#vyxen rivera

[nosnet]

Past Lives (4) – Meet Me in St. Louis

by J. D. Dennis

Time Period:  Early 2027

Perspective: Vyx & Flidais, April & Vince, Al & Donnie

Rating: PG-13

Content Warnings:  Drama, hard conversations, lots of talk about death, characters are in situations, there’s lots of therapy, also cheese puns

Word Count: 22,816

Comments: Stop 3 – St. Louis! The Prince & her council were actually made for a different campaign, No Vacancy, and Jason was part of a campaign that died before it got anywhere (also the DM is a bitch, so there’s no respect for it anyway lol). That’s the beauty of Vampire, though – everyone is reusable with the right perspective! But this chapter does in fact feature Al getting smacked by therapy, a conversation between Vyx and Flidais that I only realized was a long time coming as I got here, and Vince finally gets caught up on life.

They weren’t sure who actually noticed it first.

They’d made decent time getting out of the mountains, once they’d gotten the belt back on the bus; it hadn’t taken very long to get everything back together, and as soon as the engine turned over, they were gone again, ripping across empty, snowy highways at speeds the bus was not entirely suited for. Maine had led back down into New York state, and they’d turned West from there, pushing through Massachusetts and West Virginia into Ohio and beyond.  Once they’d crossed the Appalachian Mountains, the highway had opened up into flat land and empty abyss, with nothing on either side for miles and miles. They could see building storms in cities they wouldn’t reach for hours yet, tiny farms spotting the otherwise empty landscape.

Vyx remembered traveling those roads on a bike, years previously, the ability to just open up the throttle and go for it something they itched for as they witnessed the endless expanse in front of them. The bus wasn’t exactly fast, other cars passing them without issue, meaning the landscapes changed slowly; they could see for miles in every direction, interrupted only by the occasional bank of trees, empty farmhouse, or distant city skyline, and their visual of the world without the speed to see it all was boring, and that only made them want to cross the distance as quickly as possible. It was something in between a sense of nervous fear that being in the open left them defenseless, and the itch to just run that they hadn’t been able to satisfy for a long time. Sometimes, it just felt good to let everything go, to let the world speed past them without having to fret, without having to really pay attention to the emptiness beyond them.

That nervous fear, however, was apparently not unfounded, and it settled in harder as they moved through the flatlands towards their next destination. The bus, days later, trundled up a long bridge, crossing the Mississippi River - which served as the state border between Missouri and Illinois - passing the St. Louis Arch in the distance, a grand vision signaling their arrival, and something in Vyx’s stomach dropped as they did. They briefly looked to the others, and found that, of the faces they could see, none of them seemed delighted; this was strange, considering they’d finally reached their destination and Vyx knew nobody wanted to be stuck in the bus any more than they had been already. It meant that, whatever the hell they’d noticed, the others had noticed as well; was it the traffic? Had they seen someone they knew? Or was there an aura in the air they could all simply feel? They weren’t sure exactly what it was, or who picked up on it first, but clearly, the whole bus could feel the sinking suspicion in Vyx’s stomach that things weren’t going to go well - and then a black SUV slid into the lane next to them, quietly and without preamble, and their hackles went up at the sight. Was a black SUV necessarily dangerous? No, but there was something going wrong, they knew it, and they weren’t going to be caught off guard by it.

“Uh, I think we have an issue.” Will said, from the driver’s seat, and that had the party all but springing to the front, peering out the side and front windows like if they could just cut the top off the bus, they could see well enough to determine the problem. It wasn’t hard to figure out the issue, luckily – as they reached the bottom of the bridge, and the stoplight there, a second SUV slid into the lane to the right of the bus, and Vyx could tell the two cars were trying to keep pace on purpose. This wasn’t coincidence, this was herding. “The GPS says we need to go right, but they’re not letting me turn.”

“They’re Kindred.” Flidais supplied, her eyes flickering to something almost entirely white for a second while she checked the cars with Auspex. It was a good thing to have, and sometimes, Vyx wished they’d done more to learn it – the rest of the time they were grateful they’d found people to keep around that knew it better than they did. Molly’s appreciation of her ghoul, Claire, who’s strength was specifically in Auspex, was something Vyx suddenly understood. “Vyx, what happened last time you were out here?” Flidais asked, turning her eyes quickly to her partner, knowing that this wasn’t action but a reaction to something Vyx had done.  

“I really don’t wanna talk about it.” Vyx said with a grimace, trying to calculate a solution and finding most of the options predictably bad. They hadn’t exactly made friends in St. Louis – though, to say they’d made enemies was presumptuous as well. They’d simply left a bunch of people pretty unhappy with how they’d acted and hadn’t ever apologized. For most people, that would have meant not visiting when they were in town, or a brusque conversation if they did meet, but apparently for Kindred, even just being unfriendly was a slight – either that, or there was more to Vyx’s story. “Uh, short form, I made a bit of a mess a little further West, and when I fled this way, I wasn’t exactly a peach to the local fiefdom.” They pursed their lips, watching the other side of the light turn yellow, knowing theirs would turn green and knowing Will had few options in a bus. Fighting them in the bus wasn’t it, as most of the windows didn’t open, and they couldn’t race them, either. “Just… follow them, for now. They’re probably going to get us to stop somewhere – we can figure something out then, when we know what they want. Maybe kill them, if we think we have to.”

“If it’s just that they wanna talk to you, I’m okay with letting them.” Vince said, one of the few in the back who hadn’t gotten up to gawk at the SUVs trapping them. Apparently, he wasn’t particularly worried – though, admittedly, the man had been blood bound to one of the most powerful Kindred left alive, and had been there to witness her equal getting shot in the face with a rocket; very little frightened him, at this point. It didn’t help that he’d already died, so it wasn’t like they could do anything worse to him. The light turned green, and Will allowed himself to be guided by the cars, going straight back onto the highway and traveling for a moment, the SUVs carefully keeping pace. “It might be they want to make sure you’re not causing more issues, which like. I wouldn’t fault Kana for doing that, so I can’t fault anyone else, either.”

“If they are going to kill us, however,” Al added, skeptical. “We should be ready, just in case. I don’t know how much trouble you got into out West, but I know you. The fact that you won’t talk about it means it’s bad. Not saying I want to know, exactly, but if it’s that bad, we have to be ready for them to try and kill us on sight.”

“If they were going to do that, they’d have fired on the bus.” Vince replied, lighting his cigarette languidly. He inhaled, letting the smoke collect around the lights and making the whole room a little foggy. “I might be able to make a car vanish, but I doubt that I can make this bus vanish, so it’s not like we have great egress. Not to mention, they know this city better than we do and this bus turns like a boat, so it’s not like we could lose them if we wanted to. We’re sitting ducks, and I don’t know about y’all, but I wouldn’t skip the opportunity to take out a Kindred in our position if that was my intent from the start.” He paused. “Though, I mean, I probably could make the bus vanish; technically I’ve made a whole building not be there anymore, but I haven’t tried it before and duress isn’t a good time for learning, y’know? So it’s better to assume I can’t.” He shrugged. “Point being, they have no expectation that we’d actually follow, and we have no real method for avoiding them otherwise, so if they wanted to kill us, they probably would have tried by now. The fact that they haven’t says there’s a different plan, here.”

“I’m with Vince.” April said, softly, making all heads turn to her. “I don’t think they’re trying to kill us. Kindred aren’t really… subtle about that kind of thing. There’s something else they want, and we should at least find out what. Then we can decide if fighting them is actually worth the trouble.” She shrugged. Vyx sighed.

“Yeah, alright, it’s not like I want to kill them. That would cause so much more trouble, anyway. Will, follow their lead and we’ll see what they want before we decide if we’re going to try and kill them first. But, if we get the vibe they’re here to kill, we are shooting first.” They shook their head, watching as the SUVs carefully guided the bus to an exit, pressing it off onto a lonely side street. St. Louis wasn’t a particularly large city, as far as down-town was concerned, but it sprawled outward from there, strips of businesses and re-zoned residential areas hidden behind billboards and advertisements and signs for all sorts of things. It felt industrial, which made sense, considering it was a port town before it became the city it was. The bus was guided off the highway, turning down a dark road with struggling businesses on all sides, before being turned further down a dark road that ended in a gravel lot, where it pulled up sideways to park across multiple spaces. The SUVs pressed the bus into the lot, pulling up at the entrance and closing it off, parking in such a formation that the bus wouldn’t have been able to exit again, leaving them without a way out.

“Here goes nothin’.” Vyx said, rolling their shoulders and stepping off the bus. They didn’t have their rifle, but there wasn’t a need – they were too close for it to be useful, for one, and they had enough power in their ability to tear people limb from limb that it honestly didn’t matter if they had it. It wasn’t like anyone would expect a Malkavian to bend blood and bone, after all, and the split second that occurred when expectations didn’t match reality was long enough for someone to lose a hand. They crossed their arms, watching a young woman step from the front of one SUV – she was dark haired, with almond eyes and pale-golden skin and a pursed set of lips that said she wasn’t exactly vibing with the whole meeting, either, but she was here anyway – followed by another young woman, who hopped from the other SUV’s passenger seat. The other woman had bubblegum pink hair and a sports jersey on over shorts so short they almost weren’t visible, and she carried a bat over her shoulder like she wasn’t just planning on hitting a few baseballs across a field, but a few skulls, too. “So.” Vyx said, opening their arms to the pair. “I figure you wanna talk? Phone-calls are definitely my preference, but we can do this here, if you’re really itching for it.”

“We don’t want to talk.” The pink haired woman shrugged, and Vyx could tell there were others, cronies probably, lingering in the car and just behind it, ready for a fight. Something about their setup said they were more scared of Vyx than Vyx was of them, or at least they were more concerned about the other’s unpredictable actions, at any rate. That this whole charade was because they thought Vyx was the biggest threat there – which was flattering, if a little misplaced. “The Prince, however, does, so you’re coming with us. Let’s not make this hard, okay?”

“You’re the one herding us to a back lot in the middle of fucking nowhere – which, if this was the easy option, I don’t want to know the hard one. You could have just tapped on the window and asked us to meet the Prince and we would have obliged.” Vyx grumbled, a little affronted by the request being given as it was. Were they planning on seeing the Prince before they left town? Probably not, though they were definitely supposed to. They weren’t planning on being in town long enough for it to really matter, honestly, and it felt a little overkill that they’d been herded out of downtown just to be told they had to meet the Prince. All they wanted to do was grab their box and go, but they could play a little politics – they just wished they’d been asked nicely. “Lemme guess – Sheriff, and then Scourge?” They asked, pointing first to the dark haired woman, and then to the pink haired one. The one in the jersey laughed.

“Other way around. I’m the Sheriff, here – call me Ginny. That’s Val, she’s the Scourge.” Ginny gestured to the other woman, who bared her teeth as though to prove that point. They were sharp, but not Gangrel sharp, and Vyx could tell, somewhere in their brain, that Val wasn’t any of the punchier clans. She seemed to glitter in the pale moonlight, but it was hard to tell the exact cause. The blood-visions came on slowly, sometimes; something about their separation from their sire, or Cain, meant that the blood wasn’t entirely consistent in how quickly the twisted visions arrived, or how much they covered. Some people, like Donnie, they saw immediately – but Donnie never hid who he was, where the Sheriff seemed to like being underestimated and misinterpreted. However, after only a few minutes, Vyx could at least tell that, while Ginny seemed to embody a version of Ray, the NYC bruiser they knew best, Val seemed to be entranced with the concept of combat and blood. Toreador, maybe, while the Sheriff was definitely a Brujah. The rest would probably come to them later, when they weren’t focused on not dying, and when they’d gotten the others to open up a bit. “Regardless, we can’t wait all night, so. Let’s get moving, shall we?” The Sheriff added, when Vyx hadn’t agreed to jump in the car immediately.

“Can I ask why?” Vyx asked, looking at Ginny with a curious expression. “Like, we were gonna visit, but we hadn’t even gotten into town yet. Hard to comply to the rules when we haven’t been given a chance, y’know? What have we done to make you so jumpy? I mean, besides being moving targets for the city’s well-trained sight-hounds.” Vyx said, referencing the shift of their vision, the way it seemed both girls were suddenly just greyhounds, chasing because they’d seen movement and not because they really desired the catch. Ginny made a confused face, like she hadn’t expected the Malkism, but that was the crux of having not existed before – sometimes, it took a minute for the visuals to catch up.  

“Well, we have to make sure you’re not a threat to the city, considering your forays out West. That’s why.” Ginny snapped a bubble of bright pink gum, which she’d been chewing aggressively, the pink sticking to her now wet nose, and the crack almost made Vyx jump, because it felt like a threat. That if they didn’t comply, the baseball bat bully would snap them just like she snapped the gum, that they wouldn’t just hear the crack of her gum if they didn’t do as they were told. It didn’t help that the Malkism from before had Ginny a little on edge, her teeth bared in a canine growl. “Last time you blew through here, you left destruction in your wake after making a huge mess out in Kansas. We almost lost one of ours, and that’s not even getting into what happened in Wichita. We can’t have that again, so the Prince wants a chat to make sure everything’s clear and you understand where we all stand. So, unless you want to protest, here’s what’s going to happen – you’re going to get everyone off the bus, and we’re going to take you in. Separately. Two with me, two with Val, two in the bus.”

“Why go to the effort? The bus holds everyone just fine.” Al asked, stepping out onto the stairs before hopping down to the ground. They could hear the conversation from inside the bus, and that meant that they’d filed for the door at the words – it wasn’t like they wouldn’t comply, honestly, they just wanted to know why - with Al in front, trying to back up the one person left who actually sort of wanted to date him. It wasn’t worth trying to hide, considering they weren’t exactly thinking of fighting, yet, and it wasn’t like surprise was really on their side regardless. Val growled, baring sharp teeth at him like the question was stupid, and Vyx saw her teeth were perfectly symmetrical.

“The Prince knows who you all are. You don’t exactly get to save the world, as the rumors say, without getting noticed.” Val’s voice was a snarl, clearly the least pleased about the tack of the conversation; it was a strange sound to hear coming out of a young woman that otherwise looked so demure. She honestly looked like she’d have preferred to just kill them right then and there, and it was uncanny. “And she knows better than to let you all have time to plan all-together. You’re less of a problem when you’re separated. So you, smart-ass, and the bruiser behind you are coming in my car.” She pointed to Donnie, and then Al, gesturing them over.

“The sad looking one and your blue-haired hacker friend are coming with me.” Ginny gestured to Vince, and then to April, who looked startled that she was recognized as a hacker. Al made sense – he’d been running the NosNet after Pip’s demise, and that meant Ladykiller1337 had made a name for himself on the web. April, however, had kept herself clear, as far as she thought. She hadn’t even used her old screen-name since the war. “Yeah, we know what you do, Sxull. We’ve been watching the coast since 2018 – if that broke bad, we would have been next on the list, so we paid attention, and then you all did what sounded like a bunch of impossible bullshit and we kept paying attention. You’re not exactly the next big thing, but you’re more well-known than you think you are. Which is why we’re not letting you or your hacker friend ride together.” Ginny shrugged, at least not so mad about it as to be mean like the other woman; to her, this was practical, not personal. “That means you and your redheaded girlfriend can stay in the bus with the driver.” Ginny gestured to Vyx and Flidais, and Vyx looked back, only just catching a weird look on Flidais’s face at the words. Something about it stuck fast, like a dart in their chest. “Since you’re who the Prince wants to talk to, we figured leaving you in the most noticeable vehicle was probably the right move, not to mention keeping your friends at arm’s reach.”

“And don’t think about running off, or vanishing the thing, either.” Val added, like she had to cover the bases all the same. Clearly, they knew someone was a Malkavian, considering they knew someone could have vanished the bus. “Or we’ll kill one of your friends, and since they’re going to be separate, you won’t even know which one. Hope you don’t have favorites.” She grinned, something wild and feral, like she dared Vyx to try something, her canine features twisting slightly. Vyx sighed, looking to the others to see where they stood. Al looked a little miffed, but not particularly worried, as this wasn’t exactly abnormal for Kindred; Donnie looked worried, but only the normal amount, which didn’t signal much. He was worried about a lot of the things Vyx did, one way or another, and this was no exception – not to mention, his job was to be their bodyguard, and it would be hard to bodyguard them from a different car. Vince seemed calm, though he hardly was anything but, after dying; apparently, having been to the other side, he simply didn’t care if he went again. April looked the most nervous, likely due to their knowledge of her screen name throwing her off. Flidais, however, was strangely steeled, her earlier face all but gone like she’d never had it, her eyes boring holes into Val’s head like a threat that needed to be understood.

“Alright, alright. Can I ask where we’re headed, so we all just know? Like, I know Will’s a good driver and you’re used to the city, but I also know Kine drive like dicks, so if we get cut off or turned around I wanna make sure we’re all heading to the same place and you don’t get too much of an itchy paw thinking we bailed.” Vyx asked, and after processing that paw did not reference being a southpaw, Ginny briefly looked to Val, like they needed to confirm this was a legit question. She got a shrug, so she shrugged in response; if Val didn’t think it was a problem, it probably wasn’t.

“Union Station.” She replied, the information not necessary to keep hidden. The Prince’s office was generally public knowledge. “We’ll meet you outside. Try and keep up – if you’re too far behind us, we might have to take drastic measures.” She gave Vyx a wink – something that said they weren’t planning on being mean until they absolutely had to, so as long as Vyx wasn’t trying anything shifty, they’d be fine, but she needed to impress the threat on them anyway – before turning to the car, only looking back briefly to assess whether her intended cargo was actually getting in with her. Vyx watched their friends reluctantly load into the SUVs, Donnie’s final look one of concern, hovering slightly at the bus door like they weren’t entirely sure they liked where things were going – but then all the doors closed, and they didn’t have a choice anymore.

Flidais was already on the bus when they returned to it, and Will didn’t hesitate before getting back on the road, trying to follow the SUVs as best he could. Vyx settled into the booth on the bus, putting their arms on the table and their head in their hands, sighing deeply at all the shit they were in. It wasn’t really worth fussing over – they’d get to the Prince, and they’d talk, and they’d somehow get the hell back out of it again and they would be fine. That was how it always went down, anyway, and they had to trust in that – besides, there were other things bothering Vyx more. Notably, the face Flidais had made had stuck fast in Vyx’s guts like a meal they couldn’t turn into blood, churning in the pit of a stomach they hadn’t used properly, ever. They looked up at Flidais, who didn’t look at them, staring out the window instead as they rolled slowly past buildings and business and other cars. Traffic was gridlock, for a moment, and things were going slowly, so they had time. Vyx inhaled, and exhaled, preparing themselves for a question they knew they had to ask and didn’t honestly want to.

“Hey, Flid?” They asked, softly, and that drew the other woman’s attention to them and for a moment they hesitated. Something about having Flidais’s full attention felt like getting a full stare down from a Federal Agent – there was something about the way she looked at them that said getting her full attention wasn’t something people did when they wanted to walk away from whatever the hell was going on. But Vyx had to press, anyway, or they’d explode, and considering exploding had been part of the original problem, they didn’t want to make it worse. “What was that face? When Ginny said you and I were staying on the bus. You made a face. You don’t normally make faces. What’s up?” They asked, looking at Flidais with something that was not unlike pleading; they didn’t care if it was bad or not, now that they’d noticed they needed to know. Flidais’s face turned, slightly, towards something pained and something sour and something like they’d asked what the explosives in her hand were and she honestly hadn’t wanted to mention having any in the first place. She, also, sighed, and the bus trundled forward in traffic.

“I didn’t want to do this right now, exactly.” She said, softly, monotone, the lack of effect to her voice disconcerting for once in Vyx’s life. “But… I’ve been thinking, and… I want to break up.” She let the words settle, the pauses in her words not from nerves or distress but helping think of the right things to say, and she looked at Vyx like she’d expected to have killed the other. Like she expected this to do more external damage than internal. Vyx didn’t balk, just furrowed their brows, like they weren’t sure why this was the big deal Flidais was making it out to be. They weren’t particularly strict about things, after all. “When you asked me out, Vince was still gone.” Flidais started again, like she needed to justify her words. “Now that he’s back… It wouldn’t be fair to you to keep this alive when he’s the only person I really want. It’s just taken me a while to realize it.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Vyx shrugged, and that actually had surprise crossing Flidais’s face. She’d expected the other to be more… not necessarily angry, but something more than perfectly okay with things. “No need to act like you stabbed me, though. If you don’t wanna do this anymore, sure. I’m okay with that. Like, we’ll need to go over the details of what that means, but I’m not going to try and tell you that you can’t. What’s important is that you’re happy, however the hell that pans, and that means accepting this, too.”

“I was worried you wouldn’t want to be friends, after this.” Flidais said, and besides the concept that her, worrying, was funny, it wasn’t really a funny statement and Vyx managed to control their snort of laughter at the idea. Flidais frowned, briefly concerned Vyx wasn’t taking things seriously, but the bus took a fairly sharp turn fairly slowly, and that unseated her enough to dismiss the frown. “I didn’t think you’d want to keep me around, considering I was alright dating you until Vince returned. I know what it’s like to feel less important, especially suddenly. Plenty of people came to see Konrad when I was in charge, and weren’t happy he wasn’t around. If I’d been asked if any of them were my friends, I wouldn’t have considered yes an option.” She sighed. “I still want to be your friend, Vyx. I just don’t want to lead you on.”

“Flid.” Vyx let the chuckle out that they’d held in earlier, the whole stress feeling almost silly – though they understood. They were the only one in their own head, after all, and they could tell Flidais hadn’t predicted the easy mood from the conversation, which meant she couldn’t have known Vyx’s actual feelings. They sighed, leaning a little as the bus took another turn that threatened to push the whole thing over. Driving a top heavy vehicle in a tightly packed city wasn’t easy. “I know this was probably really hard, and I just wanna say, I’m like… proud? I guess? That you did it? That feels weird, though. Like I’m your parent.” They shook their head. “But this wasn’t ever going to be a problem. Like, I’m poly. I can’t really be a dick about things, y’know?”

“Not being friendly isn’t the same as being a dick.” Flidais said, softly, like her concern wasn’t exactly abated by Vyx’s words. “You could have still been Vince’s friend and simply not wanted t’see me, and that would be fair.”

“No, it wouldn’t be, ‘cause that would be like pretending what we had before, or what we are now, isn’t something special.” Vyx said, softly, and that had Flidais’s full attention again. They leaned forward on the table, putting their elbows down and resting their head in their hand again. “Think of it like this: the whole getting close to someone thing is like a spectrum. On one end, you got hatred, and then neutral, and then you start getting into being friends.” They lifted their head, gesturing on the table as though to indicate the spectrum they were discussing. “Past friends, things get really blurry, ‘cause after friends you get relationship but that’s not really well defined, y’know? Like, I have a relationship with Vince, ‘cause he’s my brother. I love him, as a brother, but we’re definitely not at friends anymore, but we’re also definitely not dating.” They gestured to a part of the spectrum towards the middle when they said friends. “The thing to pay attention to is there’s like, thresholds. There’s the one where you know a person so intimately well you can’t ever unknow them, and there’s the one that’s like, physical intimacy. Most people think once you’ve hit the physical intimacy one, you’re dating, but that’s also not a thing, ‘cause there’s a bunch of different boundaries to navigate, and sometimes friends are more intimate and partners are less.”

“Vyx, you know how little experience I have with this kind of thing.” Flidais said, trying to follow and finding it hard. Vyx knew what she meant, of course – she’d been a young man during the first World War, and then she’d been Konrad’s little project; he wasn’t exactly a good role model for how to interact with normal people, and then she’d had Vince and the world had collapsed so nothing else mattered. They paused, regrouping to try and figure out an easier way to talk about things.

“The point is, before that knowledge threshold, friends are like… people you get beer with after work. Occasional bowling buddies. Not the guy you call when you get into a big accident, or you need a cat sitter for a week, or you need a ride to the ER, right? Not the people you rely on in an emergency, or the people who need you, too. Like, those are friends, but differently.” Vyx paused, trying to make sure Flidais was following, and that, at least, seemed to make sense. “After you cross the knowledge one, and you know things about that person, that friendship gets more intimate, right? ‘Cause you know things about them. You know who their parents are and you know their favorite food or where they like to buy their clothes. You know what scares them at night and what makes them happy and who they turn to when they’re lost.” They paused, again, watching Flidais’s face until they were sure she was following. “In that space, the difference between being friends and dating is just about where you’ve set the boundary of physical intimacy, y’know? ‘Cause friends hug, and talk for long hours, or whatever. Some friends are more comfortable with more, but that’s also starting to get into being in like, a Queer Platonic thing, which is why this is so hard to define, y’know?”

“A what?” Flidais asked, furrowing her brow.

“Queer Platonic relationship. Where you’re like, really close and probably could be dating but you’ve set the boundaries of physical intimacy to stuff that’s still reasonable for friends.” Vyx waved a hand, like that wasn’t the point. “The point is, you and I are past that threshold for knowledge. I know you. Way too well. And I can’t walk that back. You can set the boundaries for us wherever you want, so we don’t have to date. We can walk it back to hugs and nothing else, or we can walk it back to no physical intimacy at all, and that’s fine. But we’re past the point of being beer buddies, and that means that it would take quite a lot for you to do something that would actually ruin this friendship.” Vyx chuckled, watching Flidais’s face soften, but she pursed her lips again anyway, confused.

“Konrad said most people don’t stay friends with their significant others after breaking up.” She said, softly, and Vyx rolled their eyes. Of course Konrad was involved – he had been in Flidais’s head for long enough, after all. “I think he was trying to convince me Vince didn’t want me as a friend, either, but I can’t shake what he said.”

