepts that he is not a blight on the sea of humanity.
With his problem now solved, the hero is free to relax. Sitting atop a hill, he slowly drinks a bottle of Miller Light and watches the sun rise on a bright new day. The warm glow illuminates his perfect pecs because inevitably, he is half naked once again. The credits role and we walk to the gym assuming all is forever right in his world.
Let us examine how my existential crisis is going. My life is inexplicably stolen from me and I become aware of a completely foreign society. Soldering on, I attempt to rectify myself to the radical change in scenery. There are mistakes made, but I try to remain optimistic. Knowing the rules, I wait for my wise guardian to appear and tell me what is what.
Seemingly, I am in luck as many are eager to take on that role. Jim Beasley, Andrew Reynolds, Michael Evengii, Vladimir Ivanovich, Salvatore Scalice. Each time I put misplaced faith in their plans. Naively I accept their thoughts and ideas to the point I think they are my own. Everything said makes sense because who am I to argue when I know nothing. The unfortunate side effect is that by doing so I lose myself.
Instead of fighting back, I remove all resistance. Heaven forbid I be any kind of bother or assert myself. Cue an ongoing Invictus circle jerk involving my bright eyes and bushy tail. Exactly like a whipping boy, I allow myself to be used and abused. Then I thank my abusers affluently and hand over the lube for more.
At the end of every blog post, I declare a grand statement of independence and survival. Then at every gathering, I simply forget and give myself away to the highest bidder. This is my attempt to find myself. This is my existential crisis. Frankly folks, it is just not working out.
Believe me realizing I have no actual identity is even more disturbing than waking up and finding myself dead. Nathaniel Redford was the one who said it best. I have no wish to peg him as an Oracle but in this case, it is unavoidable.
“Who is your liege?”
Three times Mr. Redford has asked this very simple question. On the surface it's fair because of my two lieges. Yet his meaning goes deeper than that. There was some attempt to avoid it on my part but he was insistent. The real question is not who is my liege but who am I? Who controls my destiny and who do I answer to ultimately? Are my very thoughts my own or do they belong to others? Currently I am allowing others to tell me who I am. My satisfaction comes from their approval and not from my own growth. The only one who knows who I am is I. Therefore, in myself I must rely. It does not matter if I have to start over again. In a world with Catholic vampires, Buddhist vampires must also exist.
The entire world is at my feet and stretched out in front of me. This reality would do me good to recognize. Given the scope of possibilities on this earth, it is my calling to create. Nothing gives me more satisfaction than painting, drawing, sculpting, and writing so to enhance the world. If I find myself as a Toreador than so be it. Even so, there are times when I find my knife firm in my hand. A part of me craves the feeling of flesh ripping beneath the cool blade. A rush of power fills me as I threaten a man’s greatest possession, his life. Inside of me, a fighter resides who is stronger than you would believe.
Regarding the last gathering, there is precious little I can say. The chance to fully record my experiences has been forbidden. In the interest of city security, I will comply with that wish. Instead I will record my observations of the individual citizens that make up Chicago.
Approximately a month ago, the Prince posted a message. In part, he expressed his dislike for parasites that did not contribute. This was most likely not directed at me. Even so, I was motivated to show my worth as Daeva and as a citizen. On my own meager dime, I rented a VIP room at a popular nightclub.
Attending my gathering was an Acolyte and his altar. Humbly in the corner of the room, he erected a small structure. My uneducated eye studied the different compartments it held. Placing a guess I would say it symbolized death and rejuvenation. On his word, its creator would pray at midnight for the lost souls in the world.
Further explaining he told me, a soul dwelt inside everything of the earth. The human soul received the focus of his prayers. It was his wish to cleanse the departed of their mistreatment at the hands of others. To my amazement, he called up a ghost who he said was his friend. From his belt there dangled a small wiggling creature designed from raw flesh and bone. At the end of the night he told me to be careful of the ghosts in my basement. A statement that hit entirely to close to home.