“One, you’re taking advice from a dude who thinks throwing a wake for a man he killed is enough of an apology. Especially when the dinner table was made from our friends.” Vyx sighed, shaking their head, and Flidais cut her eyes away as though to acknowledge that Vyx was right without having to say it. Unfortunately, they were, and Konrad had, in fact, thrown them a wake for a man he killed and had them sitting on other friends of theirs, who he’d made into chairs. He wasn’t exactly the man to go to for relationship advice. “Two, you’re taking advice from this dude about me. If you think I’m most people, we have a bigger problem.” They chuckled. “But three, a lot of people who aren’t weren’t actually friends with their partners. A lot of people, queer, straight, or otherwise, go straight from acquaintances into full on dating without crossing that knowledge threshold, or any threshold, first. So they’re making out with a bowling friend, and when they learn their bowling friend is more complicated than what can be conveyed over a beer in between sets, they bail, and they aren’t friends when they do, ‘cause they never were friends like that. The people who actually stick together are the people who were friends before they dated, or become very good friends while they date. So maybe take what Konrad says with a grain of salt. He’s not running with a good sample size.”

“So, we’re… okay?” Flidais asked, turning back to the topic at hand, and Vyx shrugged.

“I mean, as long as you’re willing to acknowledge that we’re not going to be beer buddies after this, yeah.” Vyx shrugged again, watching Flidais’s face to make sure she understood. “You and I had something neat, but it didn’t work out. That happens. But since I can’t walk back knowing you, all we’re really doing is readjusting where the boundaries are to something you’re more comfortable with. As long as you can acknowledge that’s what’s happening, we’ll be fine.” They paused. “’Cause if you try and make us beer friends again, then it’ll fall apart. That’s what happens with other people. They try and unknow a person they know too well – maybe they didn’t like what they learned or maybe it wasn’t meant to be and they know more than they want to - or they try and diminish what they had before, and it’s easier to keep taking steps back once you’ve started pulling away than it is to admit you maybe pulled back too hard.” They paused again, getting up as the bus took a corner, swaying with the motion and heading for the small kitchen they had in the front room. Tucked away in a back drawer was a pack of American Spirits – Donnie had tried to hide them so Vyx didn’t smoke them all before he came back. It wasn’t entirely effective, but he tried. They pulled it out, sliding one out of the pack before replacing it again, so he didn’t know they’d found it. “The people who think you can’t be friends after dating think being friends is only a stepping stone on the path to romance, not that you should also be friends with your intimate partners.”

“I’m glad we’re okay.” Flidais said, giving Vyx the closest approximation to a smile she could manage. “I just… I don’t know what I feel for you, Vyx. I think you’re right that it’s more than I feel for other people, like Molly. But it just… you’re cute, and you’re kind, sometimes, and you’re funny. But I look at you and then I look at Vince and it’s like… it’s like thinking a single bulb bathroom is bright and then turning to look at the sun.”

“Hey, you don’t gotta explain it to me, I’ve noticed.” Vyx laughed, lighting the cigarette. “You look at Vince and it’s like the whole world just falls away. Sure, I was hoping I could share a smidge of that attention, but I’ll settle for keeping you around as a friend, anyway. I can’t promise I won’t lay on you, but if you decide you wanna keep shifting the boundaries around, just tell me and I’ll oblige. I might be a bit of a brat, but I’m not a bastard.” They shrugged. “The important thing is that we’re on the same side, no matter what. ‘Cause it would really suck if you were like, yeah, let’s break up, and also I’m not going to put one in that Toreador when she snaps.”

“She’ll learn that she needs to keep her hands to herself.” Flidais said, and that was a threat, one that brought a smile to Vyx’s face. Was it weird? Absolutely, just a little. Change always was. Especially change that sort of came out of nowhere, though it had likely been on the other woman’s mind for a while even if Vyx had only just noticed. But they were still friends, and they were still close, and that’s what honestly mattered.

“Yeah, or they’re going to learn that I’ve kind of redefined what it means to be ride or die.” Vyx chuckled, looking out of the front window as the bus pulled up to the station. One SUV was already parked and clearly empty, having taken a shortcut they hadn’t seen. The other, however, wasn’t present, and Vyx sighed. “Well, we’ve lost a car.”

“I wonder who’s it was?”

~*~

“Hey, so.” Al started, from the back seat; he was talking to Val, the angry Toreador sitting in front of Donnie with a scowl on her face that would have made Konrad look happy, in a tone that said this wouldn’t help much. “Do you eat?”

They’d been in the car all of five minutes, but that was all it really took for Al to determine that maybe it was better if they stopped. The thing was, they’d been shuffled into the car without so much as a word, so there wasn’t any chance of any kind of Plan A, let alone B or C, and that made Al a little uncomfortable. He’d been a spy, before, so he was pretty used to figuring out his bullshit on the fly, and he knew he could get himself out of the scrape if it was needed; Donnie, however, hadn’t been, and his leg was bouncing like he was three hours late for a smoke break and he looked ready to launch himself out of the window the first time the car slowed down. They needed a plan, something concrete, just to keep the man calm – it probably didn’t help that Vyx was in a different car, specifically the bus, and not in there with them. Al was pretty sure that was actually a punishment for other people; Vince had been relatively capable of taking care of himself, once he’d learned how to fire a gun, and Vyx was the same man except with twice the confidence and maybe a little less self-preservation. Al was sure they’d be fine, but he could tell Donnie hadn’t ever had that experience, and until they’d given him the chance to see they weren’t going to explode without him, the other Kindred clearly thought his presence was necessary to keep them safe. It was only a matter of time before someone got decked, and Al was in fist-range.

“Yes, Why?” Val snarled, turning her head only slightly to catch Al’s expression. Having been KGB, she didn’t really frighten him much, and he just put on a kind of sleezy, sheepish grin, the kind of thing one would find on a snake oil salesman who was about to drop the recipe to keep his knees intact. Donnie snapped his head over to Al, like he really wanted to know the reason the other man wanted to make them go slower, something wild about his eyes, just a little. Stressed wasn’t cutting it.

“Well, one, I know I still eat, being a ghoul and all, and I’m fucking starving and I dunno about you, but letting me get way too faint before we get back isn’t really the best option, if you get what I’m putting down here.” Al quickly spun the lie, watching Val’s face carefully. They said they’d been paying attention, but how much attention was really the question. Did they know he’d been sired, a few years before then? “Imagine, me, stepping out of this car and just collapsing ‘cause I’m so faint, right in front of my current girlfriend? The one you really wanna talk to? Not a great look, honestly.” Al offered up the excuse, and while Val watched him with something like skepticism, she didn’t question his lie. It almost looked like she’d read his aura – sometimes Kindred eyes flickered or flashed when they used Auspex and hers seemed to flicker, just once – but Al had made sure his aura didn’t read anything other than ghoul, even after being sired. He wasn’t about to go around telling people he’d changed. Donnie furrowed his brows, like he wasn’t exactly sure what Al was playing at, and Val seemed to catch the confusion – so Al quickly pivoted. “Besides, Shortstop over here is fifteen seconds from tearing someone apart – which, considering you’re in the front and I’m back here and he doesn’t look like he’s showing that much discretion, someone is gonna be me – but a cigarette and a good slice of deep-dish pizza might---“

“You serve me that nightmare you people call pizza and I will drown you in it.” Donnie snarled, something uncharacteristically mean for him, rounding on Al physically as he did so, the snap of his head coming straight from the sheer stress he was under. He immediately pulled back, recanting on his intensity, like the snap was something totally out of the blue, but Al didn’t let him recoil too much – that was their ticket to the outside, after all. If he could get Donnie riled up, they would have to stop, and then they could regroup, form a plan, check their weapons, and Al wouldn’t have felt quite so unprepared for everything. So he held both hands up in a show of fake deference.

“Woah, hey! See, look, I’m gonna be back here with missing teeth for suggesting we get pizza just because we’re a couple hours south of Chicago! It’s not like I suggested something weird, like anchovies, or pineapple. It’s just deep dish, Donnie; you act like it’s an insult to your city that someone decided they wanted more sauce than they did cheese—“

Al knew he was pressing. Al knew there would be a reaction. He was still surprised as hell when Donnie grabbed one lapel of his overly-large Hawaiian shirt, which was white with hamburgers printed on it, and pulled back a fist like he was actually going to throw hands.

“Enough!” Val’s voice was loud, or at least it seemed that way, reverberating through the back of the car, and everything suddenly settled. Al was familiar enough with the blood’s ability to contort the mind, and he could tell the pall that fell over the car was her use of the blood instilling a sense of calm into the situation, and while he could have resisted it there wasn’t any point in trying. Donnie’s fist didn’t lower, but he didn’t have it tensed anymore, the intent of swinging it no longer on his mind but no need to move instilled in him, either. Val looked furious, scarier than a decent amount of Kindred Al had met, if only in the fact that he was sure her rage was only just contained. “We’ll stop for burgers. I’ll order and you’ll get what you get.” She snapped, and Al kept his hands up where they had been, now a show of deference to her more than Donnie. “But if either of you so much as twitch like you’re going to cause a mess for me I’m sinking you in the Mississippi and Ginny will not fucking care.” She threatened, and Al nodded, knowing how serious she was. It wasn’t like he could do much else – the blood was invasive, touching his brain like a lover, telling him that calm agreement was the only right answer. “Tell me yes ma’am if you follow.”

“Yes ma’am.” Both men intoned, only partially of their own volition, the idea of saying yes ma’am both something they wanted to do, considering agreement was getting what Al wanted, but also partially because saying anything else felt like it would physically hurt. With a snap, the wash over the back of the car retreated, and Al felt like he could move again. It helped that Donnie unclenched his fist from Al’s shirt – blessedly, he didn’t pull too hard, which would have revealed the SMG in a holster under Al’s arm – leaving behind a fist-shaped indent in the fabric, leaning back against the other door and staring out of the window like if he could just see Vyx standing outside, the world would be right again. Val gave them both a stern look, before leaning back in her own seat, telling the driver to head to somewhere called Stacked – which he immediately took a turn, peeling off from the caravan without question.

The place wasn’t too far from the bulk of downtown, and they drove in silence for the entire time, Donnie fuming against the window and Al trying not to feel like he’d just caused more issues than necessary. Did he really need to bring up pizza? Maybe not, but he knew Donnie was a New Yorker, and like most New Yorkers, he had feelings about pizza from other locations, Chicago being one of the most notable. All Al wanted was to rile the man up just enough to make his life seem like it was under threat – he could tell this wasn’t an attempt to kill them, so if he’d wound up dead, that would actually cause them more issues. He’d just said the wrong things – at this point, however, he was used to it. It was okay if Donnie hated him – most people did, after all.

“Alright. I’m going inside to order. Dick’s sticking with the car. If either of you leave his sight, that’s it. Got it?” Val asked, once they parked. Al nodded, which was enough for her, and she launched herself out of the car with a vigor that said she honestly didn’t want to be around them, either. Donnie followed suit, throwing the door open, and he beelined across the street to a small park that sat, lonely, in the late evening. Al pushed the door open, catching the eyes of the driver, Dick, who nodded that the park was fine enough, before he followed at a slow pace. By the time he arrived at the park, Donnie was halfway through a cigarette and clearly aiming to smoke through the rest of his pack as quickly as he possibly could.  Al didn’t say anything for a long moment, simply settling in next to Donnie languidly, hitting his vape and quickly checking his SMGs. Now that they weren’t in total sight, he could confirm the contents were tracer rounds; he didn’t always load tracers, as he wasn’t always fighting vampires. Donnie didn’t look at him.

“Why the hell are you like that?” Donnie asked, finally, finishing the first cigarette and tossing it into an empty fountain nearby. Al quirked a brow, tucking his guns carefully back under the shirt; it was why he always wore oversized shirts, after all. It was hard to pin the line of an SMG down under a shirt that was at least one size too big, especially from a shirt that was meant to fit big in the first place.

“Like what, not picky about pizza?” Al asked, rolling his eyes a little at the perceived question. He knew it probably wasn’t what Donnie was asking, but avoiding bad conversations was a reflex. “I’m Russia, Shortstop. I simply don’t hate deep dish. Sometimes you just want sauce, y’know?”

“No, I mean this shit.” Donnie gestured to Al with a waved hand, voice almost raised, like he was trying not to build too much through his words but he couldn’t fight the anger in his voice at the re-mention of pizza or Al’s shitty, snotty tone. Al furrowed his brow, not expecting Donnie to keep trying – most people didn’t put up with his persona long enough to clarify their questions. “The whole asshole thing. Why the fuck are you such a dick to everyone?”

“Do you want the technical reason?” Al asked, actually somewhat serious, but it seemed his response only frustrated Donnie more, like the idea that there was a technical reason felt like bullshit. Al shrugged – he didn’t need Donnie to actually believe him, but the expression looked like he at least wanted to hear it. “When you’re a dick, that’s all people see. What they don’t see is the trained KGB Op who just got us out of the car, away from our captor, and in a location where we can talk privately, which, you’re welcome.” Al shook his head, hitting his vape again and letting the smoke fill the space in front of him. It smelled a bit like pickles, though it was also strangely sweet and kind of sickly in its own unique way. The bottle in his pocket was labeled Pickle Rick in sharpie, which said enough about the flavor, or the maker, even if Al didn’t actually like Rick and Morty. He thought it was boring and idiotic, but like most things, he liked the assumptions people made about him when they realized he vaped pickle juice labeled after the show. “People underestimate me when they think they can read me in an instant, and they don’t realize I’m handing them a faked pamphlet and letting them go for it.”

“Yeah, but you do that with everyone.” Donnie was starting to soften from his anger, just a bit, because that did, kind of, make sense. Al was a spy, and spies did a lot of bullshit that normal people didn’t for their work – it just didn’t make sense that he’d want Donnie to underestimate him, too. “Like, fuck, dude, if I wasn’t aware that this was at least kind of a bit, I wouldn’t have hesitated back there.” Donnie gestured to the car, where the driver leaned against the side door, watching them. “If it was just because you want people to think you’re nothing but a piece of shit, why the hell do you keep it up when you’re with just us?”

“I figure it’s probably how you already feel, so why try and do anything else?” Al said, something kind of bitchy to his tone, and he turned away from Donnie, trying to catch the sight of the water and trying not to look at anyone, Donnie especially. That had Donnie softening further, the anger vanishing and replaced with something like pity and something like curiosity; Al was, clearly, an extremely broken person hiding behind a mask, but he was so shattered that Donnie couldn’t begin to piece together who he’d been before he’d been smashed into bits. It was a weird sensation, because Donnie was still mad – he wasn’t letting the pizza thing go just yet, not to mention Vyx still wasn’t there and he was still doing a shitty job of being their boyfriend or bodyguard and he couldn’t let that go – but the pity was sobering. “It’s easier to assume most people think I’m a jackass from the jump and play to it than try and change their minds. Most people hate me anyway, and there’s nothing I can do to fix that.”

“Why would you think people hate you?” Donnie asked, lighting the new cigarette. He paused a moment, considering them, before passing Al the pack; Al denied the offer with a hand, holding up his vape like that was sufficient. Did he like the pickle flavor? A little. But even that was part of the persona, part of the bit. Al was simply layers and layers of deception, one over another, until there wasn’t anything left but the lies he told, after all. If there was a real person under the mask, Donnie couldn’t see it.

“Damn.” Al chuckled, but it wasn’t a chuckle like Donnie had told a funny joke but like Donnie’s words were a funny joke, and one Donnie wasn’t in on. “Vyx said they ran you through the basics – you heard what I did, right? The whole sided with the wrong guy, betrayed all my friends, partner definitely thought I killed him for his whole ten year death stint? That shit?” Al asked like he was trying to jog Donnie’s memory, like if the man just recalled Al’s crimes, he’d agree. “Most people we meet were there for that, and I didn’t exactly make friends. If I assumed I was well loved everywhere I went, I’d be setting myself up for disappointment every time.”

“Vyx told me the big picture stuff.” Donnie said, agreeing that at least that was true, pulling hard on the cigarette and letting the smoke out slowly. It was calming. “But I also don’t care.” He paused, casting a look to Al and finding that comment garnered, of all things, shock. Al clearly had no concept of anyone not caring. “I wasn’t there for any of it, so it’s not for me to judge. You did what you probably thought was the right choice, or hell, the only choice, if the stories I’ve gotten say anything, and I can’t judge. The only thing I can judge is that from the moment you and I met, you’ve been a massive dick to just about everyone, including the people who are trying to give a shit about you.”

“Ha ha, very funny, Shortstop. Nobody’s out there trying to give a shit about me.” Al’s response was catty, bitter, angry, and Donnie felt the pity in his stomach turn solid like a weight and settle there, heavy. It almost made him angry, how callous Al was, but he had to tamp back on the feeling, because it would only serve to prove Al was right. That he was universally hated by everyone they’d met.

“Yeah?” Donnie’s question caught Al’s attention, the way he said yeah like he knew something Al didn’t and wanted to know if that was the other man’s final answer. “So the short, pink haired enby who you chased away and who came back anyway is just nobody?” Donnie clarified, and that, at least, had Al looking a bit sheepish.

“They’re different.”

“No, Al, they’re not.” Donnie corrected, flicking the ashes off his cigarette before taking another long draw. “Look, here’s the thing. I don’t give a shit what you did, or didn’t, do during the war. Betrayed people, shot someone – everyone I know has been fucked up by that shit, y’know? I might not have known Molly before the war, but I’ve talked to her a couple of times and I can tell she’s been changed just from that, and I can feel it in the way the rest of you interact. You’re not subtle.” Donnie shook his head, giving Al something like a smile, like it was almost funny that people thought they were hiding the trauma from him. “You hardly look at Vince, like you’re still mad but also like you still feel guilty. April looks at him like she keeps seeing a ghost, and sometimes I see the looks she shoots you. Somewhere between bitter and impressed. You’ve all done some shit. None of you are different.”

“Yeah, and that means that everyone thinks I’m shit, that’s the point I’m making.” Al tried to interrupt, but Donnie shook his head, rolling his eyes a little at the protest. Like if Al could just take the conversation and turn it back to how he was right, he wouldn’t hear the end of it.

“Vyx very clearly thinks you’re not that bad.” Donnie corrected, gesturing at Al with the lit cigarette like he was using it to prove his point. “And honestly, if anyone in our polycule should think you’re shit, it’s them. They told me what you did.” Donnie paused, there, letting that settle over Al like a weight. Donnie watched Al’s expression fall into something almost like shame, which seemed to be a rare emotion. “I don’t give a shit what you did before the war. What I do give a shit about is how you’ve treated them. And I know the asshole shit’s a persona, because now that they’re back, you’re night and day with them. You’re like a real fucking person with them.”

“They deserve it, for the hell I’ve put them through.” Al said, softly, and Donnie sighed. The self-deprecating was predictable, and maybe a bit deserved, but not really prudent to the conversation.

“Then why the hell can’t you be a real person for the rest of us?” Donnie asked, finally letting the exasperation of the situation come through, and Al finally looked up at him like he’d asked a real question Al honestly didn’t have an answer to. “You trust them, right? They came back, so you trust them.” Donnie paused, waiting for the protest, and when none came, he continued. “And they trust me, and Vince, and Flidais, and April. So why the hell do you keep treating the people they trust with their life like we’re just outsiders that need to be kept away?” Donnie put his hands out, like he was offering up something different, and Al didn’t respond, turning away to vape pickle-sweetness in the other direction. Donnie sighed. “Like, fuck, man, doesn’t it get tiring, being like this?”

“What, the persona?” Al asked, and Donnie nodded, which actually brought a laugh to Al’s lips, a breathy chuckle like the question was funny because the answer was obviously. “Kinda, yeah. There’s a lot to remember, sometimes, y’know. Layers and layers, some people know some things and other people know other things.” Al shrugged, like that was the price of the persona, having to track all the details for so many separate people and keeping them all separate. Donnie furrowed his brow, an honest curiosity to his face.

“Then why are you still doing it?” Donnie asked, softly, and that seemed to hit Al like a truck. “You’re not fooling us, you know. I could tell it was a persona from the moment we met, mostly. Everyone else knows you. Why the hell are you doing something so exhausting for a group of people who already know you’re not a dick and who prefer when you’re not?” Donnie let the question settle, and there wasn’t a response; Al simply pulled on his vape, leaning against a nearby tree. Clearly, the words had brought some thoughts to Al’s mind, and he wasn’t entirely sure how to process them, so they rattled around in his head in a way that said he wasn’t going to get an answer that night, if even that week. Donnie figured that was good enough, at least; it was better than just ignoring it. “Just… think about it, okay? And maybe chill it on the pizza thing.”

“Hey, to be fair, I did want you to get mad.” Al popped back into his usual self, though Donnie could tell that something had taken root in Al’s brain, his tone a little less shitty than before. He’d been softening, Donnie had noticed, but this transition from ass to something more palpable was noticeable in the moment. “Should have just said the Yankees sucked, huh?”

“That wouldn’t have mattered.” Donnie chuckled. “That was Ray’s thing. Trust me, I’m already there, you don’t have to say anything.”

“You know they’ll be fine, right?” Al asked, looking up at Donnie with an expression that was almost something like comfort. Like he was trying to tell Donnie something important that he really needed, in the same way he’d told Al something important in return. “Vyx, I mean. They’ll be fine until we get there.” Al paused, watching Donnie cast his expression back to the road, and he sighed, seeing the way he had previously responded – avoidant, disbelieving – in Donnie’s shoulders. “For one, Flidais is there, and if you want someone who’s intense about protecting her own, that’s Red for ya. Not to mention, they’re Vince’s twin, and that idiot managed to get on the wrong side of the worst people and somehow walk away from every interaction. The amount that I’ve almost watched that man die is significantly higher than most people, and Vyx knows how to do that shit intentionally.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.” Donnie sighed, trying to let the worry go and finding it cling to him anyway like a wet swimsuit to his legs, down to the part where he could tell it would chafe if he kept trying to push through it. “I just… I’m their bodyguard, y’know? I’m doing a bad job.”

“Oh, no, you’re doing a great job.” Al chuckled. “You’re at murder and they haven’t done anything yet – we called that prepared in this business. Just save that energy until we get there. Then you can start pushing people’s faces in. Trust me – you think Ray frets when Molly’s in another room? Or does he simply swing the second he needs to and lets Molly dictate when that is?”

“He frets when Ryan’s away.” Donnie clarified, and that brought a snicker to Al’s lips. “Swinging Bimbos has a line item in the budget for floor tile replacement, since Ray can wear a line in the floor from pacing when Ryan’s out of town. Molly tries to make sure he stays busy, but things fall through, you know.” He shrugged, and Al grinned at him like this was the kind of juicy gossip he wanted to hear.

“Yeah, well, first, that’s hilarious. Second, you’re not even remotely that neurotic, so comparing yourself to him like that isn’t healthy.” Al chuckled. “And I know a thing or two about unhealthy coping behaviors.” He shook his head, hearing the door to Stacked open, Val coming back out of the building with two bags of burgers. “Speaking of, I, uh. I don’t actually know if I can eat this, so we might have to employ some very unhealthy coping mechanisms to keep me from ruining my lie, here.”

“I’m not kissing you.” Donnie said, simply, watching Val storm over to the driver. She looked pissed, but she always sort of looked pissed, and the driver didn’t look particularly upset by her mood, so it likely wasn’t much past normal. Al snorted at the words, watching the driver gesture with his head for them to return, starting that way and turning to look at Donnie as he did.

“Oh, god no.” Al cackled. “I was thinking more throw me out of the car. Considering Flidais did that once as a ghoul, I’m totally capable of taking it. And we’re not going to be going half as fast.” He turned back when Donnie started to follow, talking to the space behind him. “If I look like I’m gonna hurl, just reach past me, crack the door and push me out. I can roll, I’ll be good.”

“Let’s just hope we don’t need to get there.” Donnie said, with a sigh, following Al behind. Was he less stressed? Maybe a little. Sure, he believed in Vyx, and he believed Al when he said Vince’s track record was pretty solid, but ultimately, it came down to trust. He had to trust Vyx to be okay while he was gone, and it while it wasn’t something he was going to get good at quickly, this was good practice.

Besides, considering throwing Al out of the car was funny enough to distract him.

“Look, all I’m saying, Shortstop, is that there’s a balance between cheese and tomato and some New York City eateries skimp a bit on the sauce.” Al jumped right into a conversation they hadn’t been having as he approached the car, clearly covering up their actual topics, and Donnie didn’t have to act to let his face fall into anger again. Sure, he knew it was a persona, and there was something different about it when it wasn’t aimed at him, but it didn’t mean he liked the topic being about pizza, still. He had opinions on pizza, and Chicago didn’t rate in the positives. Al didn’t let the conversation continue, turning briefly to give Donnie a wink that said as much before turning back around to Val. “There’s the Burger Queen! Took you long enough. What’d’ya get?”

Donnie climbed into the car, watching Al take the bag as he followed them inside, the car door closing and cutting them off from the world again. Al cracked the paper, peering inside, and the groan he let out was so overblown it was clearly part of the running gag Donnie was now privy to. “Uh, fair warning, BQ, onions make me gassy as shit. But hey, you wanted to order, right?” Al asked, and that actually brought a chuckle to Donnie’s face, and the snicker had Al smiling like he was suddenly glad Donnie was in on their private joke and something in the Brujah’s chest bloomed into a feeling that might have been the precursor to friendship.

Maybe he could deal with the persona, he thought, as they rode off towards Union Station – as long as he was in on it.