That fascinating Merket, Simon Cantwell, spoke to me about his past undertakings. Confiding in me, he explained his knowledge of medicine was limited. Yet, the extent of his studies certainly did entitle him to the rank of Doctor. Never mind the limited viewpoint of most Kindred on such matters. Accepting my agreement, he continued until inevitably his mind and words began to wonder. As always he reacted to this with a surprised, “Well!”, followed by his perfect eyebrow raise.
Briefly I spoke to Ellen Peters but I believe my overtly sexual setup caused her discomfort. Certainly it was not my intention but I thought society could do with some spice.
At first I didn’t recognize him but Jeremy Evans was present. For some reason he wore a cloak and mask. When asked why he replied because his beauty was to much for this world. Oddly he spent a great deal of time telling racist Italian jokes.
As I mentioned before Nathanial Redford was there. Staring at me with his crazy eyes and issuing accurate biting remarks. Over the course of the night I had continuous trouble with mortal interference. Each time either Sonny or Ivanovich would assist me. While I might say ‘assist’ Mr. Redford would say ‘rescued’. Unfortunately he was completely right. I really should be able to handle myself. There was a game of darts played until we both became bored.
The blood on Reverend Jimmy Sykes’s hands was his own this time. Holding his Bible he spoke to me of God’s divine plan for our kind. Once again I enjoyed the point of view. My blog was mentioned with a bemused look from him. Any other province I surely would have been destroyed for such an offence. Clearly Prince Donovan has a soft spot for me. This was most likely true and I just hope it doesn’t translate into weakness by others.
With her bear, Cassandra was present. In the eyes of kine she appeared to be 16 years old. This was a cause of some trouble from the club. Until Alder Ivanovich convinced the owner she was merely acting like a child. Most memorable of the night was her yelling at Lady Bianchi. Apparently she offered to tutor me and was laughed off by Isabella for being too kind. This caused Cassandra to explode across the table to tell her ‘kind had nothing to do with it.’
It was nice to see Black Cat as ever when he came to the gathering. As the night went on I saw a bit more than I thought I would. Perhaps it was dominate or a dare but he decided to cruise naked through the club. Once again getting me in trouble with the club security. This was followed by an attempt to blackmail me, Using the threat of reputation damage if I didn’t comply. At this point my reputation is so destroyed that I doubt he could make it worse. Although I believe some of his concern for me was legitimate.
There was a curious Gangrel present from out of town. Who was somehow extremely charming despite his gruff manner. Being a good host I had lacrima available and I fear I might have addicted him. At least it’s good to have a steady customer. Slowly my business is growing. We will see where that goes.
Finally there was a brief moment with Cardinal Eddie. From her reputation I keep on expecting to be torn in half but that hasn’t happened yet. Instead she pointed that we haven’t been formally introduced and we resolved that immediately.
Written 6/21/2011
During the week, before Elgin, I was in Hamlin park. Relaxing as I looked up at the night sky. On my mind was a meeting between a certain Gangrel and myself. The experience had restored some self-confidence but I knew the worst was yet to come. Inexplicitly the park drew quite a few Kindred and ‘one of the lost.’ A strange, sweet creature named Kit with furry cat ears and a talking ferret.
There wasn’t much chance to talk to her however. A mystery of some sort was afoot but I was merely concerned with dinner. While escorting my chosen victim home I received a frightening vision. In the moment it felt all to real. An uncontrollable need nearly caused me to drain her dry. Moments later she was fine, walking beside me. Nevertheless I was still shaken because that was not who I am.
Slowly I made my way back to the park. Speaking to a man who presented as a wino but was not at all. Referencing an earlier conversation I told him I still remained in my crossroads. The biggest obstacle was not which road to choose. Before I could take my first step I had to know who I was.
At this Papa Rose laughed and told me I was figuring it out. Not quickly for sure but in time I would learn where I was in this world. Once that was determined, I would be able to choose my correct path. The impulse was to move quickly. Yet if I did that I would only end up back where I began.
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