And as long as it didn’t make them way too late, either.

~*~

Vince wasn’t exactly how they managed to arrive first when they were in a caravan of three that all left at the same time, but he’d been blood bonded to an Antidiluvian, so he was used to things being strange.

They’d arrived at the Union Station fairly quickly, as Ginny’s directions were impeccable and managed to avoid even the worst of the traffic, darting through the tight streets like they owned them. She was a native of the area, and it was clear from the way she got the driver to cut through back streets, though it meant they lost the bus and the other SUV within moments. Vince had no expectations for their destination, honestly, considering he’d never been that far West and being dead for most of a decade didn’t help much, either, but the building that they pulled up to was definitely something else. He took a moment to stare up at it as they piled out of the car, craning his neck to see everything, and the place they’d arrived at was definitely impressive. Union station was an old, stone thing, with whitewashed masonry and a red roof, stained glass windows and a clock tower looming over them, a Ferris wheel turning slowly in the distance, bright against the darkness of the night. It felt like the meeting of old and new, which was a perfect place for vampires to hang out. Vince scanned over the building, and he could see the distant trains, disembodied and faint, still moving in and out of the building, the long smoke stacks and trails of black smoke fogging up the air. Luckily, being dead for a decade hadn’t killed any of Vince’s skills in interpretation, so he was sure that the faintness meant it wasn’t a train station anymore, just that it had been at one point. It did mean that, when they opened the front doors and stepped inside, seeing people in droves was a surprise.

What Vince hadn’t known, or realized, was that there was a party going on, but that became quickly apparent as they headed inside and towards the back of the large entrance hall. While the space was massive, due to its previous life as a train station for a fairly popular port town, it was still chock full of people – mostly Kindred, if a quick scan of auras told Vince anything – most of which were sporting some kind of wine-adjacent drink. The Prince was throwing a shindig for some reason, and it was popular. Vince whistled, following Ginny towards the back, where a bar stood, almost lonely in the sea of voices and bodies. The stools were empty, most people moving on after getting their drinks and nobody wanting to hang around the area, and Ginny stopped there, leaning on the bar top. To Vince, she looked like a wolf wearing a jersey, something that looked a little like a Disney villain but with the capacity to really tear them apart.

“Okay, so.” She said, and she spoke a little breathlessly, like things had gone wrong in some capacity, and while she’d expected things to go wrong, she still hated having to do that part of her job all the same. “Val apparently needed to stop, and the bus is also lagging behind a bit. I’m going to go back out and see if I can coordinate their arrival. You two, stay here.” Ginny patted the bar top, before gesturing to the bar as though to say right there. “Far as I can tell, you’re both the responsible ones in this coterie of yours, so I don’t imagine you’ll get up to much, but the bartender has my number, so don’t try anything.” She raised an eyebrow, and Vince shrugged.

“Ma’am, to be real here, I’ve been a functional form again for… a couple of days. Trying things isn’t really on my to-do.” Vince shrugged, pulling up a stool and settling down. April settled in next to him, a little nervous but taking his lead, which seemed to be enough – Ginny gave the bar one last slap, a sign that she was good to go, and all but zoomed over to the other end, leaving Vince and April alone with their bartender. The man was a bit of a hipster, with long, brown hair and a brown jacket and the kind of frown that said that, no matter what they ordered, he would probably be personally offended by their taste. Vince wasn’t putt off by the visage – he’d dealt with angrier. Besides, there was only so much he could be intimidated by a teddy bear. “Hey, barkeep. What’s on tap?”

“For your kind, we have V, both the Black Label varieties as well as the new Austere line.” The bartender hardly changed his inflection from generally bored, pulling a few bottles from behind the bar. One was a dark red bottle with a black label and red writing; the other two were green, both with black labels, but the writing was gold with different colors under the name, indicating the different varieties – things like Blond Mix and Raven Locks and Death by Chocolate. “Austere just released last holiday season. It’s meant to be kind of a spiced wine. Not sure it works on its own, but a few mulling spices help.” He gestured, and Vince pulled the bottle closer, something strange on his face, like he was seeing an old friend for the first time.

“I’ll take the Austere, then. Just… two glasses is fine, I kinda want to keep the bottle.” He grinned, and the bartender shrugged, pulling two wine glasses from a relatively empty rack and setting them down in front of them. “Can we run a tab?”

“The Prince is covering all drinks. You’ll know if you need to pay me.” The bartender shook his head, like these plebeians that didn’t know they didn’t have to pay were getting on his nerves, before he stepped away to take care of another customer. Vince didn’t pay him any mind, running a thumb over the paper label, letting his hands travel up the bottle to the cork. He was intimate with it, gentle and tender - he held it, stroked it, like a lover. April made a face, like she wasn’t entirely sure what Vince was doing with the bottle but she didn’t exactly like it without the context.

“Do you need like, a moment?” She asked, concerned, and Vince finally turned to her like he’d forgotten she was there, a cackle escaping him as he realized what it looked like. It didn’t help that he had his hand wrapped around the bottle’s neck in a way that was maybe a bit more intimate than one should be with a bottle.

“Oh, no, sorry.” He chuckled, uncorking the wine and pouring two quick glasses with a hand that was surprisingly practiced, considering he’d been dead a decade. He’d clearly done his part learning to pour wine. “I just, uh. I actually made this wine label? Way back in the day. V was my idea. Y’know, V for Vince.” He shrugged, rolling the neck of the bottle to catch any drips like a man who’d spent time behind a bar before – which, he had, he’d been the bartender at Geometry before anyone else, after all – and setting it back down, just within reach. He could still see the label, and that was enough. It was prettier than he could have imagined, and while he wasn’t exactly a man who wanted progeny, he understood the urge to produce something that would outlast him. “I made it ‘cause Kana was super picky about what she drank, being a Ventrue, so I went, hey, wouldn’t it be neat if there was blood wine where you could actually tell from the label who’s in it? ‘Cause we’d drink but she wouldn’t know so it was always a gamble. So then we have the Black label, where it’s all code – Blond, right, or Raven for hair, or Chocolate for skin color, stuff like that - and then I guess it’s expanded from there.” He chuckled, but it was a sad thing, something that said time was an ever present specter that constantly chased down everything he did. While it was good to see it had outlasted him, having it escape his control was also a little off-putting. April pulled her wine to her, watching him curiously. “A lot’s changed.” He added, softly, and she nodded, a realization coming over her as she did.

“Has anyone told you what’s happened, since…?” She paused, unwilling to say the word that he died, because he hadn’t, not really. Dead people, really dead people, didn’t sit around and talk and recount stories and feel emotions. It made it weird, putting a threshold on since he died, considering he was sitting there watching her and that meant he was clearly not dead – but he had been, and it had almost been a decade. Vince shook his head, pulling the wine to his face and smelling it first, like he wanted to appreciate his hard work. Even if he hadn’t designed any Christmas wines.

“No. I mean, I got a little from being dead, but then Molly brought me back and I came… literally straight to the bus. I haven’t really learned much.” He sighed, letting his shoulders sink softly. What he did know wasn’t great – speaking to other dead people meant that other people had to be dead, after all. “I know… I know Bella’s dead. So’s Anthony. I got to talk to her, on the other side of things. She said we won.” He paused, looking to April, who had also brought the wine to her nose. It smelled like spices, but also copper.

“We did.” April confirmed, taking a sip. The bartender was right – it wasn’t quite there, but with some additional spices, it probably would have made a great mulled wine. Vince probably would have made better. “It wasn’t easy, but we did it.”

“How?” Vince asked, and April turned around, leaning against the bar, trying to think. It was hard, remembering things that happened almost ten years previously, even if the impact of those moments hadn’t ever left her.

“Well, this is all like, third hand, since I wasn’t really there, right?” April clarified, giving Vince a look that said that if her knowledge contradicted other people’s, that was probably why. She’d been a ghoul, back then, and the group had decided it was better to leave the squishy, almost Kine behind. “But I’ve talked to people enough to kind of put it together.” She paused, trying to make sure the events were right in her head. Third hand information was hard to collect. “So, we had all that stuff in City Center Park, right? You were there for that.”

“I did get shot after that, yeah.” Vince chuckled, the brief flash of heat in his face almost making him wince. For them, it had been nearly a decade. For him, it had been all of five minutes, and he could still smell the gunpowder and hear the crack of the rifle and feel the pain spreading through his face, and the Tempest loomed in the background like a distant storm, and he shook his head, taking a long swig of wine to tamp down on the visions. It was difficult to get lost in the spirit with the strong taste of spice and copper in his mouth. April didn’t linger long.

“After that, everyone went into the Shadowlands, and from what I heard, it was… stressful, and then it wasn’t?” She shrugged, like she didn’t have better words, but Vince accepted it. “I think the plan we made, in the hotel, went really well, actually. I’ve kinda gathered this all from various people, but Konrad and Dr. Straub and Marie didn’t actually go into the Shadowlands until the first team had been in for a second, and apparently that was the kicker.” She chuckled, like it was almost funny. “Apparently, Marie was Malkav. I asked Konrad about a lot of this right after, ‘cause I spent some time in New York, and he confirmed – Marie used that one Auspex thing, the Psychic Assault thing, on Eldest, and that just ashed her. When that happened, that was it, the ritual couldn’t continue and it all went to bust.”

“Oh damn.” Vince had to hold back a chuckle himself, though his was less mirth and more the shock of hearing the woman that had plagued his memory for three years had just been dusted like nothing by another Antediluvian who had possessed his friend, and that the action had thus ended the entire war. It was kind of a lot. “Wait, if I’ve walked away from that power before, does that mean I’m better than Eldest?”

“Or luckier.” April shrugged. There were too many variables to really know for sure. “Either way, it didn’t last long after that. When they came back out, you were… well.” She paused, letting out a soft breathe. It was hard to talk about, honestly. There hadn’t been anything left except his rifle, his jacket, and the story from the others, which had described an unknown sniper. “Al said your cigarette was floating, that you’d left it behind somehow, but I think he was just in shock. I mean, one minute he’d left and the next he was back and you were just gone, so I can understand if he just saw things and didn’t get them.”

“Oh, the cigarette thing is just like… a thing.” Vince said, struggling for words. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket, holding it lightly between two fingers. “I’ve kinda figured that out on the bus, actually. Marie did it, once – I think she was probably kinda Malkav at the time. Martha tried to shoot it out of the air regardless. We couldn’t ever figure out how she’d managed to make it float, and like, I couldn’t tell you for beans how I’ve managed to make it float sometimes, but I can?” He held the cigarette out over the counter, watching it for a second before letting go. It hit the counter lightly, bouncing once. “I can’t do it if I’m thinking about it, though. It makes it hard to demonstrate.”

“Yeah. Sure.” April sighed. Did she believe him? Mostly. Malkavians really were a different breed – she knew they had trouble lying, so it wasn’t like he was telling her a fib, but cigarettes simply didn’t float. “Regardless, I heard he went kind of on a bender trying to figure out who took the shot, but if he found an answer, I haven’t heard it. I think the idea that you could come back tempered his need to find out.” She shrugged. “And then, of course, you didn’t, and depression killed the rest, I guess. I heard through the grapevine something about it being a Banu-Haqim that actually took the shot, but if that’s the case, nobody’s come forward to claim the kill. Which would be weird if it was actually a real hit, so I think maybe someone got a little bit too trigger happy and you weren’t actually on the docket.”

“Eh, maybe. It was a war. Indiscriminate killing was absolutely the name of the game and I did step out into the open without checking first. As a sniper myself, I should have known better, honestly.” Vince shrugged, unfazed by the idea of his murderer being still on the loose. “Besides, I was a problem, even if I wasn’t on a hit list. I’m surprised only one Assamite even took a shot at me – if that’s even the Clan you’re referencing. I figure it is, since isn’t their guy in the chair Haqim?”

“They go by the Banu-Haqim now, yeah. Apparently the other term isn’t something they’re particularly keen on, and we’re trying not to make too many new enemies. I think it was part of the results of the civil war that happened.” April took another sip of wine, swirling it around in her glass. “Haytham’s in Concord, if my information serves. There’s a couple refuges from the war hiding out there right now. Something about therapy? Hell if I know for sure.” April shrugged. “Al’s been keeping an eye on their outgoing messages. Someone named Clarity keeps sending reports out to someone else in Turkey, but they’re all mostly about the mental health of their three charges – someone they keep calling Deathstroke, someone they keep calling Poison Ivy, and someone they’re calling Harvey Dent.”

“Someone really likes DC Comics, huh? Or they’re a Malk, just babysitting.” Vince offered, gesturing with the glass.

“I think they just like comics. If they were a Malk, I wouldn’t be able to read their reports as well – they’re way too coherent.” April shook her head. “I know Dent’s referencing Haytham, though. I mean, Two-Face? You couldn’t get more heavy-handed if you wanted to.” She sighed. Haytham had been on their side, sometimes, but not always, and the way he switched between the two said that loyalty wasn’t really his strong suit. Or, at least, he was easily swayed. Sometimes, it was nice knowing he was easy to convince, but there were always downsides. “Far as the reports go, they’re doing alright. No idea who the other two Banu-Haqim are, but Al’s only been skimming the reports and then passing them on to me to catalog. Apparently, he was tracing a bunch of different names right before Vyx came back, one of which might be there, and even though he gave up on the effort, he didn’t remove the trace on their Wi-fi. Better to keep it, just in case.”

“Considering, it’s probably not a bad idea. Keeping your pulse on the assassin clan is always a good thing. Then, you at least know who’s pissing people off.” Vince shook his head, pouring himself another glass of the wine. For all it tasted a bit bad, he didn’t mind it. He could still taste food, after all, and he liked his wine a little bitter. “What happened after? I know Greensboro was probably a mess for a while, considering Dodge got offed by… oh god, was it Dhakir? I think it was Dhakir. And I know Dennis didn’t make it.”

“Oh god no. Kana’s taken up the mantle of Prince, now.” April delivered the news, and the brief look of delight on Vince’s face was enough proof that this was a good thing. Kana was his best friend, after all, and she made a decent leader. “Sven’s Sheriff, Nakamura’s the Scourge. Kana sired him, after the war. She actually asked for most of us remaining ghouls to be sired, which is why I’m here like this.” April gestured to herself, and Vince quickly flickered into Auspex long enough to see that she was, in fact, a vampire, where before she’d been only a ghoul. “Molly helped me find a sire in her friend Rita. I don’t know if you ever actually met her.”

“I don’t think I did, but something about her feels… close. Like… like her name’s been carved in a tree I sat under as a kid, y’know? I’ve seen her name and I know her presence and I’ve touched the hands she’s touched, but there’s so much distance between us that won’t ever really get covered. If that makes any sense.” Vince pursed his lips, trying to describe the feeling. It was hard enough to interpret for himself what he saw in his mind’s eye when he thought of Rita – trees and darkness and this touch of something otherworldly, like sunlight he could actually feel – let alone translate it for someone else. “Like, if we weren’t vampires, I’d assume she was the dead matriarch of a family I knew really well, ‘cause it feels like I should know her just from who I do know, but I just never got the chance to actually meet her.”

“Well, you know Martha, right?” April asked, trying to piece the connection together. If Vince had a hard time getting the words to feel right, April had a harder time making sense of them, having no exposure to the blood like Vince did. “Martha’s sire, Rosemary, was Rita’s wife? So maybe that’s what you’re feeling.” She shrugged, unable to understand it. Clearly, there was something deeper going on, something very Malkavian in tone, and she was simply unequipped to handle it. It didn’t help that Vince nodded along to her answer like that made perfect sense. “I’m a Lasombra, now. It’s been… an adjustment.”

“I figure. Brujah to Lasombra is a jump.” Vince shook his head, turning to actually face her. “You said Al was sired? That’s news. His aura reads ghoul still, but I honestly shouldn’t have expected anything less from him.”

“Yeah, but… I don’t think it’s my place to tell you who sired him.” April pursed her lips. “If he hasn’t told you, I don’t… I don’t know if he trusts me, yet, but I know if I told you who his sire was and he didn’t want me to spill that information, he wouldn’t trust me ever again.”

“Yeah, fair.” Vince sighed. “I’ll ask him later. The blood isn’t---it’s not really helpful for you all, y’know.” Vince put his hands out, like he was watching the words pool in the space between his palms and like if he just massaged them a bit, he’d made something that sounded like a sentence. “Some people I saw who they were, who they really were, like, instantly. Like Damon. Damon was a storm cloud from the moment we spoke. But some people were just… confusing, I guess, even for the blood? And then there’s people I get to know really well, and the blood sort of fades out when I do. Like knowing someone intimately overrides the truth of what I see.” He shook his head, turning to April with an expression that was simply sad. “I think maybe people would trust what I say more if the blood actually behaved properly, but it just… it’s not consistent, right now.”

“I mean, you were dead.” April shrugged. “Dying changes things, y’know? And it’s been nearly a decade.” She shook her head, and Vince shrugged. If it really bothered him, he didn’t let it show much.

“We all have our adjustments to make, I guess, huh?” He asked, raising an eyebrow to indicate his use of her words was intentional. She shook her head, but she had a smile on her face, something that said she didn’t mind the connection. “So, Sven’s Sheriff, Nakamura’s Scourge. Anyone else in the upper echelon that I should know?”

“Uh, well. Dan’s still the Brujah primogen.” April grimaced, and Vince also made a face, almost spitting his wine out as he did so. Neither needed to elaborate on why that was funny, as they both knew – Dan wasn’t a Brujah, not anymore. “I think Kana figured that, as long as people weren’t asking questions, it wasn’t that big of an issue. And it’s not like Dan causes problems, so as long as people aren’t getting curious, I think the plan is just to leave it as is.” She shrugged. “Damon’s running Winston, which he has since renamed.”

“Oh god, that man’s ego didn’t even take a dent from the war, did it?” Vince sighed. He and Damon weren’t… friends, though he was under the impression that Damon didn’t realize that yet. The not-quite-a-Tremere clearly hadn’t read all of Vince’s notes, or he would have seen the various times Vince wrote Damon is extremely frustrating and I don’t like this. It was often. “Has anyone caught on, yet, to his, uh. Problem?”

“No, but there’s been no shortage of drama.” April rolled her eyes. Damon was definitely not a man for subtle. “The Chantry’s been through it – there was this whole coup thing, which was a mess. Not exactly weird for the Tremere, but it means the whole Chantry’s been restructured from the ground up.  And, from what I heard tell, Vyx also ripped him a new asshole on your behalf. Apparently, he added a few things into your context so he didn’t look like quite a bad guy.”

“Ah, yeah, that makes sense.” Vince also rolled his eyes, but less at Damon’s shitty actions and more at the idea that anyone thought it would work. “Wildly, I have more memory access from the war now than I did back then, not less. I was wondering why I had two versions of the same memory. Unfortunately for him, getting yelled at ‘cause I wouldn’t let them murder my husband was traumatic enough that it’s been burned into my very brainfolds.” He shrugged. “Glad to know someone came after his ass. Honestly should have done that myself earlier, but we were trying to organize several hundred Kindred for a war.”

“I think everyone is realizing we should have yelled at Damon earlier for his bullshit. Including Sven. Apparently, when he found out Damon had tampered with your memories, he was pissed. To call what they went through a rough patch is taking it lightly.” April rolled her eyes, and her whole head, at the whole situation. “Oh, in the good news, not everyone is dead. Molly went and raised a few people who didn’t make it through the war, but some people weren’t accessible. Sven’s got most of his kids back, Malvern’s fine, brought back a couple others. The one Malk from Raleigh, Alice, the kid? She didn’t come back, and Dodge was also apparently MIAwhen Molly went looking.”

“Alice is probably my bad. She was guiding me through the spirit, like the Virgil to my Dante.” Vince chuckled. “She also didn’t seem like she wanted to go back. She was Malkav’s childe, after all. The blood really got to her.”

“Yeah, though Molly didn’t also try very hard with her. I think she did it just ‘cause Alice’s childe, Sadie, the cute kid, asked, and Molly’s apparently a sucker for a sweet child’s face.” April took the bottle from Vince, pouring herself a small amount more of the blood. It gave her something to do with her hands. “Oh! Nakamura asked Kana to marry him. They tied the knot in 2019. Kana was a little upset you didn’t get to come back for it, but there was something about her immigration that she just didn’t want to deal with that needed her married and quickly.”

“Aww, I’m proud of them.” Vince’s face split in a smile that was, really and truly, proud of the two of them. He’d been there when they’d first found Nakamura, Kana’s new husband, and he’d watched them every step of the way. Knowing they reached the inevitable conclusion made him feel nice inside. “And I’m glad they didn’t wait ten years just so I could be there.”

“Well, rumor has it that Martha and Jess have been engaged for a billion years, but Martha’s been waiting for you, so they haven’t gotten married yet.” April got a chance to give Vince a raised eyebrow, and the man’s face seemed surprised at the names being used, let alone the situation. “I’d make sure someone tells her you’re alive again before too long. They’ve been waiting long enough.”

“Oh yeah, I’ll definitely get on letting her know as soon as we’re home.” Vince breathed out, something soft and sweet and adoring at the mention of Martha’s name. The man had two friends, as far as April understood – one was Kana, and the other was Martha. Everyone else was either just an acquaintance, a partner, or a prospect towards something greater. But Martha was special. “God, you know, I just realized, when we get home, there won’t be a war on.” He said, turning to April with an expression that was almost a little afraid. “The fuck am I going to do? I’ve been embroiled in this Pip bullshit from before I was even sired.”

“Well, as far as I know, the position of Seneschal has been kept open, just in case a certain someone decided to come back and grace us with his dumb smile.” April delivered the news, and Vince looked at her with a furrowed brow, like he didn’t understand. Malkavians. April sighed. “Kana thought you’d work well as her Seneschal, so she hasn’t filled the position yet. I don’t know how long she was going to wait, but apparently at least a decade. So you technically have a job when you get home, if you want it.”

 “I mean, I’ll take it, but… what’s a Seneschal?” Vince asked, his expression of confusion not changing, even with her explanation. “I recognize the name, ‘cause I think there was one in London? But that was a cardboard cutout of a man in someone else’s pants, literally, and I never really figured out what the hell he did other than cause us problems.” Vince chuckled, and April watched him for a long second, processing his lack of knowledge. She’d forgotten, somehow, that it had been a decade, and many places hadn’t had all three of their Council seats filled when Vince had visited. In the times since, more places had found uses for Seneschals, and had replaced their Sheriffs and Scourges as necessary to keep the positions intact – but Vince wouldn’t have known that. She sighed.

“Seneschals act in the Prince’s place for stuff that isn’t all that important. You’d be like the first point of contact for Neonates, or you might go with the Sheriff somewhere to like, ensure the Prince’s orders are carried out to the letter, stuff like that. Kana’s also been talking about having you declare edicts and other stuff, mostly ‘cause nobody we know actually has the position filled that does that.” April shrugged, only pausing at the look on Vince’s face – it was one that said she knew a lot more than he’d expected, and he wasn’t sure how she’d found out. “I’ve done some research. After the war, I started trying to catalog who got promoted where and what changed, power-structure wise. At first it was just ‘cause Kana was a little in over her head and she asked me to help her out, but then other Princes and Bishops and Barons were emailing my burner, asking if I could forward them the information, and I did, but only in exchange for the same information from their city. But that meant I had to know what everyone did.”

“I mean, it definitely sounds like a job I could do.” Vince shrugged, but there was something like delight in his face, like the idea that he had not only a job but friends that gave enough of a shit about him to save him that same job for over a decade was honestly incredible to find out. He picked up the cigarette that had been on the table since he’d dropped it, putting it between his lips and pulling out a lighter. The bartender didn’t stop him, nor did he look like he cared either way. “That’s all I did during the war, after all. Talked to people. Surprisingly, it went well, though I’m not really sure how.” He chuckled.

“Honestly, Vince, it’s kind of made you a legend, a little.” April said, softly, and Vince looked at her like she’d suddenly grown another head. She chuckled, because honestly, it was as strange as it was funny. “I mean, look at what we did, Vince. We managed to take vampires from five countries and like, four states, and convince them the world was ending. We put Tremere and Salubri on the same side of the war and they managed to not kill each other. You looked at Dracula and asked him to fight and he said yes. Vince, you met Cain!” April’s voice rose as she spoke, and she stopped herself at the statement, noticing how many people were actively looking at her and realizing that shouting about Cain probably wasn’t the best idea. She took a breath, controlling herself. “And then you died, and it… sort of took off. Now you’re something special, I think.”

“It wasn’t just me, though.” Vince said, taking a long draw off the cigarette. “Like, minimum, I wouldn’t have made it that far without Dan, or Kana, or Nakamura, or hell, Al.”

“Yeah, but it’s also really hard to convince anyone that Damon Wellington was palpable enough as a person to do what you did.” April countered, and that had Vince holding his hands up in concession of the point. “Like, look at who did the traveling, Vince. You really think people are gonna look at Kana, Dan, Damon, and Martha and think anyone other than Martha actually did the heavy lifting?” She asked, and that had Vince holding his hands up a little further, as though she didn’t need to drill the point home. “Regardless, most people consider you the, uh… mouth, I guess, of that group, so they slot your successes with people into your victory pile. Pulling you as Seneschal isn’t just sound for your friendship, but it’s politically good, too. Any Kindred who were around before the war will know you as the guy who talks big game and gets things done.”

“Oh god, are we sure I should take that? I don’t want to disappoint.” Vince laughed. “Convincing people to join me is like trying to make the cigarette hang in the air – I’m not exactly sure how it’s done, and I know I can’t do it on purpose.” He shrugged, shaking his head. “It’s not your problem, though, so I’ll just talk to Kana later. We’ll figure it out. Hell, maybe I can learn on the job.” Vince shrugged again, turning to lean back against the bar, cigarette dangling from between his lips. “But hey, that’s something good that came out of this mess, right? It could be worse. We could have a lot more dead.” He paused, turning to his wine glass and lifting it towards April, a silent gesture for a toast, and April lifted her glass to join him. “To those of us who made it, and those of us who didn’t.”

Vince took the cigarette from his lips, holding it in the air next to him as he skulled his glass. April didn’t down hers, just taking a long drink, setting it down on the counter when Vince set his down. They didn’t say anything else, not for a long moment, Vince staring off into the middle distance as he’d come to do so often, watching the ghosts dance behind his eyes. This place was full, and even April could tell – places with history had shadows that moved, shifted, danced, even if she wasn’t in tune with the spirit like Vince was. Luckily, they didn’t wait much longer, as the door to the other end of the train station burst open, Val the first figure to enter, followed quickly by Donnie and Al. Vince sat up as they arrived, pushing himself from the seat quickly to go make sure everyone was okay.

The cigarette hung lightly in the air where his hand had been, his fingers having simply let go without noticing. It didn’t fall. April stared at it, reaching out like if she just put her fingers around it, she could find the wire or the beam of light causing the illusion. Nothing happened, even when she plucked the cigarette from the air, inspecting it closely, finding no strings or anything else that could have caused it.

“Oh, shit, thanks!” Vince’s voice broke her from her thoughts, his fingers lightly plucking the cigarette from her hand as he quickly returned, having realized he’d missed something in leaving. “Glad we didn’t set the bar on fire. C’mon, though – Donnie’s back and the bus is apparently pulling in behind them.” He patted the bar, and April pushed herself to her feet, looking briefly at the space where the cigarette had been before. She shook her head, following after Vince and leaving the bar behind.

Like most things, it was better not to dwell on it.

~*~

They’d been shuffled off to a back room of the Union Station as soon as the bus arrived, like if they left Vyx alone in the party for more than a handful of minutes, someone would die. Vyx considered it a little overkill, of course, but something in their stomach started to sink at the way they were treated; their experiences out in Kansas hadn’t exactly been public knowledge, a bunch of things best left dead and buried where they had been laid, but they’d mentioned clarity and Wichita before and the longer Vyx thought, the more concerned they got that the topic wouldn’t be something they’d want to discuss.

They’d only really told Martha, back when they’d been in Paris. Everyone else was in the dark.

The room they were brought to was an old clerk’s office, from back when the place had been a train station; most of the furniture looked period to the time, like the Prince had decided it was better to leave the vintage pieces rather than replace them, and with the rest of the decorations, it was clear that the vintage look was intentional. Old riverboat photos and the kind of shipping memorabilia one would probably find on display in a museum hung on the walls, and a library shelf of books took up one wall. If it hadn’t been for the modern computer on the desk, Vyx would have assumed they’d gone back in time.

The Prince sat behind the desk when they entered, and she didn’t move as they did, nor as Ginny stepped forward, pressing Vyx to the front of the pack. The Prince, as far as the others could see, was honestly unremarkable beyond being conventionally pretty; she was blond, doe eyed, short, skinny, a heart shaped face and a hand that knew how to do the kind of eyeliner that made her look more like a celebrity than someone kind of homey and plain. But Vyx could see something in her that was sharp, dangerous, her teeth knives like a shark, her fingers almost webbed. She wasn’t a Gangrel – she didn’t smell like dog, and even those Gangrel that weren’t dogs often smelled like dog, especially when wet, and considering she lived on a river Vyx would have expected the smell otherwise – but she was a woman who knew water like the back of her hand, possibly obsessed over it, and she was considering Vyx like she was trying to judge if the other could swim.

“I appreciate that you were willing to cooperate.” She said, considering Vyx up and down slowly for a moment before giving the party behind them a once over. It was hard to tell who it was that she saw that seemed to make her nervous – there was no way to tell if it was Flidais’s unmoving, unwavering stare, the half-snarl on Donnie’s lips from the fact that Ginny’s hand never left Vyx’s back, or Al’s furrowed brow and crossed arms that made her lips twist like she was expecting a fight – but she crossed her arms, turning her eyes back to the Malkavian in front of her. “Natalie Williams, Prince. I hope Ginny was able to explain the situation.”

“She said you wanted us to be… clear.” Vyx repeated, giving the space a once over with their eyes. “Clear as a ship’s bell, probably? Or the water on a still morning. You can pick the metaphor that suits, or sails.” They paused, indulging briefly in a snicker at their own stupid pun. The Prince didn’t so much as blink, which told them that she definitely wasn’t in a joking mood. “Clear about what, well, that wasn’t clear enough, y’know.” They tried again, but their jovial attempt fell flat, and they deflated a little, as Natalie didn’t even broach a smile.

“You came through here, a few years ago.” Natalie started off on what was clearly the topic of the evening, leaning down under her desk and producing a safety deposit box, which she set on the table. “You left this behind.” She paused, putting a hand on the box, and the way Vyx looked from it, to her, with something like hope told her everything she needed to know – this did, in fact, belong to them. “However, you also left behind two of my men torpored, and the word out of Wichita was that there was no problem and nothing happened.” She paused again, narrowing her eyes. “Now, here’s the issue: putting two of my men down like that isn’t nothing, and your new friends out West are clearly trying to be subtle to help you avoid consequences. Unfortunately for you, that’s not good enough. I need to know what happened.”

“Can’t you ask… uh… Jason, was it? I think?” Vyx asked, dropping a name no one else in the room seemed to know. It didn’t inspire the confusion the Prince had expected, however; instead, she watched Donnie shift, like Vyx’s tone of light concern was enough to already have his hackles up, and she watched Al press a light hand to his arm as though to tell him wait for it. Natalie sighed, dropping her shoulders and rolling her eyes. Coteries.

“I did. He won’t speak on it. He says something happened, but that you should come with a glowing recommendation and that I shouldn’t worry much about it.” She paused, giving the whole group a once over, as though to make sure they knew she was addressing them, specifically. “The glowing recommendation got you in this room unharmed. But I run a harbor; people move in and out of my city every night, and I know every. Single. One. I know their business, length of their stay, who’s side they’re on, all of it. Except for you. So, fill in the blanks.” She held her hands out, and Vyx shifted from one foot to the other, glancing over their shoulder.

“Do I---do I have to do this here?” They asked, but the frown they got in return said yes, and that their discomfort at telling the coterie was, actually, part of the situation. Telling the authority about ones crimes wasn’t ever meant to be a comfortable experience, after all. They rocked on their heels. “Look, like. I get it, you wanna know and I definitely am super willing to tell you, but I haven’t---we haven’t--- I’ve traveled, a lot, and I haven’t exactly gotten around to giving all the dirty details to everyone, and I-I dunno, maybe finding this out under duress in a strange town isn’t the best way to do this?” They asked, begged, just a little, nervous, turning back to the polycule like that was the real problem there – like telling Al, or Donnie, or Flidais, or April, was the actual issue and they didn’t give a shit whether the Prince knew or not. But Natalie grinned in a way that said the answer was yes, here.

“Whether or not your complicated coterie survives this story isn’t really my issue, unfortunately.” She shrugged, leaning back in her chair, watching Vyx carefully. “Now, details. Unless you want to have to explain that someone died out here because you wanted to be tight lipped with a Prince---“

She finished her words, but the sentence was cut off, still, as Val slammed into the wall with a sudden and unyielding force – notably, Donnie’s forearm, which he had jammed against her throat in a pin that said I dare you, his speed unmatched. He held her against the wall, turning his head slightly in Natalie’s direction as though to emphasize the point – nobody was dying in that room if he was still able to move, and they’d have to be better than that to catch him.

“Can I actually offer some advice?” Al stepped up, hands in his pockets, shoulders easy, but Vyx could tell he was weighing the idea of checking an SMG, just to let them know he came in armed and they didn’t think to stop him, the mistakes they made piling up like fresh snow on a cold road. A wreck was becoming inevitable. Natalie turned her eyes to Al, who took her severe frown as a response. “One, I would be extremely careful who you threaten.” He paused, taking his vape out of his pocket and ripping a hit off of it, the pervasive smell of pickles invasive and off putting. Ginny made a face, and that had Al smiling – it meant she was distracted with his asshole persona and not paying attention to where his guns were. “Shortstop’s been a bit pent up this whole visit, considering you ripped not only his significant other, but also the person he’s supposed to be body-guarding, away from him without warning. Man’s a loose cannon.” He paused again, watching their faces – significant other definitely had Ginny’s face flinching, just for a second, which told him everything he needed to know about the fact that they didn’t. “Two, if you’re going to play like you know who we are, maybe don’t give up on your due diligence half way.”

He stepped up, placing an arm on Vyx’s shoulders, leaning there, casual and easy, letting a hit from his vape invade Natalie’s personal space over her desk. “’Cause if you did actually know us like you play that you know us, you’d know two things: one, this isn’t a coterie, this is a polycule, and two, not even being dead stopped us from sticking together the first time. Unless you’re, I dunno, swinging with the power of Cain behind your hands, I’d say you should keep them to yourself.” He raised an eyebrow, the explicit threat in his voice, and Donnie, for his part, pressed Val against the wall a little tighter. He wasn’t hurting her – honestly, he was ignoring the fact that she seemed to like it, honestly – but she also wasn’t able to move, which definitely pissed her off. Al turned to look at Vyx, giving their opposite shoulder a squeeze. “And unless you like… killed Cain, I wouldn’t worry about chasing us away, babe. We’ve kinda done that whole thing before and personally, I like this better.”

“Ha, yeah.” Vyx chuckled, turning back to Donnie. “QB, can you put her down? I don’t think they’re gonna focus if their Scourge is a piñata.” They chuckled, and Donnie shrugged, pulling back just enough to let Val off the wall – but not enough to free her, as he knew she would probably stab him if given half the chance. Vyx shrugged, because that was good enough. “Thanks. And… look, I just… I don’t like this story, alright? Which is why I didn’t say anything the first time. I… I know we do a lot of weird stuff, but this isn’t one I’m proud of.” They paused, turning back to the Prince, who had an expression that was slowly realizing that she’d played with Kindred out of her depth and hadn’t noticed. “So, context, do you know what the Madness Network  is?”

“No. Though I am aware it is something used by Malkavians. I don’t employ Malkavians.” Natalie’s tone said distaste, likely for the whole clan, which was sort of expected by then. She clearly wasn’t Vyx’s biggest fan.

“So, it’s like… Imagine a radio station, right?” They started, trying to form an explanation that made any sense and watching Natalie’s expression to see if it landed. “You change a channel and suddenly there’s a new voice talking and telling you stuff, but instead of one voice per channel all of the voices are all speaking all on the same channel and you have to really focus to make one stand out, and there’s like hundreds and hundreds of them. If you’re a Malk, and you’re decent with the blood, accessing it is easy. Tuning in isn’t hard – tuning out, however, varies. Malks who don’t really use the blood much find it easier to just ignore it all.” They paused, pressing their fingers together in front of them, and Al reached down, taking their hand with his own. It was a comfort, and they appreciated it. “I’m not---I’m weird. I think that’s about as clear as that’s going to get, and that’s not ‘cause I’m being cagey, that’s ‘cause I don’t really get how I came to be here and trying to explain something I don’t get isn’t easy.”

“Short form: I died. A very powerful necromancer went to grab me back and grabbed them instead.” Vince added, like he wasn’t sure why people were hemming and hawing over the explanation when it really was that simple. “Took me a minute to get better, so they got the run of the limbs until I did, and since I was the man in charge until then, they basically didn’t exist before that.” He shrugged. Natalie looked at him like he’d lost his fucking mind, but Vyx held up a hand to try and bring her back in.

“The important part is that I don’t… know my own mental voice.” Vyx said, and that was a revelation that hit the rest of the party, though not as poorly as Vyx assumed it would. Mostly, they saw more pity than anger or fear, even if they’d just admitted they didn’t know what their own thoughts sounded like. Al squeezed their hand harder. “I was out in Kansas, just taking the open road for what it’s worth, right? And I stopped in this… bar, I think. Dive bar, somewhere. And the voices. There were so many, and unfortunately for me, I can’t… I can’t turn the Network off. The radio station stays on, no matter where I am. When I’ve got people around me, people I know, it’s easy to ignore the voices, stay on track. But when it’s quiet, or I’m alone, it’s… its all I can think.”

“What do you hear right now?” Ginny asked, somewhere between trying to vet Vyx’s words and curious as to the condition. They paused, furrowing their brow for just a second.

“Uhhhh… I think someone has gotten a Budweiser frogs chorus going, ‘cause that’s what I hear, but it’s definitely more than one voice.” They shrugged, and  Ginny nodded, like she understood what they meant. They tried not to let it be too off putting – it was always strange when someone understood a Malk without further context, but it was also always better not to ask. “Regardless, I was alone, out in Kansas. And I… I heard a voice. It was… it was so angry. It wanted someone to die. Then… the next thing I know, I’ve got a knife in the guts of someone I don’t know and I’m covered in blood.” They held their hands out, like they still remembered the exact moment, the smell of heady copper on their hands, the way they wanted to lick it from their fingers. “I remember someone… tried to tell me something. Words. I didn’t hear them, everything was still so loud, so bright, and then I think… I think he touched me, or he went to touch me, or something, and I just… I snapped.” They looked up, something serious on their face. “I’m going to leave the rest of that unsaid, ‘cause I’m not admitting to anything, but I figure you can guess.”

“And Jason said this was nothing?” Natalie asked, almost like she was about to race down to Wichita herself and give Jason a piece of her mind. Vyx shrugged.

“I mean, the first guy wasn’t me. The second guy attempted to grab a frightened jackal twenty seconds after it made a kill – not really sure what anyone expected from that interaction besides the way it went.” They shrugged. “Shitty part to me has always been the… the fact that they weren’t my thoughts. Jason agreed. And he saw me ruin that second guy. So like, I don’t know, if you have beef with how he runs his shit, take it up with him?” They shook their head, waving it off. “Honestly, maybe don’t. Shadows want to hang in shadows, and the worst thing you can do is throw a bit of light on them, y’know? And I figure you don’t wanna beef with neighboring cities over stuff that didn’t happen to you.”

“Why my men, then?” Natalie asked, but something in her had softened. Maybe it was the explanation that suited her tastes. Maybe it was the fact that, even though Vyx had all but admitted to diablerizing someone out in Kansas, not a single member of their polycule looked even remotely surprised, let alone angry or perturbed at the idea. Fighting a group of Kindred who were very okay with eating other Kindred was not the play, really ever. Or maybe it was the sinking realization that she was dealing with Kindred that were above her pay-grade, and their benevolence was not guaranteed.  

“They tried to catch a running fox, duh. Like, I was just trying to make it out as far East as I could, as quickly as I could. I wasn’t planning on stopping. But your dingdongs decided to try and play bad cop, worse cop and I didn’t have time to entertain their roleplay fantasies.” Vyx shrugged. “Maybe you should tell your people to leave well enough alone sometimes. They definitely didn’t take the hint.” They patted their pockets, looking for a cigarette, and found their own pockets empty; at the sudden frown on their face, not one, but two packs of cigarettes launched from two different pockets – one, a pack of American Spirits, the other a pack of Marlboros that had seen better days – followed by a flameless lighter. They caught the first two packs in a cradled arm, and the lighter in their other hand, quickly stuffing the Marlboros in their pocket and fishing out an American Spirit, lighting it.

“I feel like that should be what you wanted, though.” Al added, taking Vince’s lighter back from Vyx and tossing it back to him; he caught it deftly, pocketing it without even looking. “You have your explanation, you know this was definitely a one-time thing, and also definitely not your problem. Now, if that’s it, I think there’s a safety deposit box we need to take back to a certain bus parked outside.” Al gestured, and Natalie sighed, realizing that this really was all she was going to get. It was better than nothing, at least.

“You’re welcome to open it here, if you would like. I’d prefer if you didn’t take the box.” She patted the metal box, which had the key taped neatly to the top. “I apologize if this meeting caused you any inconvenience. You understand why I had to know something.” She added, like that would excuse her transgressions. The deference was interesting, having heard that she was in a room full of diablerists who didn’t care much what their fellow did, but Vyx wasn’t taking it lightly. Any deference was good.

“Yeah, I get it. Maybe next time, though, just like… knock? Ask?” They chuckled, stepping up to the desk as Natalie stepped back from behind it. She headed for the door, a flick of the hand summoning Ginny to her side. She paused, leveling her stare at Donnie, who carefully released Val from the hold he’d kept her in. She’d been on the ground, but unable to move, and it was only with Natalie’s careful nod that he let the Scourge go. Vyx turned, watching them all head out, Natalie pausing only once, as though to look upon the room one last time before the explosive devices she was leaving behind destroyed it. “No worries, we’ll keep things the way they are. I didn’t put guns in this one.” They chuckled, and Natalie shook her head, leaving them alone in the room with the box.

Vyx posted up behind the desk, using the key to unlock the box as they did so. Donnie, free from his job holding the most dangerous person there against the wall, settled himself against Vyx’s side, putting his arm over their shoulder as though he was daring anyone to separate them again. They leaned into the touch, only pulling away when Al also stepped up to their other side, putting his arm around their back; they didn’t mind being in between their two main partners, honestly, and it was a big comfort to feel them there after so long without them. They’d done well to not think about it after they’d left, but Wichita had been a mess and it had haunted them for a long time – so now, having it forcefully brought back and used against them was a lot, and it had them trying not to sink into something strange and melancholic. They shook their head, reaching out to snap the box open, trying to dismiss the errant thoughts that the whole thing brought up.

A cheese hat, big and made of very squishy foam, all but launched from the box, hitting Flidais in the face as she stepped up to the desk. Vince, who had stepped up behind her, snickered, and the warning look she shot him said that he only got away with that because it was him and that if anyone else had dared, she would have more hands than she knew what to do with.

“Wisconsin.” Vyx said, like that explained things. It, strangely, did; at least, no one asked any further questions. “This box was sort of my collection point for a bunch of different middle America stops. It was easier to have one place right in the center that I could kinda come back to, y’know? I don’t remember where I got the cheese hat – I think there was a festival or something - but I know this is from up in the middle of nowhere,” They paused, pulling out a small piece of paper, only a little bigger than a playing card, which they pocketed before anyone could read. It looked like it had a lot of text on it, but there wasn’t any way to read it before they slipped it away. “Talked to a fortune teller up in Spring Green. She was clear, that was only for me.” They chuckled, reaching back in and digging around. “And there’s this shirt, which is from a restaurant in Milwaukee.” Vyx produced a t-shirt, which had two columns; one had the label of 7pm, with Mission Briefing written neatly on a bullet point line, while the other had a designation of 3:32am, labeled Missing Briefs and written poorly and not on the bullet line. It had a further label below the lines that said it came from a place called Safehouse. “It was spy themed. I technically got this for you, Al, but you weren’t really speaking to me so it’s been… here.”

“Honestly, I’d say I’m flattered,” Al said, his tone indicating a little sarcasm as he held the shirt in front of him, “But really, you nailed it. I can’t even be mad.” He chuckled, a genuine thing, reaching back around to give them a hug as a sign of thanks. “Claire might be, but that’s not your problem or mine.”

“I hope you didn’t buy this shirt for me.” Donnie said, pulling out a different shirt. It was from a place called Art of Pizza, out in Chicago, and Al hid a snort behind his new t-shirt at the sight of it. Vyx snagged the t-shirt, shaking their head with a chuckle and pressing a kiss to Donnie’s cheek as though to apologize for making him touch the thing in the first place.

“No, I didn’t. It was free. And before I met you.” They stuffed the offending t-shirt under one arm, digging through the box further. “I just wanted pizza and I figure it’s easier to judge once I’ve actually had it.” They paused, looking up to consider their newly formed opinions on Chicago style pizza like they finally had to pass judgement. “Personally, I don’t like tomato sauce enough for deep dish. But also my experience with tomatoes has been primarily Vince’s mother’s cooking.” They gestured backwards, and Vince shrugged, lighting the end of his old cigarette and blowing the smoke towards the ceiling.

“She would definitely be offended by Chicago pizza, but I think she’d probably be offended by most American cooking.” He chuckled. Vyx shook their head – his mother was from Spain, and had opinions on things like tomatoes, they remembered, and definitely would have opinions on American food - pulling a third t-shirt – this time with the phrase I heart you on it, but the heart was actually a pictograph of a pterodactyl – and putting it with the pizza shirt under their arm. They also produced a pair of glittery men’s underwear, and this they held up for a moment, like they couldn’t actually place where they came from, until the memory hit them and they broke into a smile.

“I didn’t realize you were shopping for all of your partners while you were out here.” Flidais said, her tone an attempt at something like humor but lost in both her cold fish attitude and the fact that she hadn’t stopped looking at the door – where they could tell Val still lingered, a bodyguard making sure they didn’t leave with anything important - with a promise of death for making Vyx go through an emotional situation in front of her. It didn’t matter if they’d broken up, she was still deadly protective of anyone she considered a companion. Vyx snorted.

“Oh no, I got this from a gay florist before I saved his orgy-camping trip from the rain. But I think that’s a story for later.” They put the underwear with the shirts, furrowing their brow at the things still in the box. There were quite a few items left, and they were growing increasingly small and increasingly strange. “I don’t know how I fit all of these things in this box.” They said, pulling out three jars; they were all labeled with a brand that was recognizably Amish, with one being pickled okra, one being pickled pigs feet, and one being pickled radishes. The radishes had been opened, if the sound of the pop-top said anything. They also pulled out a puzzle box, handmade and old and strange, setting that aside. “Like, I know I jammed the hat in there last minute and I knew it was going to launch when I put it in there, but I think maybe I found a liminal space, here.” They said, pulling out a gauntlet from a suit of armor and putting it on the desk. “There’s so much.”

“Where did you find armor out here?” April asked, picking the gauntlet up and examining it like it was probably the strangest thing yet. It was older, not newly made, clearly the craftsmanship of a previous century, though it wasn’t tarnished or rusted or used. Vyx looked up at her like they had to sort through everything to recall where they’d gotten the thing, holding a small Santa ornament in their hands; it was a Santa, but it was also a mermaid.

“Well, that gauntlet is from a castle in Ohio, but if you ever want a helmet, go to a Loves.” They said, gesturing with the Santa. “I don’t know why, but that truck stop chain sells armor.”

“Middle America.” Vince shrugged, again, stepping over to the table and taking the Santa from Vyx’s hands, gesturing with it. “It’s just like that. Like, I could ask if you visited around Christmas, since you have a MerSanta ornament, but I basically know you didn’t, ‘cause Middle America just has this stuff around, right?” He asked, and they nodded, taking the Santa and wrapping it in one of the shirts. It was just small enough and just fragile enough that they didn’t trust it un-protected.

“Yeah, there’s a whole fucking town named Santa Claus in Indiana, so they have a store that’s year round. Christmas decorations, three-hundred sixty something days a year.” They set the ornament and shirt aside on the desk, pulling a magnet from the side of the metal box where it had stuck fast; it was for a place called Scoops, which seemed to serve ice-cream. They pried it off the side of the box, holding in between their thumbs like there was something reverent about it. “Oh! Ha. I, uh. Well, you all just heard I got a glowing recommendation from a guy out in Kansas, right?” They asked. Al narrowed his eyes, like bringing that back up when they were alone was actually something he was waiting for.

“You said his name was Jason?” Al asked, and they gave him a look that said don’t, even as he returned the look with maybe a bit too late.

“Al, we’re not getting into this.” They said, with a sigh. “Look, his name’s JasonLancaster.He was the Scourgewhen I was there. He… found me, face deep in this dude – who he said was kind of a prick, so I sort of did him a favor, I think – and he took me back to his place, got the story, and got me out. There’s no need to go like… digging into his business, okay? He’s not a threat.” They said, and Al shrugged, taking a hit off his vape but blowing it away from the party as a whole.

“I won’t antagonize him. But I am going to check him out when we get back to a laptop. We can’t just leave unknown variables hanging out, aware that you’ve eaten a man, and just assume that he won’t ever use that against you.” Al replied, and Vyx rolled their eyes, giving in before it became a thing. He was right, after all – they probably did need to check Jason over, just to be sure they hadn’t fucked themselves by trusting him.

“Fine, fine. Just. Leave him alone, okay? He wanted to hide.” They looked back to the magnet in their hands, shaking their head. “He’s just all shadows and he doesn’t like being in the light, I could tell. Regardless, I maybe sort of snagged this from his fridge, since it looked like a good place to snag a bite if I came back through and I knew I wouldn’t remember otherwise, so… if you do end up turning the flashlight on him, maybe don’t? Mention that I stole his magnets?” They chuckled, and Al rolled his eyes at them, but in a way that said sure, babe. He wasn’t going to tell Jason they stole what was, really, a beaten up, shitty magnet from a local ice-cream joint out in a state he didn’t think they’d ever visit again anyway.

“Weren’t you kicked out of Seattle?” Donnie asked, taking them away from their moment regarding the magnet and back to the present. He had a business card in his hands, one he’d fished from the bottom of the box, and Vyx reached out, taking it from him. It was for someone named Deacon, listing Seattle as a point of contact for him. They sighed.

“I was.” They said, handing the card to Al, who gave it a quick once over and then pocketed it. Yet one more problem to deal with when he had a computer again. “Think Seattle’s Best Nosferatu wanted to be cute and left it for me after I crashed a party of his. I’m not supposed to go back, but I don’t think there’s anything against us contacting him again, especially since this seems like an invitation.” Vyx shrugged, picking up the box and turning it upside down, just to be sure that nothing else was in there. It was empty, their things spread across the table. “That’s it, though. Now we just have to get all of this stuff to the car.” They chuckled, trying to pick things up and finding the concept of carrying around jars, t-shirts, and a cheese hat difficult. Vince, helpfully, put the cheese hat on his head.

“Yeah, I think we really should brie leaving.” He said. Every face in the room turned to him with the same kind of dour look Flidais normally carried, and he grinned, sheepishly. “What? A good cheese pun isn’t going to do any parm.” He said, and he ducked an imaginary punch, which was mostly the look on Al’s face as they split the contents of the box between their hands, heading for the door. “And hey, they’re only going to get feta as we go!”

“Vince, I will stab you.”

“Would that mean you cut the cheese, then?”

“Vince.”

“I bet you think I’m just a munster with all of these puns.”

“Alright, that’s it, we’re leaving him behind.”

“Maybe it’s cheddar if I just go.”

Vyx laughed, watching Al run after Vince as they made it outside, the other man holding the cheese hat to the top of his head as he raced for the bus, unwilling to lose it. Donnie chuckled as well, wrapping an arm around their shoulders as they made it to the bus. “I don’t know, the fact that they’re talking feels like a gouda thing.” He said, and that earned him an elbow to the ribs before a kiss to the face.

“Don’t make me throw you off the bus, too.” They chuckled, and he laughed, and for a moment, things were good. Maybe, they thought, hauling their things onto the bus and dodging Vince as he ran off it, Al in hot pursuit with a real knife in his hands, Vince laughing hysterically as they blew past – maybe it was even a gouda thing.  

[nosnet]

A Happy Valentines Day from the eventual wedding party! I (J.D.) was briefly possessed into doing an art, so ta da, some idiots having a wedding. From left to right: Flidais (Tzimisce), Vince (Malkavian), Martha (Malkavian, above), Damon (Baalii Tremere, above), Vyx (Malkavian), Al (Kiasyd), Donnie (Brujah), Sven (Gangrel, above), April (Lasombra)

(a non-holiday specific version exists under the cut~)

[nosnet]

Dead and Dead Again: Nol' (0) - Again

by J. D. Dennis

Time Period: Greensboro, early 2019

Perspective: Alfonse Renato, Vyxen M. Riveria

Rating: PG-13

Content Warnings: Al needs therapy but we’re not there yet, Malkavian weirdness, light mentions of poor mental health symptoms and the briefest touch of suicidal ideation

Word Count: 13,238

Comments: So after the end of the last campaign we really did, I killed my boy. But then I wasn’t done, he wasn’t done, so I brought him back. Since then, we’ve done a lot to fix the details, change some things, make some edits, and it felt very important to get this out there. So here’s to bringing someone back a little bit different the second time. I think this has created one of my favorite PC’s I’ve ever had. Also fair warning I slammed this out in a solid 2 days so there may still be some typos.

He was told waiting was a bad idea. Of course, Alphonse Renato was known to be a man who never let a bad idea stop him – he did, in short order, betray every friend he knew, killed several acquaintances that probably shouldn’t have been killed, and sided with the wrong guy. Sure, something, something, blood bonds, couldn’t help it, but Al never believed that tripe. If he was actually as good as he thought he was – good as a spy, good as a friend, good as a lover – he wouldn’t have succumbed to his domitor’s whims. He knew it wasn’t really possible to reject the system, especially as Pip had decided to only bond him once the Nosferatu had gotten closer to God – or, probably, Satan – than anyone else, and that meant that the power inherent in that blood was difficult to fight, but he believed, deep in his guts, that the only reason he didn’t fight it was that he didn’t want to put in the effort. He sucked on his vape. It tasted like burnt cotton and blackened sugar. Whatever flavor had been in there, he couldn’t have known; the coil had gone out a month previous, but he had decided not replacing it was a personal penance. At least until he’d figured out a better way to apologize and fix things. Besides, the room he was in smelled of stale cigarettes, so it wasn’t like the acrid chemical smell of his bad vape made it any worse. He could tell there were a couple different brands of cigarettes, though, the smell lingering on the small lounge he’d found as a seat; he still had a nose like a dog after a couple decades drinking Gangrel blood, so he could smell the almost burnt, toasted tobacco notes and something that smelled strong and heady, like Turkish Coffee without the spices, plus a couple other random brands that had come and gone over the years. It stung, a little, that the distinct, cheap tobacco smell of his husband’s Marlboros wasn’t present anywhere except his shirt.

He figured people thought he was depressed, which is why he hadn’t done laundry. He just didn’t want the smell to go away yet.

He didn’t mind, honestly. Most of the people who thought him depressed did so for good reason – he’d just lost his husband, after all. Among other crimes, anyway. But his husband had been shot on the battlefield just after everything had gone past, trying to give the surviving bad guys some kind of dignity in their loss. It was almost a farce, but that was Vince Renato, after all. Too much heart and not enough blood to go through it some days. But he was a mess, and he was the right kind of mess for Al, who had privately decided he wasn’t given the gift of much heart at all but too much blood instead, and they’d balanced, somehow. Or maybe they hadn’t – Vince had gifted him a bunch of bullshit, too, and maybe they were always destined to burn too bright, too quickly, and end up nothing more than a pile of ashes on the sidewalk. But at least Vince gave a shit, and Al was slowly but surely running out of people who did. And in the Kindred world, giving a shit was a treasure in rare supply.

He sighed, leaning back on the lounge, finding the arm just comfortable enough to lean on but not comfortable enough to feel good about relaxing. It was honestly how he wanted it. The hotel room was also how he wanted it, as far as hotel rooms went – clean, bed made, impersonal like a picture from a catalog, and devoid of any reminders of anyone’s humanity. He didn’t want to be reminded of what the others around him – all Kindred, all vampires, just far enough away from being truly human but still visibly the same – all lacked, because he was putting his trust in the tiny parts that remained that they’d actually do what they said they’d do. Molly was good for it, sure – she was paying a debt, she’d been on his side of the war but she’d had less excuses on why she’d been so easily controlled. Al knew embarrassment was a much stronger motivator than altruism, and Molly was nothing but. But there were others, though, trying to build a level of context to memories should Vince come back with Swiss cheese for a brain, and those others, well… one, Damon Wellington, haughty to a fault and with a head so far up his own ass Al was unsurprised he could see out of his own mouth, had honestly been a contender for Al’s first foray into multiple partners, at one point, anyway. He was hot, though most Kindred were – once you lived long enough, being ugly was boring – but Al was sure the whole wrong side of the end of the world business had soured any possibilities that could have happened, and he wasn’t looking to rekindle specifics. The other, Kana Matsumoto, had hated Al down to the very atoms that made up his being from the moment they’d met. And those two were responsible for keeping an accurate timeline of events.

Kana wasn’t a liar, but Damon was, and even the most honest could be tempted to remove their wrongs from a person’s life, if given the chance. Al wasn’t entirely sure she wouldn’t take it, and he figured if she did, it wouldn’t do well for him. He wasn’t sure how, but the world had proven that it could figure that out on the fly quickly enough that he didn’t want to guess and be wrong; it would suck to add inaccuracy after the fact to an already open wound.

The hotel door handle kathunked, the door swinging open slowly, Al having not engaged any other lock. He didn’t need to, or want to, as he was waiting to be told Vince was alive, and upright, and standing, and huggable, and ready to go home – why would he lock out the only good thing he had left? Sure, he was a bit of a masochist, but the best part of being a masochist was giving himself the occasional gift to give context to the rest of his pain. If everything was pain, he’d stop recognizing it, and that was the quickest ticket to an addiction that would absolutely wind up getting himself killed. But it wasn’t his husband’s goofy, smiling face through the door, nor was it the woman raising him from the dead – Molly, mid-century bombshell with golden, Hollywood curls and legs that ran for miles – and Al’s heart sank a little as the woman slipped through and let the door close behind her.

Kana was probably best described, in short, as a little, Asian girl. She was pale – most vampires that weren’t born with an excess of melanin lost what little they had the moment they’d died – and her hair was dark, braided, tight and practical while still holding something akin to style. Her fashion had always struck Al as particularly Japanese, even if it retained modern aspects, with this no different – a floral, wrapped skirt, and a sheer haori styled over-shirt, covering a tank-top of the same color – and it always gave her a regal sort of air. Somewhere between Lucy Liu and a sweet-faced anime character, gentle and serene and also absolutely capable of tearing you apart in ways you couldn’t even conceptualize. For instance, he knew for a fact that the pin holding the braid to the top of her head was as sharp as a razor and probably suitable for stabbing; her boyfriend, Hideyori Nakamura – wait, no, fiancé, he’d proposed, the sentimental bastard – had clearly given it to her. He was never a man to ditch practicality, after all.

“Hey, Kamui, glad to see you survived an evening with everyone’s favorite insufferable vampire.” Al pushed himself to his feet, brushing off his front like it would do him any good and knowing that it probably did nothing at all to make him more presentable. He definitely looked like a mess; his hair was getting shaggy, his stubble was growing in kind of patchy and weird, he hadn’t changed out of the shirt he’d been wearing for the last three days – a t-shirt indicating that .45 rounds were best, because shooting twice is silly and a Hawaiian over-shirt patterned with those rocket shaped popsicles on a blue background – and he hadn’t showered. But he lived in a sewer, so it was hard to notice whether or not that mattered until then. Kana didn’t smile – she never did at his jokes – turning to him with a scowl that said this was deeper than her normal base-level dislike of him.

“That’s Prince Kana.” She said, and her voice was soft – she never needed to raise it, it was more effective to raise a weapon than her voice and she knew it – and if the words hadn’t struck true fear into Al’s heart, it wouldn’t have even seemed like a bad thing. But no, it was, because if Kana was Prince, that means she had absolute power over Al’s fate, and considering her best impression of him was a disgusting asshole, there was little to hope for. Al wasn’t entirely surprised – out of anyone who survived their war, she was probably best suited to lead, both of a practical, well maintained bloodline and clan, but also from a standpoint of personality. Vince had died, and even if he hadn’t, he was too kind and too easy to manipulate; Damon had his own chantry, and besides, he was a sucker for power in a way that most vampires would have found a little too much; Dan Nelson, resident probably-just-a-Brujah could hardly be assed to do more than go to work on the weekends unless there was chocolate involved; and everyone else who could had other business to get to elsewhere and wouldn’t settle in their little town just to do them a favor. But it didn’t mean the words didn’t give him a shiver. “We need to talk.”

“Yeah, I… yeah.” Al sighed, resigned that he was probably about to be put to death and trying to figure out how best to place a knife so he could leave without causing more offense. He wasn’t necessarily okay with continuing to live – and he was, technically, alive, all Ghoul and not yet kissed with death itself – considering his husband wasn’t either, but he wasn’t about to let someone else choose how he died. If he was going, he was going on his terms, god dammit. “So, what’s the verdict, Princess?” He asked, invoking a new nickname fit to Kana’s new station. She pursed her lips at him, a classic expression that told him she never particularly enjoyed the nicknames and this one wasn’t an exception. It wasn’t a bad thing, though – he didn’t dish out nicknames for other people’s pleasure; he was a much more effective spy if everyone thought him as just a complete piece of shit. It meant he had no friends, but for a while, the trade was good.

“I’m not going to kill you.” Kana said, and there was something to her voice that said this wasn’t for her – that if she was given the choice he’d have already been six feet deep in a pine box somewhere, closed casket funeral and everything – but that she was doing this for someone else. Al made an ah shape with his mouth, because he immediately understood – while Kana hated him with a fury that was not really rivaled, Vince was one of her best friends. Before Al, before the war, hell, before even Kana’s death and subsequent siring, Vince had been attached to Kana at the hip. They were two lost souls deep in over their heads, and Al knew bonds formed in the trenches weren’t shakeable. His life was spared just because Kana liked Vince more than she hated Al, and that said a lot about how close she was to Vince. “But you can’t stay as a ghoul, either.” She added, crossing her arms in a way that was regal but also closing herself off from Al. She knew sparing his life was a kindness she didn’t feel he was owed, and she clearly didn’t want him getting any ideas, like that they might be getting closer.

“So, what, you’re telling me I have to go find a sire?” Al asked, trying to calculate the options in his head and hiding his expression by hitting his vape. The taste of burnt cotton briefly distracted him, but he regained his mental footing as he exhaled the vapor to the ceiling. There weren’t exactly many Kindred that would accept a begging request to sire him, after all, and the few that were, well… not many people got to be picky about their clan choices, after all. Malkavians were right out; he wasn’t built for that kind of blood and he knew it, and Nosferatu was a non-starter as well – he’d done his time as an ugly bitch, and something deep in his bones said that if he’d actually ended up like Pip, he would have legitimately thrown himself into a burning building. Gangrel were an obvious choice, considering he’d been a Gangrel ghoul, but the few he knew weren’t exactly great options. There was one of Molly’s friends, a bitch named Mae who didn’t like people in general and who hadn’t been endeared to him at all regardless; then he had one guy named Buck, but he’d died in the war and Al wasn’t sure he’d say yes, anyway, if they managed to bring him back; a couple hung out in Raleigh, just an hour and some east, but he’d pissed them off way too much to consider asking. There were a few others that hung around Greensboro, of course – a chick called Julia and her sire, Dallas – as well as a couple out in Ashville, but he knew that the rumors of him had probably gotten there first, and he wasn’t about to test his likeability on a scale with new people who probably would have shredded him. There was one guy, Eli, up north in Atlantic City, but honestly, Al wouldn’t have asked him had he been threatened at gunpoint; Eli was a weird one, and while he would have probably said yes, Al already had enough baggage that adding sketchy as shit sire to his collection would have put him over the weight limit. And there was Sven, but he’d been torpored and then went missing in action, and Al was on a tight enough timer that hunting a rogue Gangrel somewhere in Europe wasn’t worth the effort. Those weren’t the only Gangrel in the area, of course, but the further out he went from his known contacts, the more likely he risked an outright no just on principle.

Maybe he’d try something new. He’d heard of a couple older Brujah, the kind that fucked around with time more than physical capacity; maybe they’d take him.

“Yes. That’s my decision, and I think it’s fair.” Kana said, giving Al a once over like she didn’t expect this to be easy, especially considering he was a hot mess. “You have until the end of the year. If you’re not Kindred by the end of the year, you’ll be exiled out of Greensboro and never allowed to return.” She added the second part, the consequences, and Al felt himself purse his lips. Of course, she couldn’t kill him – she’d have to answer to Vince, and they were great friends but also had some tenuous threads, where one wrong argument could have shattered them both – but pushing him from the state wasn’t peachy, either. His haven, his things, his contacts, were all based in the city, and he’d have to pick up shop and find somewhere else to accept him. Considering he’d wronged half of the Kindred in the world, that wasn’t an easy task. Al sighed, taking another hit off the vape – ugh, burnt – before giving her a shrug. Not caring was an act he was used to.

“Yeah, I’ll get it done, Princess. I promise.” He rolled his shoulders through the shrug, stuffing his free hand in his pocket, trying to disguise the discomfort the ultimatum gave him. He was glad Vince was coming back, honestly – the man somehow managed to charm everyone he met and then some, and having that kind of power behind Al’s decision would have secured the man a decent enough sire. Vince’s sweet words and pitiful face could have shattered even the hardest walls – it had, after all, turned their old enemy and ex-Nazi Konrad Varnhagen into a well liked and respectable member of society. To be fair, Konrad was already fairly well liked by at least some people, but Vince had managed to take the sourpuss of a German and make him someone worth inviting to dinner parties. It was a talent, and Al was glad to have it. “You, uh… made any progress on my guy? How’s that going?” He asked, hesitant. If she’d come in there for just that, it wasn’t good news – there was always a chance the ritual would fail and Vince wouldn’t return, but Al just stuck to the hope that Vince was stubborn enough to stay.

“The ritual’s done. Molly said he just has to… wake up.” Kana’s voice took a turn towards hesitation herself, her desire to have her friend back stronger than her hatred for Al, and unfortunately, against her better judgment, the pair shared a moment together over their grief at losing him. Vince was never a man that deserved death; he’d wronged very few and done his best to keep his transgressions to the minimum. “Konrad’s sitting with him right now. Something about making sure he liked the body he has when he wakes up. Apparently, he made adjustments.” Kana sneered – she disliked Konrad almost as much as she disliked Al, but that was more a trauma response than anything else. Konrad had murdered one of her friends in front of her, after all. That did things to people. But she’d managed to learn to suck it up, especially now that the Varnhagen they had known had softened up quite a bit.

“I’m glad his commitment to perfection knows no boundaries.” Al chuckled, shaking his head. Konrad was nothing if not a perfectionist. Kana shrugged, determined not to think about Konrad for longer than entirely necessary.

“I’ll tell them to send him down here when he does wake up.” She said, the only gift she was willing to give, turning to the door. She paused there, one hand on the wood, the ring on her finger highlighted against the dark doorframe; Nakamura had good taste. “December, Al. I want to meet your sire by December. Or you pack.” She turned to look at him, a dangerous look to her face – she meant it, down to the core, and they both knew it – before turning back to the door and slipping outside, letting it close and lock behind her. Al sighed, settling back down on the lounge, starting to mentally run through his options of Clan like he was trying to sort out a Cookout menu before stepping to the window. It would kill time, at least, because all they had left was to wait.

~*~

Living was a strange experience.

First it was dark. It had been dark for a while, but not dark in a sleeping way. Sleep was weird, too – Vince had slept; had they? Maybe. Time passed in a restful state, but they hadn’t closed their eyes. They hadn’t needed to. Vince did all the eye closing for them. But then there’d been a flash, and pain, and the true darkness, real darkness, bitable darkness, the kind one could really tear at, and then there had been a hand. A grip? Pressure, pulling, summoning, and then light, bright hot white and then wham. Gravity and touch and taste and smell slamming into them like some kind of train, led by the bright white light down the tracks.

They’d expected familiar. Vince was familiar. Cheap cigarettes and cheaper detergent and soft shirts; a childhood of gambas al ajillo and empanadas de pollo and Easy Mac made in the shittiest microwave in  the world; drinking, running, drugs, sex, too antsy to sit in a seat and listen to an old man tell him about reading, too worried about staying around too long to sit still. Sleeping under beds, confined comfort, and then the blood, hot and heavy and racing through him like a gift of prophecy delivered via dodge-ball to the face, Apollo’s handprint left behind like a sign of providence. That was familiar, but this… no. Something was off. Limbs too long, like their fingers didn’t quite reach the ends, like their feet didn’t quite touch the bottom of their shoes. Bad weight distribution, too bottom heavy, a discomfort against their thighs they couldn’t really figure out. It felt like wearing their father’s suit as a child, the jacket far too large, arms swinging over their hands. It felt hard to move.

They opened their eyes. Well, their eyes. They were used to Vince opening his eyes, but there didn’t seem to be a difference anymore. Vince was… they could feel him, they could always feel him. Like running a three-legged sack race, but only two legs. But mental prodding didn’t gain anything at all. The ceiling was white, off white maybe, popcorn? Their room had popcorn ceilings, as a kid. They picked the spikes off what they could reach, crumbled the plaster under their fingers. His fingers? God, it was hard, having independent thought.

“Ah, I see you’re awake. Good. Let me get my wife.” The accent was German, perfect, lilting; they knew it, knew him, a deep rumbling somewhere just in the depths of their naval that said he’d buried a hand there at one point, or wanted to, tried to kill him at a different point, sent a Christmas card in perfect German he couldn’t read and they’d kissed those lips, just not as those lips, not really. He’d been someone else, at the time, just as they were realizing they were someone else, at this time. But he got up, his form fading into the background as they adjusted to Vince’s eyes – there was more color, lots more color, Vince had only ever really seen some color after all, colorblind, they’d called it, he’d called it a crock of shit but there wasn’t anything to do but let other people dress him and keep it simple – and tried to sit up. They succeeded, legs splayed in front of them, draped in a blanket for modesty but otherwise nude. The body in front of them felt like Vince, and they were moving it, but the ill-fitting suit feeling never left. A kid in his father’s jacket for their funeral – nobody would notice the jacket was too big, the pants not tight enough, not laying down, still, lifeless, empty and void.

The woman that came into the room, they knew her. She’d been one of the last faces they’d seen, after all. Blond, pert lips, heart shaped face, doe eyes, extruding an idea of sex that they knew she’d never let get that far, one bitten lip from being flirting, legs until the end of time. It said a lot that she didn’t have tits, not really, and she also didn’t need them to be a stunner. Vince hadn’t ever really noticed – he was bisexual, of course, he’d dated the one redhead who’s name felt buried in the depths of their lips like they weren’t sure how to say it and he’d married that one man who’s blond assholery almost got him killed more times than not – but he’d never been a tits kind of guy. Were they? They hadn’t thought about it.

“Alright, this might be strange, but I have a couple of questions, just to be sure we’re all caught up.” The woman – the name came back, vowel sounds first, oh and ly and m until Molly, Molly with a last name Vince didn’t really try and say, too inexperienced with the Spanish his mother spoke that rooted itself in their head like a cancer to give French a try. “Can you tell me your name?”

They paused. That was a hard question. Did they have one? Should they lie? No, she was good at detecting lies and lying wouldn’t help them, anyway – lying would mean being stuck in the ill-fitting casket like a child. They looked at their legs, their hands – too long, didn’t feel right, sent a tingle up their spine because those definitely didn’t belong to them – then back at Molly, and the way her perfect, pert red lipstick twisted said she’d already realized something was wrong. Lying was definitely not in the cards. “I… no.” They said, finally. The instinct to explain, to elaborate, to be understood, sprung from their core; he always talked too much, after all, and it was useful, in the end. Big mouth and big trouble but never any doubt. “I mean, I know… this is Vince, right? The legs and stuff. That’s Vince. The mouth is Vince.”

“And you’re… not Vince?” Molly questioned, the depth of the pool slowly sinking under her feet and the clear realization that she wasn’t prepared to swim washing over her in a wave. At least she was confused; they weren’t lonely anymore.

“I mean, he’s in here, if that’s what you’re asking.” They said, pressing a finger to their forehead – nope, that had to change, like a one way mirror in a sketchy hotel, it didn’t quite hit and they hated it. “He’s off, though. Drifting. Doing… something.” They paused. “He’s where I was and I’m where he was, I think. But I wasn’t snoring, I watched. I know you. Molly, Madame Molly. HBIC. You have a bat… bat? Man? Batman. Big guy. Heads like a watermelon between a hot chick’s thighs, splat.” They nodded. Something made sense, about that. The blood was like cold spice, hot frostbite, itchy but not painful. Putting it into words was like trying to eat soup with a fork. It could be done, with effort, but nobody really liked the process, especially not the chef. Molly pursed her lips – uh oh, that was a bad face, that was a concerned face, they knew her concerned face and powerful people being concerned was never good – and settled on the edge of the bed, cot, stone, thing they were laying on. It was hard, but hard like a bad mattress after too many nights in a warm room.

“May I?” Molly asked, reaching out a pointed finger, nails the color of blood, and they shrugged, no idea what she was going to do but Vince trusted her, right? He’d carried her. Her legs had felt like silk, smooth and soft and probably not a memory he should have kept. She reached out, pressing two fingers, gently, to the center of their forehead, her eyes closing like she was reading. They felt her, her hand in their head, digging around like she was trying to pull something concrete from the barrel of monkeys, up to her elbow in oops and misplaced junk. Like trying to find a paperclip in a junk drawer full of pens. Her lips twisted, not in a good way, and she sat back. “Okay, that’s… unexpected.”

“Me, you mean?” They asked, pressing a hand to their chest, and it felt too flat and they had to not recoil. What was right, they had no idea, but pancakes weren’t it. “If it makes you feel any better, I’m unexpected, too. Or this, I mean. Whatever this is.”

“In your own words, tell me what happened. Don’t worry if it sounds like nonsense, I’m good with nonsense.” Molly said, leaning back on one hand, eyes tracing up and down the body like she could peel the skin away and see the kid under the suit, the way the hips didn’t hit the right part of the cot or the way they curled their toes and found it lacking. They thought, fingers working like they could pull the words from the air and feed them into their mouth for a better explanation.

“I… I know Vince. I watched him. Juana la Iguana, Arthur, Jackie Chan and Zaboomafoo on the tiny little TV in the living room. Different rooms, sometimes, one in Spanish. Chickens in the yard eating the scraps of vegetables I – he – we? Didn’t want. Planes. School work in English. Punched in the face, once, ‘cause we kissed a girl but we hadn’t gotten a flower from her like Miguel had. Tomas owned a gun, shot someone. Raves, lots of lights, clubs, drugs. I think I know that time better than he did ‘cause he was trying not to know it. Hitchhiking north. A man with a beard and a laugh like a woodpecker, and then he was dead and funerals do mean free food so why not, right? Back room in a church with a redhead who was dead inside, probably, though I don’t think he cared, and a little Asian girl and a detective and a weird old man in a tunic. Lost a finger, we kept it. Find out who killed the guy – no, Guy guy, his name was Guy – and then… love for a redhead, love for a family that he wasn’t sure wanted him, the tower in the city gone like a plane hit it except there was no plane and nothing felt fair anymore. A smartass blond, gunpowder smell and rifle oil, sunlight for the first time in years. Then… running. Lots of running. Running and blood and a lot of new faces and new friends and old friends being new friends again. He kissed the man that was in here, but not as that guy, as the redhead, not the dead one but the one that had been full of life and snuffed out like a candle that burned too bright. She was pretty. And then a spider, but not a spider, a woman, a cigarette, a refusal to go down some stairs, and that kept him out of the end of the world.” They paused, looking up from their lap where their vision had settled. “He carried you out of the rain. You were… so pitiful. So young. But the big guy, nah. Even like us that was too much for one, right? And then the kid, with the fox mask, the newbie, crack across the face and then… flash, pain, dark. And then I’m here and he’s down there and we’re both here together but these hands are way too long.”

Molly didn’t say anything for a second, and then another, and then a third, processing like she had to make sure that at least one of them put words together in an order than made any kind of sense. “That’s… that makes sense, I guess.” She said, and guess sounded like an admission that thinking about it too hard would break her brain in two. “So, here’s the thing: Vince died, that night. The flash, as you described it – he was shot. And I, being the gracious person I am, agreed to bring him back. So we built him a body, put some context in there – if you can find it, that might help – and I reached out to grab him and… I think I grabbed you.”

“Oh yeah, I know your hands. You could have held on tighter, he’s heavy.” They chuckled, and something flickered across Molly’s face that said that was too weird.

“Now, from what you just described, you’ve been with Vince your whole life.” Molly said, slowly, and they nodded, though they felt the face rattle a little too much and they didn’t like the sensation. Vince’s face fit, but maybe a bit too big. “I don’t know why – maybe you were meant to be someone else, like his twin, fuck if I can really tell, but… sometimes, souls get all tangled. I can tell he’s in there, and you’re definitely not him, but there’s a bit of you that is him. Or, at least, it’s so tangled I couldn’t separate you if I tried. Not right now, anyway.” She chuckled, but it was the awkward chuckle of a powerful person admitting that they’d run dry of their options.

“So I am him, but also not him?” They asked. They’d hoped for something that made a bit more sense. Molly paused a second, like she was trying to process a way to put an example to the words, but clearly, she didn’t think in the same way they did.

“Think of it like… Open your hand.” Molly said, gesturing that they lift a hand, and they followed the instructions, lifting a hand up. Molly spread Vince’s fingers, until they were entirely splayed. “Vince is the ring finger, right? And you’re the little one. You’re separate fingers, but the same hand, right? Now, make a fist.” She paused, and they did, and she tapped the ring finger lightly. “Lift only this finger.” They tried, but the pinky finger flexed up with it, and they found they couldn’t quite lift it entirely without lifting both. “That’s you, right now. Separate fingers, but you move together. One’s not really able t’do much without the other present. So he’s there, and you’re in charge, but you don’t have any you that wasn’t also him.” She paused, making a face. “Ugh, I sound like a Malkavian.”

“You sound like me.” They said, and that made the most sense. In terms of identity, Malkavian was definitely it. “I’m a Malkavian? He was, right? So I am, I guess.” They pursed their lips. “How much of him am I?” They asked, something pleading in their face, and Molly sighed. That was the hard question.

“Looks like a quarter, probably.” Molly shrugged, the math an estimate. “But it’s… not even that simple. ‘Cause you’ve got his past, right? And for a lotta people, the past is the most important part. Experiences make us who we are, and you’re made up of the same stuff he is. But you’re also not him.” She paused, thinking. “Do you mind if I get my husband back in here? I think he might have a better idea of some of this. He’s a scientist, after all.”

“As long as he knows I’m not kissing him. I didn’t like his lips, I liked hers, and she’s… she’s separate, now? I think? You told him you’d do that. Take them apart. Figured you’d follow through since you didn’t want…” They paused, dredging. Vowels always came first – Ih, like the Id, actually id, then ah, ss, then fuh to fluh to flid and it slide into sharp focus. Flidais. “Flidais. Her name was Flidais. The redhead, the one I liked. The one that your husband stole.” They paused. That wasn’t their verb. “Is stole right?”

“I would say stolen is not inaccurate.” The German lilt was back, attached to the perfect jaw of the man from earlier. He was tall, quaffed, uncanny in his marble perfection and sharp as a knife in his gaze and his silhouette. “I heard you mention fetching me.” He said, to Molly, who relaxed a little at his presence. It wasn’t a lovey-relax, though, not the melting of a body who likes a body, but the comfort of a soul coming home from a long day. “What is the issue?”

“That’s… not Vince.” Molly explained, gesturing, and they wiggled their fingers like they needed to indicate themselves, implicate themselves in something. “Somebody’s gotten all tangled with him – honestly, I don’t even think they’re tangled. It almost felt like they shared a bit of their soul, not just that they were all wrapped up with each other. You know of anything that might cause that?” She asked, and he stepped forward, leaning down to consider the features in front of him. He was a knife edge of a man, but they could see a softness in his eyes, like the puzzle was enough to satisfy an urge he didn’t usually sate.

“There has been literature, through the years, describing twins as having an explicit connection, usually on a spiritual level.” He said, dark eyes locking with theirs like he could read their soul through the way the pupils dilated. It wasn’t like he could find anything else, since he’s made them himself. “I wouldn’t be surprised if that extended to a more permanent connection of the soul. It wouldn’t be unheard of; the statistics for twins being physically inseparable aren’t so minute to be unstudiable, after all. A condition of the soul would, naturally, follow suit.”

“Conjoined souls?” Molly asked, looking at them like that made sense. They were sure it did, too, but they didn’t know why. “It’s got his memories, more than what Kana or Damon added.”

“Them. Maybe also she?” They corrected, feeling it out. It was definitely not the right one; it belonged to the body, the flesh, but they wanted to be known as more than that. Gender wasn’t innate, though, and it was hard to figure out if that made it easier, or harder. “But I do remember you. O-on-ah-ad-r-rad-K- Konrad.” They worked out the thought out loud, nodding along as they found the sounds one by one. “Konrad. You stole my-his-our girlfriend. Don’t follow, F-L too sharp, not paint, did it anyway, down in the depths of hell and bone, fused, but not to the bone. You—you were going to kill me. And then she—she couldn’t take it. You threatened her toy. Bit the hand that feeds. Or the throat. Throat that feeds?”

“That’s definitely Vincent.” Konrad’s sigh said that nothing that they’d said was wrong, even if it was jumbled and incomplete and an experience that he didn’t have, but they still weren’t Vince and they didn’t like how he talked. He had dragon’s teeth, somewhere in there, a shadow of a face they’d seen that wasn’t the perfection he’d shaped from bone and skin, hot and biting and mean. He’d been mean, once, red faced and evil. Things were coming back, a little at a time, building phrases from alphabet soup, laid out on a paper plate with maybe too much broth, melting through. “Or, well. Those memories are Vincent’s, at least. Is there something we can call you?” He asked, polite enough at the correction – they knew it wasn’t because he liked them, he didn’t like anyone, really; he liked science and puzzles and not giving a shit about what other people thought of him, except if they thought he was wrong. Being wrong was worse than being dead. They shrugged, wiggling the too long fingers.

“I don’t know.” They said, and they said it with an air to their voice that said that was honestly the scariest part of the whole situation. A name was an identity, a thing, a way to address them but also a way into their being. Konrad wasn’t Konrad without the K and the On and the con, con like a liar even though he wasn’t one he certainly ran with plenty; Molly wasn’t Molly without the olly or the muh, the way she claimed things mine in the first of her name. But they had nothing – nothing but memories of someone else getting smiled at, someone else’s name on people’s lips, Vince and not them, definitely not them, and being called Vince felt wrong, like nobody knew who they really were. Like they could scream in a room for hours and never be heard. Invisible and rejected before they were ever known.

“Well, you’re gonna need one.” Molly said, giving a stark nod like this was territory she could manage. She was a mother – wasn’t she a mother? They remembered kids. She’d named people before, she was good at it.  “You can’t exactly go around town without a name, even as a Malkavian.” She chuckled, like the idea – the concept of a nameless wanderer, no identity beyond the blood, was cute as much as it was scary. Names meant things, as it was the one thing you truly kept when you died. No one else could really be you after you, not really. Not that they thought, anyway. Plenty of people shared names, sure, but it was polite to put distance between the living and the dead, or the living and the other living, to avoid any confusion. Too bad they were already ass deep in confusion, already too close to being Vince to not be Vince anymore. They, at least, knew they wanted Vince to keep Vince because he was still there, not dead just sleeping, drifting, hanging over their shoulder like a teacher making sure they weren’t cheating. They hadn’t gotten to the part where they’d put their name on the top, and they felt like they were running out of time. If they didn’t get a name soon, they’d be that forever.

“Malkavian.” They repeated, tossing the word around. The name was pressing, but the title, the identity, was honey on their tongue and bitter to their teeth. She’d said it before, and they understood what it meant, except they didn’t get it at all. They knew what they were, they were sure of that – vampires, storybook monsters, two fangs, blood lust and night time and fear and nothing else, no wonder Vince missed the sun like a longing for a food that had gone out of production, nothing ever quite the same – but the name didn’t make any memories happen. Just shifting faces, dragons and storm clouds and lures, twisting colors and a deep, unabating concept of the truth in a way other people wouldn’t see and definitely wouldn’t believe. Clearly, what Vince understood was innate, but unexplainable. “Okay, though, what’s Malkavian? In words, not pictures. I mostly get pictures. A hydra, but also a spider, a hammer, trees? Meat pants?” They shook their head. Meat pants didn’t quite feel like a memory, just a name they’d heard at one point. Something about the woodpecker named Guy. Molly looked at them, and then at Konrad, something desperate on her features. He shook his head.

“Don’t look at me. You at least dated one.” He dismissed the idea of weighing in, too far from the proximity of understanding to put it into words, and Molly sighed, a deep thing that said they weren’t going to get an answer they fully understood because Molly didn’t have one. That understanding escaped even them.

“Well, you’re aware we’re all vampires.” Molly started, and they nodded, because that made sense. Their heart was still in their chest, unbeating but present, a locket they shoved other people into when they couldn’t bear to be separate from them and nothing more, the blood moving because they asked it to. They took a second, moved the blood from their toes into their face, and their cheeks went pink. That was fun, but it took too long to get there. They didn’t like it. Too much space existed between their feet and their face. “As vampires, we’re… it’s like different nationalities, right? You got people from Spain, and from France, and from Canada; vampires have that, kind of. Different kinds of blood from different kinds of people. Giovanni, Tzimisce, Brujah. Malkavians… are… different.” Molly worked her way through the last words like she wasn’t sure she liked them even then, but they nodded. It was sufficient, and different was definitely something they understood. “The blood gives Malkavians visions. A lotta the time, its detecting patterns, even ones most people can’t see. But it’s always true. You’re gonna see a lot of stuff that isn’t real, but it is true.” Molly said, and they nodded again, watching the blood head behind their eyes and provide a slice of the pie that was their truth, a crown on her head. It didn’t appear, even though they hadn’t seen it, as it always had been there, like it was born there, like she was born with it on. They just hadn’t seen it because they hadn’t known to look for it.

“So is that why you’re a princess?” They asked, and Konrad snorted, covering his mouth because the sound was unattractive and he wouldn’t dare be caught being unattractive without it looking like a mistake. Molly flushed – they had the distinct feeling she hadn’t thought about doing it, but had done it anyway, a holdover from a time before being visibly embarrassed was a conscious choice, a way to showcase how human she’d been at one point – and gave them a smile. “No, wait, not princess, princesses get tiaras. Like that one movie, welcome to Genovia, with that one lady with the bag. Poppins? No, I think that’s wrong.” They shook their head. “It all jumbles together like someone shook the puzzle in the box and then took away the cover, but I’ve seen the puzzle built before.”

“Your memories are gonna take time. Don’t rush it.” Molly said, softly, pressing a hand to their knee. It felt distant, in the wrong place. They were starting to get weary of the too big suit. They needed a tailor. “For now, let’s focus. Do you think you can think of a name?” She asked, trying to lead them back to something important, and they pressed their lips together. Vince was… Vince Michael Renato. VMR. They felt that wasn’t wrong, not really. The V stuck in their teeth like loose cigarette tobacco. They wanted one, suddenly, patting nonexistent pockets for a pack that didn’t exist either, the body using muscle memory of muscles it wasn’t to try and find something it didn’t have. They whined, and Molly sighed, holding up a thin hand. Konrad had the pockets, producing a pack of cigarettes – Lucky Strike, like bowling, like a match, like a winning streak, which she hadn’t seen in a long time, they realized – passing one into Molly’s lithe fingers. She pressed it to her lips, thumbing a lighter open and cracking the flame – the sudden flicker of fire had them shivering all over and they didn’t really know why, the aversion something they didn’t quite get, it was just a lighter, Vince used them all the time and they’d get used to it, they knew, the blood just needed a moment – inhaling once before passing it along. It was weird to hold it in hands that were too big, but they put it to their lips and forced their lungs to expand, to inhale, to take it in, and something like comfort washed over them. Vince’s comfort was holding it between his lips, the act of smoking unimportant – they liked the action, the movement, the serious engagement of muscles that otherwise didn’t remain engaged, and they exhaled.

“Riveria.” They said, a pull from a place in the depths of the mind, from a seaside little town that smelled like fish and chickens and mama’s empanadas and cooking beef fat on the stove. Renato wasn’t theirs, no, that was Vince’s, that was their dad’s, a man who tried his best and still tripped down the stairs; they weren’t that, they were something else, and if Vince was their father then it stood to reason they would be their mother’s child as much as anything else. Besides, it was easier if they could be less confusing. “I like the initials. VMR. Vi- is good. He was a ferret, right? Ferret, but also foxy. Tricky. I think I’m trickier.” They paused, a word on their tongue, but they couldn’t access it, not quite, distant and buried under the taste of the cigarette. They hit it a second time, acrid and bitter and smooth.  

“A vixen, then?” Konrad supplied, a smile on his face like he was proud that he was following, and lightning struck them in the brain. That was it. There they were, identity thrown over them like a blanket, snuggled against a storm in the distance. Vixen. But the vowel felt wrong, the two part line-dot too many spaces. They needed something else, something that sounded the same but wasn’t quite, because that’s what they were, right? The same but not quite.

“But with a Y.” They added, nodding. “Vyxen. ‘Cause normal vowels are for normal people.” They chuckled. Vyxen chuckled. Vyx, a shortening. They needed to be shorter. Everything needed to be shorter. They’d get to that, though. There was something about having a name that was grounding, that made them real in a world of falses and truths and visions and nightmares. A name to be called, to warn or love or whisper in their ear on a Spanish balcony. But the middle name, least important but also vital, not Michael but liking the Mi, but not my like eye, they saw too much already without the strong eye in their middle name, Mi-ah! Mia. Vyxen Mia Riveria. “I think I wanna go with Vyxen Mia Riveria. I like it. VMR. We’re not really dissimilar, right? Just different.”

Their existence, against all odds, slid into place.

“Alright. I’ll get my secretary, Claire, in here with some paperwork.” Molly said, pressing again on the distant knee, her distant hand distantly cold. “It might take a minute – there’s some forms we gotta forge. Like a birth certificate.” She shook her head, her blond curls bouncing around her face like stars in the night sky – like the stars in her eyes, glinting into existence one after another after another, though the afterimage of the clear green orbs full of confusion and worry never faded. They could see what Vince saw, what Vince could have seen, what was true, but the strength was lesser. They realized, quickly, that it was a muscle, and it hadn’t been flexed in a while and if they kept flexing it, the truth would get stronger and easier to understand. They were determined to practice, but to also practice seeing, to see the reality under the truth. It would be sad to lose the sight of a face so pretty. “Any preferences on birthday? We could do today, or some other day. Up to you.” Molly paused, putting a hand on her hip, a thinking face spreading from her lips first to her brow. Everything started from her lips, Vyx realized – from her sensuality to her thoughts, everything started and ended at the pert circle of red lipstick and teeth too sharp to be real. “Gonna at least make you a resident of the city, for ease. Better than a resident of nowhere.”

“Make me his twin.” They said, succinctly. It was getting easier to manage, as long as they weren’t trying to remember something. They were a person now, after all, with a name, not just a pronoun floating untethered through the conversation. “Birthday, place, parents. If he’s got it, I wanna share it. I was there, after all, right? That’s what we are. Were? Is twins past tense if he’s only kind of here?” They sucked on the cigarette. Having a full mouth made it easier to think, because it meant they could resist the urge to talk. Putting words to the thoughts was the most complicated part, and it helped if they could think them first. They could tell they’d get used to things, eventually, after a time, but now was not that time and the next minute wouldn’t be, either. “’Sides, Riveria is mom’s last name, so it should all be there.”

“I’ll see what we can do.” Molly nodded, clearly liking the simplicity of the order. It was easy enough, after all – they didn’t even need to swap the initials, just the spelling of the name, but then she pursed her lips as a thought careened itself into her train and knocked it off course. “Uh, so I’m not familiar with birth certificates from Spain – that’s always Claire’s thing, not mine – but they’re gonna ask for a gender marker of some kind and I don’t know if nothing is acceptable.” She paused, giving Vyx a look over, still seeing the body that was Vince staring at her, but it was clear that even she was starting to notice the suit was too big. “What would you wanna put?”

“Not he.” They said, wiggling their toes. “Vince is enough he for both of us, I think. I don’t know if I’m a she, but I’m not a he, and I guess I’m okay with she as long as it’s not that giggly, girly she some people mean. If I’m a she I wanna be one that bites. Think I’m more of a they, but that’s also ‘cause there’s two of us in here, so we’re a plural as much as a nothing, right?” They chuckled, reflexively tapping the ash off the end of the cigarette. For a moment, the limbs weren’t that bad, not quite too long, and they ached to put the cigarette between their lips and leave it there. Even if the body hadn’t been Vince, his muscles had the memories, not theirs, and his said lips and filter as much as it said thumb flicks ashes. “If it’s an issue, she’s okay. Then at least we’re a little different.” They shrugged. If a piece of paper ever dictated who they were more than they themselves did, they’d burn it. “I’d also like if this sack of bones and blood could maybe do a bit better at that, too.” They wiggled their legs, and they felt the weight again. It was weird.

“Are you unhappy with my work, Vyxen?” Konrad asked, and there was something dangerous to his tone, but something in them had the distinct feeling that this was his attempt at trying to joke and he was just really bad at it, and that meant he came off as a much worse person than he actually was. His smile was just too perfect and it made it weird.

“I mean, he’d probably be happy. All the muscles are in the right place, so it’s remembering as much as I am, but I’m not him, right? And I know you’re a good tailor but your client’s gone and changed on you, so can we do a fitting?” Vyx grinned, mouth full of sharp teeth all the same, and Konrad rolled his eyes. It looked like he was mad, but they could tell he was deflecting a smile – he didn’t like smiling, dragon’s teeth always looked too much like biting when he smiled, but he was proud, so proud, that they trusted his work to take the body to him for a refitting and restructuring. And he couldn’t resist a compliment. “Hard to walk when the shoes are too big, y’know?”

Konrad nodded, reaching under the cot – and it was a cot, even if it felt like stone – producing a small notebook with blank pages. One page had drawings, lots of numbers, pictures of limbs and muscles and nerves somewhere between art and science, Vince laid out like a slab of meat and bone and sinew, corrections in a little red marker, the ability to resist perfection impossible. He flipped to a new page, a blank page, open and ready to receive whatever gift of art and science and blood he was about to impart. Molly stepped to the door, her ability to notice when a moment needed to be private unmatched, and Vyx only kind of noticed. They were focused on the blank page, the possibilities, and trying to work out exactly what didn’t fit. “Describe to me what you would like to look like, Vyxen, and we can work from there.”

“Okay, well, one, I wanna be shorter.”

~*~

He was going to start climbing walls, at this rate.

He had no reference for how long things took, of course, but the longer time went on, the worse things felt like they were going to turn out. Al wasn’t a Malkavian, and never had been – though he’d tripped on the stuff once or twice, here and there, as a recreational thing more than anything else – but there was a sinking feeling in his guts that said that something wasn’t right. Vince would have come right back, or at least, that’s what Al had thought, and the fact that another hour had passed since Kana’s visit and nothing productive had come of it was starting to eat at the insides of his soul like a necrosis. Something was wrong. Instinct and intuition were screaming at him that things weren’t right, but he couldn’t burst in there and check – he had to trust them to have done it right. He couldn’t afford to piss anyone else off further, at least not like that.

Three knocks, a quick tap-tap-tap, and then the kathunk of the handle signaled someone’s arrival, and Al all but leapt off the lounge when it did, his heart sitting happily in his throat. He hit his vape – it was getting worse but he didn’t even notice for all the stress in his veins – trying to hide the shaky hands in nonchalance and apathy. He was good at the persona, but this was Vince, and that made it hard. Vince was always his biggest weakness. Molly was the one that slipped inside – a welcome sight, at least – and she was smiling, but there was something about her expression that didn’t sit quite right in Al’s chest. Something that said there’d been a complication, but she didn’t consider it bad news, just different. Like a dad from the forties getting told the wife had triplets instead of just one.

“Okay,” Molly said, stepping into the conversation with hesitance and delicately, which only made the sensation of something being wrong worse because if it was just he’s alive and right here she wouldn’t have needed to do anything other than throw the door open. “We gotta have a conversation, but there’s good news. Just also weird news. I figure you’re used to weird, considering, but… better you hear it first, I think.” She lifted a perfectly manicured brow – it was probably naturally that way, considering her husband could lick his finger and change the structure of her face with a swipe – like she wanted his consent to drop a bomb. Al tried to look like he didn’t really care, but no one ever said yes to being exploded, not willingly.

“Just… what happened?” Al asked, the desperation to get out of the dark and be part of the situation hard to hide in his voice. Molly sighed, an unnecessary exhale to prepare her for something she honestly wasn’t sure she wanted to do.

“So, the process worked. But there’s been a… bit of a change.” Molly said, and she was dancing and that was all well and good for politics, but the music had died when Vince did and Al no longer felt like trying to keep time with her. “We’re doin’ a little guessing, here and there, but we think he had a twin, at one point. Konrad says its not uncommon for one twin to just… absorb another, in the womb, before they’re born. But even if the body goes, there’s still a soul there, right? And that means your husband’s been cartin’ around a whole extra soul, this whole time. They’re, for lack of a better word, conjoined. And when I went to reach for Vince… he… wasn’t the one that came back, exactly.”

“What are you saying?” Al asked, forgoing even adding a nickname, because this was… absurd. Too much. Vince wasn’t back, but it worked? If he wasn’t, what was? How did she know it wasn’t something malicious? The spirit world was full of bullshit, and they’d pissed off quite a lot of people, probably plenty of them dead. Something grabbed at Al’s brain and he gave into it, because it was a comforting emotion – anger. This wasn’t what he was promised. “I want to see him, Molly.”

“Al, you gotta listen to me here, it’s not… he’s in there, but he’s not the one runnin’ the show.” Molly tried, but Al didn’t listen, striding up to the door with big steps and pushing past her to throw it open. Behind the door stood… a person, who sort of resembled Vince but none of the parts quite added up to be the man Al expected. They were shorter than Vince, for one, though their skin and eyes and hair were the same color. They had teeth like his when they smiled at him, and long fingers like his, but their frame was more compact, their whole being just a little smaller, and they had hips and small mounds on their chest where Vince had been flat and boxy. Molly had clearly found them something to wear, a t-shirt that was maybe too big and a skirt that went to their knees, and they didn’t have shoes, but that cigarette hung between their lips like his did.

“Hi, uh…” They spoke, and they had his accent, they spoke the way he did, worked through the sounds the same way, but their tones were a bit higher, a bit brighter, more on the run than he’d ever been. “Ah-l ­Al! Ha, wow, that was easy, just the one vowel and one other letter, right? Wish everyone’s names were that nice.” They shrugged, an easy roll of the shoulders that was so much Vince but coming from the wrong frame and the wrong form and the wrong body. Al took  a step back, and Molly pushed the door open fully, too late to hide things anymore. The truth was, officially, out there.

“What kind of a sick joke is this?” Al asked, and he could see Molly frown, something like anger starting at the lines of her lips, and he watched the face that wasn’t quite Vince fall a little at the words. Like they’d hoped for something closer to acceptance and he’d just slapped them in the face. “You said you’d bring Vince back.” He added, to Molly, addressing her instead of this stranger that was pretending to be the man he loved. Molly inhaled, exhaled – unnecessary but it was probably better than ripping him apart with her hands – but it was the other person who spoke.

“She did, just. Not… like that.” They said, holding both hands out, cigarette between their fingers, the tip dancing as they gestured. “We’re kind of one and the same except we aren’t, but I was there, for most of it. For-for the Nosnet and Mac ‘n cheese and Celia and something about… Henry? No, that’s a place not a person, fuck.” They pressed a hand to their head, the cigarette bouncing there. “But I know you, Al, I do, it’s all here. Not even what magic-spark-man ah-oh-on-da-Damon or-or his-my-our friend ah-na-K-Kana, not even what they put in here but more than that. I was there, I just wasn’t him for it.” They shrugged, and they had the sense to at least look like they were sorry this was the way things were, even if it didn’t make anything better. Al took another step back, the alien way they worked through names and memories jarring and unsettling. They were like a figure at the edge of the woods, mimicking things Al loved to try and pull him into a situation that would kill him, and his fight or flight response was starting to kick in and he couldn’t decide between pulling a gun or jumping out of the window. It was, at least, only the second floor.

“Look, I told you. This is his… twin. Vyxen. They’re still a bit new, so the memories aren’t quite in the right places yet, but… Al, he’s in there, he’s just gotta come back, too.” Molly tried, but Al shook his head, holding up his hands like if he put a barrier between himself and this thing, it would get the idea and get the fuck out of there.

“Nah, this isn’t—this isn’t Vince. I don’t know who or what you are, but you’re not my husband.” He said, and his tone was bitter, biting, hurt. He’d been promised. He wasn’t owed anything, he knew he wasn’t, he was the bad guy, he was supposed to be the one making amends here, owing other people, but he’d been promised and they’d failed. This wasn’t what he wanted at all, and honestly, the longer he stared at the sad eyes watching him – Vince’s stupid, sad, puppy eyes in a face that wasn’t quite right – it felt like a mockery of the man he loved.

“I know it’s---it’s weird, it’s weird for me too.” Vyx said, stepping forward, but Al stepped back twice, doubling the distance when they tried to close it. They paused, wrapping their arms around their ribs, closed off and shrinking from his vitriol and hatred. They had expected some push back – Molly had warned them that this wasn’t what anyone expected – but they hadn’t expected outright rejection. He didn’t even want to get to know them. “But I promise, I’m not—it’s not that alien. Like, I know---I know about… about Sunbeam, and-and I know you didn’t mean to hurt anyone and I know—I know I’m not Vince and I’m definitely not Misha, but if we just---“

“Don’t you dare.” Al’s growl was dangerous, vicious, actually threatening fight instead of flight, to the point where even Molly bristled at his tone. This was wrong, he’d decided, and he was rejecting it. This wasn’t Vince, this was some weird approximation and he didn’t have to accept it. Molly had failed, entirely. Vince was dead, and Al was alone, and he was going to have to live with that. Or, well, considering he was on a deadline to find a sire and die, moreso a problem now that the charm he was banking on wasn’t alive anymore, die with that, too. He felt his hackles raise, and they stepped back, back out of the room and into the hallway, which is where he wanted them. Gone. “You get his name out of your mouth. I don’t know you. You’re not my husband and you never will be.” He growled, and that was it, Vyx shaking their head, looking not at him, but at Molly. They were too fragile to take it, not right then, not when the memories were trying to flood them with images they didn’t quite have context for, and then they stepped to the side and they were gone. Al breathed out, not less angry, but the agitation calming slightly now that they weren’t there anymore. “For fuck’s sake, can’t you find the right person?” Al tried to laugh, a bitter and harsh thing, but Molly didn’t laugh with him, and after a moment, he noticed she was considering him like he was a smear of dog shit on the bottom of her heel.

“You’re a fuckin’ asshole, you know that?” She asked, but it was a rhetorical question, and honestly, Al didn’t really care what she thought of him – but it stung, a little, to hear someone who was supposed to sort of be on his side turn on him anyway. She’d been the villain, too, after all. “The hell was all that posturing for? You’re actin’ like a toddler who just got told they’re not goin’ to the fuckin’ zoo.” She snapped, and her accent was thicker when she was mad and it was almost funny if it wasn’t directed at Al.

“I’m not accepting some mockery of my husband as a replacement!” He snapped back, real hurt there, and Molly pulled back, only to give him a quick up and down look and then a snort of indignation.

“For someone who’s supposed to be good at finding information, you don’t know how t’listen, do you?” She snarled, and that had him stilling, closing off from her. If she hated him, fine. She could get in line. “I told you what happened. Vince is in there, and that’s his twin. You could have at least given them the time of fuckin’ day, but no, you’d rather make sure you wind up dyin’ alone in the street somewhere than ever accept that people don’t always come back from the dead the way you, personally, want them to.” She stepped forward, intimidating, and he reflexively stepped back – she was taller, and he didn’t like craning up to look at her, even if he kept the sneer on his face. “I warned you, death does things t’people. Crossing over and comin’ back isn’t a cake walk, especially for Malkavians. How many of those addled fucks have I actually raised, ever, Al? You’re smart, you should know the statistics. I know you fuckin’ asked around.”

“None.” Al intoned, knowing the point Molly was making but resisting the urge to learn from it. He’d made a decision, and he couldn’t step back from it. He was already thought of as nothing more than a pathetic pawn in someone else’s big game, and he didn’t need to reinforce the idea.

“You know why?” Molly asked, her body language all incredulous fury and spite. She was spitting mad, more angry than Al had ever actually seen her, or at least a different kind of angry. Normally, her anger was expressed in who her bodyguard killed. “Because raisin’ a Malk is takin’ a risk. The blood gets shit twisted. There’s a reason I asked your friends to do me a favor and throw some context in that thick skull – I wasn’t entirely sure he’d come back with any memories at all! And I thought, hey, I’d do you a fuckin’ favor and at least not leave you with a shell that didn’t even know your name. But you wouldn’t have been happy then, either, huh? Nothin’ but the man you lost, exactly as you left him. Unfortunately, Alfonse, dying doesn’t let you get people back like that.” She paused, running him up and down with her eyes again, and she scoffed. “Though, I honestly think you wanted this. To be alone again. Some sort of aggrandizing self-punishment, wailing into the void about how lonely this all made you. Get you a sharp dose of pity so you don’t have to own up to the part you played.”

“I wanted my husband.” Al snarled back, and it was a threat, but it didn’t land, because they both knew he was on his back foot and there was no stepping forward to save him. She could have ended him eighty ways to Sunday with a glare and they both knew he was depressingly, factually, human.

“No, you wanted the person you put together in your head that looked like your husband and you don’t know how to deal with getting back someone that’s not quite the same as the ideal you built up in your tiny fuckin’ head.” Molly crossed her arms, looking down at Al now, not just physically but emotionally putting herself above him, and that had his stomach sinking into the floor. A tiny part of him wished the window was taller so it would hurt more when he leapt, even if it didn’t kill him. “I would have expected something more accepting of someone comin’ to you about a change like that, considering.” Molly dug her heels in, pointing out Al’s gender transition as a marker for why this betrayal was rich, coming from him, and Al shrunk back from her, finally. That was a low blow, below the belt, and while it was true, he didn’t have to like it. “I’m going to go tend to Vyxen. I still have a responsibility to get them right in the world, ‘cause I know how to give a shit about people. Hopefully they’ll be willing to talk with you when you can get your head out of your ass and figure out how to make that tiny, Grinchy little heart of yours care about something other than your work.” She paused, giving him a sneer that said she knew how to hurt him, stepping back for the door like she intended to leave whether he said anything else or not. “Speaking of, I don’t know if I want to work with a network run by a dickhead like you, but we’ll see. Don’t call us – Claire will drop you a line if your usefulness outweighs your attitude.”

And with that, she was gone, turning to walk out of the room. She didn’t even seem to care about putting her back to Al, like he couldn’t hurt her if he wanted to – and he’d considered it, just for a moment, all rage and heartbreak and hellfire, but then it left him like a snuffed candle, leaving him empty and devoid. He had nothing left, not anymore. No friends, no family, no husband, not even a bond with the only person who knew what he’d gone through, and it was entirely his fault. Part of him thought that was honestly better, that he’d always done well working alone, but the rest of him resisted the idea, because it made it feel like he’d wanted this. He hadn’t – he’d wanted his husband. But he wasn’t getting what he wanted regardless.

He just had work to do. It would fill time, at least. It was all he could do.

Outside, Molly followed the hallway at a quick clip, tracing Vyx’s footsteps until she found the other sitting on a chair at the other end, watching their legs swing and twitching their toes. They seemed, at least, to be more comfortable, but that clearly had to hurt. Molly paused, kneeling down so she wasn’t towering over the other, not exactly a ladylike position but not really caring about that. “I’m sorry, honey. I didn’t expect that either.”

“It’s okay.” Vyx said, softly. It clearly hurt, but… they’d been hurt by Al before. He did this, often, they remembered – Sunbeam and that fight, the other fights, always right at the edge of doing the wrong thing the wrong way, always taking the blame when he himself didn’t offer any solutions or compromises or accountability. This wasn’t new, and it stung, but it only served to harden them a little, steel them against a world that wasn’t going to be puppies and rainbows and brightness. They were a creature of the night, after all – death, darkness, blood and betrayal, that was their haven and their home. They just had to get used to being the one to live it. “He’ll miss me, eventually. Or him. He’ll miss Vince, anyway.”

“If you want a place t’stay…” Molly offered, but they shook their head, looking up at her with eyes that were surprisingly clear. They knew exactly what they needed to do, right then, and Molly always found she was powerless to stop a Malkavian on a mission.

“Can I have a bike? I know it’s a lot, but… a motorbike. A helmet. Cat ears, if you can get them, I like those, I think. Vince would have, had he actually cared to want for stuff. And then like… a couple clothes.  A skirt, a shirt, a flannel. I don’t need a lot. And his jacket.” They shifted their legs, moving their knees back and forth like a kid asking their mom for a treat after being good. “I think it’s best if I just… go.”

“You don’t need t’leave. If he’s an issue, he can go.” Molly almost snarled, but restrained herself, and it actually made Vyx laugh. She was such a broken crown of a woman, trying to put the shattered pieces back together and finding that protectiveness worked like glue; like if she took the lumps and guarded her own, they’d all make it out fine. No one was fine, anymore. Not really.

“No, he’s… if you kick him out, he’ll hate both of us forever. He’s not the issue.” They shook their head, reaching up to press their fingers to their hair. It was longer than Vince’s, but they were thinking about making it longer. Luckily, the blood transferred, and Vince had caught the magic of skin and bone manipulation from someone who even out-powered Konrad, so they could simply make the ends longer by running their fingers over it.  Molly noticed, wide eyed, and they laughed – they knew why that caused her fear, and it was a silly thing and an important one all at once. “No worries, Konrad knows. He showed me a couple tricks. Said if I wanted to do any more than change my face, I gotta come to him to learn, though. On threat of death. He’s cute; you did good with him, I think.” They shrugged, lengthening their hair until the ends almost reached their jaw. It was a start. “But I gotta go… find myself. All I know about me is who he was, but that doesn’t mean I’m not me somewhere in here, too. I just gotta find it, and I think I should do that part alone. Otherwise, who’s to say I won’t become just a façade of what other people want me to be?”

“Yeah, I get that.” Molly pushed herself to her feet, holding out a hand to help Vyx stand as well. They didn’t need it, but the grounding of having their hand held felt nice. “I’ll go find you a bike, and a phone, too, so you can keep in contact. Wouldn’t do if you ran off and got into trouble and couldn’t get back home, right? Would you want Claire to take you to Goodwill? She’s got a knack for finding stuff there that I can’t. Don’t know what she does, but she’ll find you a couple things. On the house.”

“Only if we can get Waffle House after.” Vyx chuckled, paused, face twisted. Something was rummaging under the surface. “Why is Waffle House important? Vince held it in high esteem, for some reason. It… tastes like grease and burnt coffee and underdone waffles and playing the same song on the jukebox too many times in a row and laughing about it anyway.” They looked up to find a laugh on Molly’s lips, and they decided they liked making people make that face. They would find out what else they liked – they knew there were probably some things the same, like multiple partners, but not everything – but this was fine for the moment.

“Here, lets all go to Waffle House and I’ll give you a better rundown of things before you get on your way.” Molly took their hand, leading them to the elevator, waiting for only a moment before it appeared, whisking them down to the ground floor. Vyx grinned.

“There’s a man, there, right? Dark skin and stupid mustache. Ay-am-tham-hay-Haytham? He’s pretty. You think he might like me?”

“Vyxen, sweetheart, he likes everyone.” Molly replied, and they laughed as they stepped out into the world for the first time.

They’d figure it out. They had time.

[nosnet]

The Greensboro Coterie (yet unnamed) & Friends From left to right: Vyx, Vince, Donnie, April, Al, Flidais, Damon, and Sven

[nosnet]

Fourth in the polycule, Vyx. At first, they were just what happened when Vince died and was resurrected into a femme body. And then we had a campaign that sort of fizzled and a lot of stuff happened and the next thing J. D. Dennis knew, they were their own character and things had to be adjusted. But hey, gotta love 'm. Text below:

Vyxen Mia Riveria August 12th, 1992 (Semi-born) February 2nd, 2019 (Formed then Embraced) Likes: - Stealing other people's cigarettes - Moderate amounts of Chaos - Cuddling with anyone who has enough arm space Dislikes: - Non-voluntary authority figures - Being Alone - The Tremere (general, not specific) Style: Bad 90's Polaroid Grunge

[nosnet]

Dead and Dead Again: Uno (1) - Lessons

by J. D. Dennis

Time Period: Mojave Desert, 2022

Perspective: Vyxen

Rating: PG-13

Content Warnings: Cops, assault/personal violence, depictions meant to resemble sexual assault, heavy drug use mentioned.

Word Count: 5,217

Comments: Dead and Dead Again moves on to the first proper sort of vignette. Vyx runs into some uppity kindred in the middle of the desert. Y’know, the usual.

An endless road stretched before them, the sky split red with the last vestiges of a dying sunset, two empty lanes ahead of them and nothing but the wind and the ever darkening sky behind. Their bike took the empty road to task, the speedometer casually touching 100mph with minimal effort or worry, the tires ripping over the asphalt as they rocketed, blessedly invisible, into the void before them.  Luckily, being invisible, they wouldn’t get pulled – cops wouldn’t have seen them – or run into anyone else, either, though there was no one else around to be concerned with, regardless. There was no destination in mind, nor any particular goal, just a need for speed and time to think. That’s why they’d come out this far, after all – to think.

It was hard, being plucked out of existence fully formed and functional, but otherwise without opinion or thought. One minute, they were blissfully riding along behind someone else’s life and then the next they were being asked about things like preferences, how they liked their hair or their eyes or their shoes or the temperature of their burger; they hadn’t had the mind to form any, not really, nor the experience to justify the answer. There were many things that others took for granted which just… didn’t exist, yet, and Vyx had decided, after their immediate rejection by their now-probably-ex-husband, that the best thing they could do was get the fuck out of dodge and find the answers to those implicit questions. Better to come home a real person, with independent ideas and thoughts and feelings formed from experience – shoehorned into a few short years instead of the traditional lifetime others got – than to drift an empty shell, easily influenced until they couldn’t take it anymore.

It was harder, still, constantly hearing the Network, as they’d come to call it, but they were learning the boundaries for that just as much as anything else. When their head was empty, they could hear every Malkavian with half a mind and just enough Auspex to throw their thoughts into the void, every errant thought and feeling and prediction, unfiltered and untempered, just thrown into the mental soup – no wonder so many Malkavians were mad, if they were forced to listen to the things Vyx heard when they were alone. They did their best not to be, when they could – they found if they had company, a friend, a club, something, they could make the voices stop – and it meant they filled their nights with parties and clubs and events and whomever’s bed they could manage to sneak into. Not every night was a success, of course, but the voices started soft enough, at least. They could go a few days, maybe a week, before it got really loud, before the words they were being told seemed as loud as their own thoughts and they started to get them confused. Unfortunately, the desert roads were constantly lonely and devoid of life, and even the ear buds blasting music under their helmet was starting to fail. It wasn’t bad, yet, but it meant they couldn’t just linger in the desert like some new age Messiah.

They hadn’t known about the voices when they’d left Greensboro, unfortunately, or they would have probably put together more of a plan for their travels. Instead, they went by whims, dropping south, first – South Carolina, Georgia, Louisiana, where they discovered the network in the first place, then a touch of north Florida, then to Texas, and now they were tearing up the road somewhere in Nevada, Vegas a glittering shimmer in the distance to the north. That was probably where they’d end up, eventually, they figured. It was loud enough to keep their head ringing for a long time, long enough to make it out to California without needing to find a friend, at least. Besides, Vince had always liked cards, after all; most of their questions had been based on testing what Vince had liked against themselves, and it hadn’t proven them wrong yet. It helped them find things worth questioning without a lifetime of working at it.

They’d learned they liked their coffee bitter, and often cheap and from a shitty little diner somewhere at the end of a strip mall, but with sweet food, like waffles or cinnamon rolls; they’d learned they liked sweet barbeque over vinegar, but they could destroy a decent plate of Alabama White if it was done well. They’d tried acid at a back alley bar along the west side of Texas and liked the trip, the voices too quiet to compete with the drugs, and they’d smoked weed and hashish in just about every town they’d gone to with great success. The shrooms they’d gotten from a guy in South Carolina weren’t their thing, but it was probably the fact that, not having an immune system to fight it, they just didn’t punch as hard as they should have. They’d been offered cocaine in a nightclub at the topmost edge of Florida – they hadn’t even meant to cross the state line, honestly, Vince’s past there just too much to really try and revisit, but they had and they hadn’t minded that – and they’d killed the dealer for the trouble and thrown the whole bag into the swamp; Vince had some experiences with harder stuff, and something in them said it was better if they didn’t pollute the pool again.

They’d learned they liked wearing layers and didn’t like carrying around a bag because they wanted their hands able to fight and all their things at arm’s reach; they liked thick boots for stomping and short skirts and showing off their midriff when they could. They liked keeping their hair pink, but they also liked that they could change it with a shower and a little effort, though they didn’t really like blue or green and kept it somewhere between blond, mousy brown, pink, black or sometimes gray. They liked having green eyes, or brown eyes, or a mix of both, and they liked they could blink and change them and watch people jump at the sudden difference. They figured out they didn’t care what kind of cigarettes they got, but they preferred to bum one off someone else; they could almost taste their soul in their brand, after all, the flavor of the tobacco too telling to give up. They liked boys and they liked girls and they liked anyone in between, but they didn’t like assholes or bigots or pretentious hipsters that mistook them for one. They liked Mexican food, but only the stuff from the corner markets and food stalls and little hole-in-the-wall places next to local grocery stores and not the stuff from high end, hipster eateries and breweries, which were too fancy for their taste. They liked being a groupie – they’d found a band in New Orleans they’d hung with for a few months, and they’d liked the experience, liked the constant influx of loud and the consistent company, but they’d realized it was a tiring gig and decided, privately, that two months was long enough for any one band and quickly split, though they kept the t-shirt. They also learned they didn’t like zombies, vampiric or otherwise, including those weird German ones that Tzimisce made; they were too shambling and grotesque and too close to being something human for their liking, but the bigger things they made, the vozhd, well, those were okay, sometimes. It depended on the creator and the creature itself, and how messed up either were. Sometimes, vozhd were friend shaped, and they couldn’t hate them if they were.

They’d learned they liked parties, and they liked buying clothes to go to parties but they liked stealing those same clothes even better. They honestly liked stealing stuff, mostly because it felt like a private joke when they managed to walk out with a shot glass or a hair clip or someone’s left shoe, as they only kept some things they stole and left others in very strange places for later discovery. Vampire parties were fine, though they had to be careful; they were Malkavian and often unwelcome, depending on the host, and while it didn’t matter who ran a Kine party – they couldn’t throw Vyx out in any way that mattered – crashing the wrong Kindred party was a risk. They hadn’t been burned, yet, and honestly, they had no plans to stop until they were, but they knew, at least, it had risk, and they were prepared for it. They didn’t like the vampire politics, no matter where they were, and they didn’t like how that made everyone hesitant and slow to act; Vince hadn’t liked that, either, but he’d had less spine to complain about it. They had learned that wasn’t the case for them, and that running their mouth would probably be the thing that got them killed, so they made sure it was worth it when they did. They knew, ultimately, they’d probably be good at the game if they actually started playing it – and maybe they would, when they got home and actually had a city they cared about that they could defend; they knew they loved their old city, Greensboro, and they knew from how they missed the smell of Black and Milds mixed with cheap but delicious hibachi and the sound of a rumbling train cutting into the otherwise quiet darkness – but until they had something to care about, they’d decided, privately, that the game wasn’t worth it. Causing chaos, however, in other people’s politics was fun, especially when there weren’t consequences – or, at least, consequences that mattered to them.

They still had to figure out how they felt about cards, and gambling, among other things, but Vegas loomed in the darkness ahead of them. Maybe they’d try and run a casino, see if they could use the blood to get good enough to get kicked out. Press their luck a bit – no whammies, right? – and see if they’d come out loaded or bust. They could tell, at least, that it would provide them plenty of opportunity to decide more preferences, and that was how they liked it. They didn’t try and find things to test, instead, letting the whims of the universe press them forward into a direction and following as best they could, only changing tack when they decided they didn’t like something. Sometimes the voices helped, warned them of stuff they shouldn’t get involved in, the true purpose of the network; right then, they could tell someone had Dead Fingers Talking stuck in their head and now it was stuck in Vyx’s, only just drowned out by their music. At least it was a good song.

The cacophony of sound in their head meant they didn’t hear the roar of the engine behind them until the other car was very close. They’d noticed, first, the presence looming suddenly behind them – they were racing down the highway, and that meant it wasn’t likely Kine who were keeping right on their tail, as Kine wouldn’t have seen them nor would they drive so fast – before their headlights kicked on, suddenly. It would have been blinding, had they not had a shaded visor on their helmet. They liked the cat ear helmets, and shaded visors, and gloves when they could keep them from getting torn the hell up. They didn’t like crashing their bike, though, and they tried to avoid doing so, but they’d definitely been thrown at least once and it wasn’t going to be the last time, either. The car hovered, their bumper trying to kiss Vyx’s back tire, and they sighed, deeply, in the helmet. This wasn’t some impatient asshole, no, they were trying to get Vyx to crash.

One of the two in the car leaned out, the jig clearly up by that point, whooping and hollering like they thought they were on a successful and exciting hunt. Cocky, hot headed, puffed up, with a head full of rocks – that was a Brujah. Vyx could smell it in his blood, the way he postured, or the fact that his muscles gave inflatable suit when they checked the side mirrors. The blood was useful, sometimes. Vyx gunned the engine, rolling up onto a single wheel at the sudden burst of speed before they were off, quicker still on a bike, now cresting the edge of what the thing could physically maintain before it shook itself into pieces. They put distance, lots of it, between themselves and the car – they had celerity, but the engine didn’t, so even if they could react fast it still had to build and that was precious seconds they could use – turning off their own headlight, before switching lanes very suddenly and taking an off ramp to a defunct gas station without any warning or signal. They had a dark helmet, a dark jacket, and a dark, floral dress, with black boots and black gloves, and without a light on, their bike was hard to see. They zipped into the lot, doing a lap of the space so they could decelerate without the engine or the tires screaming at them, an attempt to keep quiet, before they rolled to a stop in the building’s shadow.

Could they have beaten the two Brujah? Probably. But two against one was always a messy kind of fight, and they weren’t carrying anymore, having abandoned their handguns in a PO Box just outside of El Paso. They knew Vegas wouldn’t let them carry, anyway, but that meant they were under prepared for a good fight. They liked handguns, they’d learned, but something in them missed the crack of a rifle; they just had to figure out who actually had Vince’s old rifle, a jungle Lee-Enfield that has belonged to Flidais first and then had been fitted with a scope after. It was shorter, it was stocky, and something about wood polish smell called to them from the depths of their brain. It didn’t help them right then, anyway, so they stayed tucked into shadow as the car zipped past, having missed them taking the off turn like they’d expected. Now they just had to hang for a moment until they got bored; there was only one way back out, and they didn’t want to pass the other two, but they also didn’t want to hang out in an abandoned building all night, either.

A few moments passed, and they rolled their bike back to the pump area, giving it a quick once over to make sure their intense speed hadn’t done any damage; the tires were a little worse for wear, but bike tires were pretty easy to steal, especially one at a time. Otherwise, it looked fine, their draw string still tucked happily under the seat and everything else in decent working order. They’d probably need to sleep in a mechanic’s shop overnight once they got to California, see if they could coerce some green shop kid into replacing a belt for a quick tit grab or something, but that was a worry for after Vegas.

The flickering red and blue lights that washed over the area were a worry for before Vegas, however.

The cop car that pulled into the station beside them was marked as a Nevada highway patrol. Of course, highway patrol would be out this late – but something about the whole situation struck Vyx wrong, and they pushed themselves up to standing and took their helmet off with a sense of apprehension. They’d been concealed, the blood hiding their form and their bike – it wouldn’t do for Kine to see a bike with no rider zipping down the highway, after all – and there were no devices, radar guns or otherwise, that could have seen through it. Or, at least, that’s what they thought, anyway – they could have been surprised. They were new to the powers, after all, and there was precedent that cameras could see through their vampiric powers as long as they weren’t live. Vyx set their helmet on their seat, leaving them in sunglasses and their jacket, putting the kickstand up and lighting a cigarette with a flameless lighter that had been Vince’s. They watched the tip glow red as the officer got out of the car. He looked so achingly generic, they could tell it was the blood, but something said he really did just look that generic, and the blood only enhanced what they saw instead of augmented it.

He smelled strongly of blood, stale and dead and bitter. Vyx shivered, hackles up. This guy was Kindred, too. No wonder, it wouldn’t take a genius to have seen the car, and they could have broken obfuscate with the wheelie, anyway. They grumbled something like a swear word around the end of the cigarette and hoped they could get out of this without having to kiss any ass or take any names.

“License and registration.” The cop was definitely going by the book, so there was a chance – however brief or unlikely – that he didn’t know they were Kindred, and they stuck to that chance as hard as they could. Luckily, they’d been given a license – fake, of course, Claire wasn’t about to let them loose into the world only to tarnish the fresh forgeries they’d just made – and the bike’s registration and had easy access to both, handing them over without complaint. “Do you know why I pulled you over this evening?”

“Uh, you didn’t.” They said in return, bouncing the cigarette between their lips as they spoke and exhaling pointedly away from the cop’s face, though they watched him watch them as they did. “I was already pulled over, checking my tires.” They shrugged, patting the bike affectionately on the seat. The cop – shaved head, stupid hat, full uniform and aviator shades in the middle of the night; man couldn’t have tried to sell the idea that he was a supernatural horror any less and he clearly wasn’t trying to sell it at all – sneered, handing back the paperwork without even putting it into a system. Definitely not Kine. “Why? Is bike maintenance illegal, now?”

“I saw you, with that car. You took off speeding.” The cop’s sneer was clearly misinformed, and Vyx realized with absurd horror that they were right, and that the man actually thought that they were Kine, that they’d broken obfuscate somewhere along the way and he’d thought he’d caught a Kine doing 150mph on the highway. Clearly, the other car had seen them, even tried to chase them off the road, blinding them with sudden headlights and an achingly close speed. Wild that they weren’t the cop’s concern, but honestly, cops loved to shit on bikers when they could, so it wasn’t unexpected. This was a thing Vyx had learned, and they’d learned they didn’t like it one bit. “With the speed I clocked you, I think you’re going to need to come with me to the station.” He chuckled, a deep and throaty thing, like he thought he had the upper hand in the situation. Vyx rolled their eyes, pulling down their sunglasses and giving the cop the effect of glowing, red eyes. Being able to change at will was useful, as they could communicate things much more subtly that way.

“I wouldn’t recommend that, especially since it’s just a speeding ticket, officer.” They let themselves snarl, let the teeth bring an edge to their voice that they often tried to hide, but the officer didn’t flinch. Of course, he’d inflated his ego and thought he’d inflated his generation with it and therefore didn’t care that he’d made a wrong call about them; unfortunately for him, there was a big difference in thinking oneself closer to Cain and actually being closer, and Vyx had been shown the difference first hand. They’d watched a Nosferatu with a considerable ego lose everything in less than two minutes, after all. The cop simply stepped up, giving Vyx less space to get away from him, like he was planning on putting one of his feet between theirs and pinning them to the bike; they bared their teeth before he got close, and he paused, actually laughing.

“Oh, sweetheart, I don’t think you understand the kind of situation you’re in, here.” He said, crossing his arms, and something in their sense of awareness pinged, underneath the sound of Dead Fingers Walking and the flashing blue and red lights, over-stimulating and making it harder for them to pick out what was really their intuition and what was someone else’s. It meant that they didn’t notice the footsteps just behind them, and when arms grabbed them from behind, they shrieked.

Okay, they’d let this one get away from them a bit, to be fair.

The Brujah was strong, and admittedly, they weren’t, having not had the time to bolster their own limbs with blood before the fight. They’d wanted to save it, because they didn’t know when they’d next feed and it was the difference between having an obscured ride or getting pulled by a real Kine cop in Vegas, and they’d erred on the side of longevity. He also had the element of surprise, so Vyx found themselves lifted up and over the bike, dragged, kicking the whole while, the few feet to the car that had been chasing them earlier before they could do much more than yell. Of course they were working together, they thought, struggling against the arms as they were quickly manhandled into the back of the car, splayed out sideways across the seat on their back, the precarious position reminiscent of something else if the idea of being drained wasn’t honestly worse. They realized, trying to push out of the seat and finding that the other Brujah was over top of them, using his body mass to make exiting the car impossible, trying to pin them to the seat, that those two idiot Brujah likely ran people off the road all the time, and left them to the mercy of the officer, who could do what he wanted – kidnap, kill, share, whatever – and they’d had it good for a long time. Vyx wished they’d had any kind of gun at all, kicking out instead, and a good thunk to the Brujah’s thigh earned them an elbow to the face. Pain splintered up from their lips and nose.  

They could taste their own blood, but that wasn’t the sign they were losing that the Brujah thought it was. It was a sign that the gloves could come off – metaphorically, they liked these gloves – because their blood was splattered over the back seat of the car and it wasn’t like more would change anything. This was already going to be a messy, messy crime scene no matter what they did. They settled, the Brujah shuffling further into the car with an almost relaxed air, like he thought he’d finally won and they’d given up, but before he could properly pin them, they reached up, slapping them hard against the chest. They hadn’t ever learned how to do what they did, but they’d met a crone in the bayou that could meld bone and who had taught them some of the basics, and they’d seen Konrad and his ilk do the trick enough times that it almost came naturally. The slap had the Brujah’s ribs twisting like snakes in his chest, piercing his heart several times over and leaving him torpored. Vampire bone was just as good as a pencil, if one knew how to manipulate it.

The push also had him falling backwards, the slap fueled by vampiric force and hard enough to throw him from the car, landing in the desert dust with a puff of red sand. The other two, out of the car, hesitated, unsure what was happening, because usually, the chosen Brujah didn’t climb out of the car until he was sated and finished; clearly, this one had gotten to neither option, his face frozen in a mask of horror and pain. Vyx didn’t let them linger, flinging themselves from the car in a pounce, landing shoulder first on the cop. It was enough to catch him off guard, which was enough time for them to raid his belt – he had a Glock, which was better than a billy club or a tazer, at least, and a magazine with an orange piece of tape on it; Vyx knew what that meant, and used their surprise quickly to drop the magazine in the weapon before slamming the new one inside. The cop groaned, clearly knocked just silly enough with the elbow to the sternum that he couldn’t get up, which gave Vyx enough time to turn, firing three solid rounds into his fellow, who hadn’t figured out what to do yet and didn’t have time to complete the thought. The rounds burned hot, bright, tracer rounds – they’d seen other Kindred label their tracer rounds with bright tape on the bottom of clips and magazines before, or Vince had, which was sort of the same thing – punching one normal hole and then three burning hot ones into the chest of the other Brujah. He screamed, clawing at his chest, before falling onto his back.

The cop kicked up, dislodging Vyx from their place nearly laying over his body, but they rolled to their feet, gun up and in their hands before he could move again. He lifted both hands, acquiescing to the fact that he’d lost the round, at least, his childe – and they could tell from the way he winced at the Brujah’s screams that it was one of his childer, otherwise he wouldn’t have cared – writhing on the ground in front of them until he, too, went still. When he did, it was quiet again, the loudness of the brief scuffle all but vanishing into the desert wind.

“Alright, you’ve proven your point.” The cop said, trying to get them to lower the gun or give it back, holding out a hand like they were a toddler with a gun who’d just gotten very, very lucky. Vyx scoffed; they weren’t stupid.

“Is this how you always hunt?” They asked, using the gun to gesture to the car, and the bodies, and the tactics. Their finger was on the trigger, and they could internally feel their old partners screaming at them for it, but they still fully intended on shooting the cop, so it felt okay. They wanted the speed of the reaction, and it was like shooting anything else would really matter much. He pursed his lips, ran through his options – spill it or not – and decided on trying to be cordial, pulling himself up some but only so he could try and relax.

“It is.” He said, deciding it wasn’t worth lying. They knew, anyway, he could tell. He couldn’t tell much – they were closer to Cain than he was, that was for sure, and they certainly had a strange set of powers, but their almost random disciplines meant telling clan was beyond him. “The desert is lonely, after all. What’s one day’s delay for a Kine on the run?” He chuckled.

“On the run?” They asked, and he shrugged, again.

“When you find Kine out here, they’re either running to the city of avarice, or away from it. Why, I never bother to ask, but they’re either trying to hide from something in the rest of the world, or trying to get away from mistakes made out here. I can taste the fear.” He rolled his shoulders, like another shrug, but the pistol didn’t lower. He sighed. “Can you give that back, now? I think I’m done with this game.”

“Lucky you, I’m done, too.” Vyx said, pulling the trigger and putting a quick bullet in both the cop’s knees. They burned, hot and white and painful, and he collapsed to them, biting back a scream of pain at the sensation. Vince had been shot, once or twice, with tracers; they knew they burned like shit. “Unlucky for you, I’m still figuring out how I feel about the police, and the three of you haven’t done anything to endear yourselves to me. Especially thinking of how this would have gone had I been the little, helpless Kine chick out in the middle of the fuckin’ desert. You sicko.” They snarled, the images from the car still stuck in their head; if it hadn’t been them, it would have been very different, and they could feel it.

The cop opened his mouth to say something to his defense, but Vyx didn’t let him, putting another bullet between his legs. The sound he made sounded like steam coming from a tea kettle, and Vyx laughed. “Good news, at least; I’ve learned a lot tonight! For instance, I’ve decided I hate cops, I hate bullies, and I hate sick men. Bad news, you’re all three. Lesson learned, right?” They shook their head, and before he could speak anything else, they put the last bullet in the magazine between the man’s eyes. They went wide, and then he was crumbling, old enough to dust at their feet, leaving his hat behind, a marker to his crimes. They sighed. It was over just as quickly as it started, leaving them standing in the aftermath, blood on their face, empty gun in their hand, two cars, two bodies, and a hat left behind. They’d have to burn it all, before they were implicated in some kind of crime scene, and they only had a couple of hours until sunrise.

Ugh. Hopefully the gas station still had a gallon of gas left behind.

~*~

The cars went up quickly – there was one can of gas left, tucked behind a few rotting shelves likely by some drug runner trying to push something from the border to the city – and the bodies were easily stuffed inside, burning along with everything else. All in all, besides the fact that they had to roll the damn thing deep into the desert and that took a lot longer than intended, it really wasn’t a long process. Vyx just had to let it burn long enough that they could trust nothing was recognizable, and then they could leave. They sighed, lighting a new cigarette off the burning car hood, watching the glittering lights of Vegas dance behind the flames of the burning car, the amber sands of the desert hot red against the orange brightness.

They couldn’t linger, though. Once they were sure the bodies were gone, they had to dip. Vegas was waiting, and the fire would attract cops. But at least they’d learned something about themselves, from it all. That was the most they could hope for.

Their bike hit the pavement twenty minutes later, invisible and back to 100 quickly, zipping away from the remains of the flaming cars before any cops could see it. It would attract attention, and they needed to be far away from it before they did. At least their blood wasn’t left in the backseat, obliterated by the fire. And as they rode off into the darkness of the night and the brightness of the Vegas lights, they exhaled, happily.

Whomever had stopped thinking about Dead Fingers Walking.

[nosnet]

Past Lives (2) – New York State of Mind

by J. D. Dennis

Time Period:  Early 2027

Perspective: Vyx and Vince

Rating: R

Content Warnings: Swearing, violence, guns, discussion of abuse, two characters who aren’t good together have it out, transmasc pregnancy talk, we broke everyone and now it’s on full display

Word Count: 18,758

Comments: Stop 1: New York City. In which Donnie confirms nobody’s been joking, Al starts to work through some shit, and Vyx realizes that this road trip isn’t going to be as simple as they thought it would.

“Are you blind?! I’m in a fucking bus, you asshole! Who do you think I fucking am, a Toretto?! You think I can stop a bus on a dime?!”

Donnie took over the driving just before they reached the New York State line, and clearly, there was a good reason why. Will – formerly Billiam, as Vyx had confirmed that Will was in fact his first name and that Damon was just, in fact, weird like that – was not a bad driver, by any means; Damon Wellington was not a man to select people of average skill for his staff, and Will was no exception. The man handled the bus like a champ, getting it safely, but quickly, out onto the highway and northbound, and they’d let him get used to driving the thing for a few hours while they raced towards New England. However, just as they were getting out of Delaware, Donnie had requested the driver seat, and Will had acquiesced without fuss; part of it had been the immediate application of a small box, which Donnie explained was an EZ-Pass, meant to let them bypass tolls without having to stop. The other part had become clear, quickly, as the traffic getting into the Lincoln Tunnel alone was a hot mess – not even speaking on the traffic past it - and it was obviously difficult to drive through normally, let alone in a bus.

“Hey, if you need a break, one of us can swap out. This isn’t my first time driving in New York. Don’t want you to burst a blood vessel or nothin’. I mean, if you can. I don’t know if that’s possible.” Vyx said, standing behind Donnie, one hand on the seat and the other on the partition that separated the doors from the rest of the bus. They rocked with the motion, the constant stopping and starting, the way Donnie ripped the bus from one lane into another with what almost looked like reckless abandon making them sway, but they didn’t fall over. They weren’t entirely sure how Vince had managed to make playing cards possible, but he had, and the game going on behind them didn’t seem deterred, even when the bus bounced over bad concrete.

“What? No, I’m not mad--” Donnie explained, even as he leaned out the bus window to throw a quick bird at a pedestrian who had decided to bolt across the street without waiting for the crosswalk. “Watch where the fuck you’re walking! – This is just how you drive. It’s a… cultural exchange.” He explained, and he definitely didn’t look mad, except when he was actively shouting, and the fact that he could turn it off on a dime said he wasn’t lying. If he’d been mad, they would have noticed – he was a Brujah, after all. “If I didn’t yell at them out the window, they’d think I was a tourist and I wouldn’t get to drive anywhere.”

“You know, maybe if we didn’t shit on tourists constantly, we wouldn’t have this innate need to not be perceived as tourists in our own home cities, but that need automatically shits on tourists, so the cycle continues, unabated.” Vince said, to no one, dealing out three cards to each of the players in the group. Flidais wasn’t playing, happily tucked up against Vince without any kind of smile, just watching, but Al had convinced April and Will to tuck themselves into the booth for a game.

“You know, we met, before all of this, and I still can’t ever remember that you’re a Malkavian.” April said, rapidly sliding the cards in her hand against each other while she thought.

“It’s ‘cause he keeps all of his weird shit to himself most of the time.” Al said, pushing three packs of fruit snacks into the center of the table. They hadn’t exactly brought things to bet with, but they did pack snacks, and they served the purpose well enough. Keeping them in the little bags meant it was easier for them to not be consumed mid game. “Then when he says something fucked up, it’s a surprise ‘cause he hasn’t said anything weird recently.” He shook his head, tapping his knuckles on the table to signal that he was done with his turn. April bit her lip, meeting the first bet tentatively, before raising a second fruit snack.

“It keeps people on their toes. Never know what to expect.” Vince shrugged, watching Will as he thought through the cards, before meeting April’s bet. “If every Malk’s just Marie, the world gets boring.”

“Where are we going? Am I looking for a hotel? What side of town?” Donnie asked, butting back in to the conversation. The traffic hadn’t cleared, but they were in the city proper, and he knew he had to start making choices. He wasn’t going to get many options, and he had to know what was worth the risk of bullying his way into. “If you give me an address, I can find it, as long as we didn’t pass the turn already.”

“Molly’s office. She didn’t give me an address, but I figure you know where that is.” Vyx said, and Donnie nodded, quickly throwing the bus over to the left-most lane before they reached the stoplight he needed to turn at. Several cars honked, and he threw another rude hand gesture out the window in a generalized response. Vyx wasn’t entirely sure what he’d done wrong, but that just seemed to the general method of communication.

“Are we not staying in New York?” Flidais asked, her voice always monotone and soft. Vyx turned around, leaning backwards against the seat and the partition, almost falling briefly as Donnie took the left at speed.

“Nah. Apparently, Claire went and got this box for me – that’s how she found out what was happening. So we’re gonna meet her at Molly’s office and grab that before jetting back out of the city again. Hotels out here are fucking expensive and it’s not like half this group didn’t live up here for a bit. I figured Broadway wasn’t exactly a thrilling reason to stop for the night, and considering we’ve got five other stops, it didn’t seem wise to linger.” They shrugged as they righted themselves, turning to look over their shoulder so they could tell when Donnie was about to turn again. Luckily, he used his signals, but it was hard to tell from inside the bus. “This is just a quick stopover.”

“Who else has lived in New York besides Donnie?” Al asked, watching the betting come back around to him. He had his three cards face down on the table, leaning on it with an elbow, and he matched April’s bet before turning one of his three cards sideways. He knocked on the table again, and he watched April reflexively turn her cards, which she’s set down sideways after upping the bet. Al snickered. “Thought so. I’ve passed turn, Planeswalker.”

“What? Hey.” April grumbled, not entirely sure how to feel about being caught out. It wasn’t like she hid the fact that she’s previously played Magic: the Gathering, but she wasn’t exactly enthused about Al tricking her into revealing that fact. “You’re one to talk, Al – you had to be at the devil’s sacrament, too.” She responded, after a second, pushing four packs of fruit snacks into the center, almost out of a spiteful response. Al tried to keep his face neutral, but she could tell that he’d been caught out, just as much. Only someone who’d been exposed to Magic: the Gathering would know the signs of someone else who played, after all. She was honestly just grateful he didn’t know where the term devil’s sacrament came from. “As for New York, I haven’t ever lived up here. I haven’t really been more north than Richmond.”

“I did.” Vince said, already folding before it was even his turn. His hand wasn’t good enough for the four, and he knew it. First rule of playing cards was not to chase a hand you knew you couldn’t win. “Dad and I lived here for… god, I think maybe three years when I was little? Not that I remember it, much. He moved down to Florida fairly quickly. And that means, technically, Vyx also lived here.”

“Not to mention I’ve spent like, a solid eight months in this city just vibin’, so even if I haven’t had my own place here, I think I’ve lived here on my own.” They shrugged, better braced this time as Donnie took a hard right, before pulling the bus up to the curb.

“First stop, the office complex of Molly de l’Argonne.” Donnie said, putting the bus in park – which made an awful noise, as busses often did – before throwing the lever to open the doors. Al quickly folded – Will had as well, unwilling to face April’s wrath – putting his hands up as they started out of the booth, and April gave him a grin that said she was satisfied with her retribution, taking the pile of snacks into her hands and putting her cards back in the deck without revealing them.

“Hey now, show what you had.” Al said, snaking out of the booth after Flidais. April grinned.

“Don’t have to, everyone folded.” She slipped out of the booth, putting the well won snacks in her bag for later, before slinging the small purse over her shoulder. “Maybe next time you should pay more attention to the game we’re playing and not necessarily the games I used to play.” April’s tone was affectionate and not entirely hostile, but it still pulled a groan out of Al all the same, like he was being punished for things he didn’t do.

It took them a moment to pile out of the bus – Will remained, willing to watch the thing while they were inside – as, while none of the people on the bus expected combat, none of them wanted to go in unarmed. Those that weren’t already quickly grabbed the slew of various instrument cases that held most of their guns – it was the easiest way to not get stopped – piling off the bus without any additional fuss. It was clear Al was gearing up to whine about losing at poker – his Vyx, April is being mean to me primed and waiting – but his voice was stayed quickly as they stepped into the grand building that was Molly’s office. 

Molly was not a woman for being subtle, and the design of her office building exemplified that wholeheartedly. The downstairs lobby was a massive space, with high ceilings and a grand central staircase that swept up to both the left and the right, where elevators to the upper floors sat. There were a few offices on the first and second floors, of course, mostly doors to conference rooms for those that didn’t want to venture further, but most of the space was meant to be large, empty, and grand; everything was gilded, all Art Deco designs and polished floors, and a chandelier full of crystals hung low into the space. Clearly, this was a space meant to host parties of unusual size; this was made even more readily apparent when they entered, as Claire stood in the center of the lobby space with a metal box under her arm, directing various people, all clearly staff due to their business casual attire, to put tables and chairs and other items along the walls. She seemed deep in the moment, but Vyx didn’t hesitate, strolling up to her in the middle of things like they were the most important person Claire would speak to all day, their instrument case slung across their back like they were a band meeting their new manager, ready to play.

“Eyyy, Claire!” Vyx called the woman’s name, and she turned, visibly relaxing at the fact that Vyx was there. Clearly, getting the items to Vyx was a thing that was tying Claire up in a way she didn’t like, as the way she moved to set the metal box down on a table immediately said a lot. “Sorry if we’re late – traffic, you know. We’re in a bus, it’s a mess.”

“A bus?” Claire’s accent was thicker than anyone else’s there, even Donnie’s, the quintessential New Yorker tones far too fitting for the speed at which she spoke. She tucked a strand of hair, straight and dark and smooth, behind an ear, snapping at one of the staffers to snag their attention and quickly relaying a series of instructions in hushed tones before turning back to the party and ushering them over to a table, where she finally set the box down. “Aren’t you supposed t’be in an RV?” She paused, only a moment, realizing the question was dumb and the answer unnecessary. Whatever was supposed to happen, didn’t, and that was all she really needed. Anything more would be relegating her to fixing the problem, and she didn’t have time for that. “Regardless, here’s the box. I can’t open it, ‘cause apparently, you have the key, but once you’re sure it’s all there, you can get going.”

“In a rush to kick us out?” Al asked, a little sarcastically, his hands in his pockets. He didn’t need an instrument case, and his hands were free, minus his vape. Claire shot him a look that would have deflated a lesser man, but Al managed to hold strong all the same, hitting said vape as though in rejection of her look. He’d spent enough time trying to work with people who thought him scum to have developed a backbone, even from before the war.  

“Here’s the thing, Al: we’ve got Mardi Gras coming up, then Easter, which Konrad always hosts something for, plus St. Patrick’s day, in New York – I’m busy.” Claire was a little snippy, but clearly, it was just because she was overloaded. There was a lot going on, after all, and they were really the only Kindred capable of hosting those kinds of events in the city – the expectations were high. “Not counting that Molly’s off in New Orleans meeting with one of her contacts from the forties and hanging out with some of Jess Briata’s people, so setting up for all the events falls on me.” Claire sighed. “Not like it doesn’t always fall on me, but usually Molly’s here to schmooze while I work and that keeps distractions like this to a minimum. So just… can we get this open?”

Vyx was already sorting through keys by the time she asked, and while it took them a moment to locate the specific one, they found it after a second and held it aloft. “Glad I labeled the keys.” They said, showing off the fact that it had NYC written on the butt of the key in sharpie. Was it the best method? No, as the letters were lightly smudged and not entirely legible, but it sort of worked. There was enough variation between the various labels that one could probably tell the difference. They deftly unlocked the box, stuffing their ring of keys back into their pockets before opening the thing and removing contents.

For a moment, everyone gathered around the table, craning their necks to see what could possibly be so important as to save for more than a year. Vyx let them – they liked being at the center of attention, after all.

The first thing they produced was a dagger, though some might have called it a sword – the blade itself was nearly a foot long, after all. The handle was hour-glass shaped, dark in color and made of a wood that looked, and smelled, old; it was, luckily, sheathed, but the sheath also had a sigil stamped into the leather that had Al picking the thing up almost as soon as Vyx had set it on the table. “Where the hell did you get a sword in New York?” He asked, inspecting it closely.

“Oh, no, this isn’t from here; most of this box is from overseas.” Vyx said, pulling out a stack of boxes of what looked like French chocolates, if the writing on the side being in French said anything. They could have been Swiss, but the box looked far too French. They peered into one with a face that was almost worried, but they nodded in acceptance at the fact that none of them were blue with mold. “Like these? These are from Paris. They still look good, so we’re probably fine to eat them.”

“Okay, then: where the hell did you get a sword in Europe?” Al asked, again, taking the correction and applying it to try and get back to the actual question he’d posed. Vyx looked up, hands holding a series of various Doctor Who themed tourist merchandise, including at least one Tardis Keychain that started to vvorp vvorp when they moved it; the batteries, clearly, hadn’t exploded in the time it had been locked away.

“I’m more concerned about the dental practices you encountered in Europe that would let you leave with a tooth.” Vince added, deftly reaching into the box and producing one, single, brown molar, covered in dirt and dust and looking like Vyx had grabbed it straight from a grave. “Especially one that gives off the worst vibes I’ve encountered in a while – which, admittedly, the last bad vibes I got were Eldest, since that’s all still recent, for me. But like… the last time I felt bad vibes like this, we were fucking around in the Paris Catacombs trying to catch your dumb ass, Al.”

“Honestly, I don’t know why I’m surprised that you know where that tooth is from.” Vyx said, taking the tooth from his fingers and deftly stuffing it in a pocket. “But you’re right – that’s a catacombs original. No, for the record, I didn’t ask, and I’d appreciate not finding out any of my polycule are narcs.” They paused, giving everyone a look that said tattling would mean bad things. “But yeah, I rolled around in Paris for a bit before I came back stateside; mostly hung out with Martha Thompson? The redhead that went gaga for the French version of Molly since she couldn’t get the original?” They asked, and Vince nodded, clearly understanding who, exactly, they were talking about. Claire made a face that usually showed up on teachers or chaperones after hearing their charges talk about things they shouldn’t; it was a pursing of her lips and a furrowing of her brows that was her trying to decide if she should butt in and correct their language or not.

“Did she tell you that?” Claire asked, trying to suss out whether or not they were sharing business they shouldn’t, and Vyx shrugged, pulling out a giant jar of sauerkraut, which had no label besides a piece of masking tape with 04/08/24 written on it in a handwriting that wasn’t recognizable. The jar, however, was about as big as Vyx’s head, and they set it gently on the table.

“Look, if Martha didn’t want the world to know that she had been pining for Molly for like, ever, maybe she shouldn’t have gone and gotten engaged to the woman’s doppelganger—“

“Aa--!” Claire made a strange noise, almost panicked, cutting Vyx off. “Nobody’s a doppelganger. Don’t use that word. Jess might be a lot like Molly, but she isn’t a fuckin’ doppelganger and if you say that word around Molly she will kill you. Got me?” Claire warned, and Vyx put both hands up in the air, conceding the point. “And don’t be mean. Martha’s had it rough.”

“I wasn’t trying to be mean, it’s just the truth. Like, Claire, look at us. You think we get to talk about falling for the wrong person? That dingdong found every person who was gonna betray us and immediately fell head over heels, and while those aren’t my mistakes, I got to witness that train-wreck firsthand, twice.” Vyx rolled their eyes, pulling the last item from the box; it was a circular patch for a jacket, a skull and a rose in white on a black background, the rose petals a bloody red and the number seven stitched at the bottom. They quickly tucked that into a pocket, too. Some things weren’t for public consumption. “I’m just limited on how I can pick Martha specifically out of a lineup. Redheaded Malkavian is apparently an incredibly broad list, and adding British doesn’t make it smaller.”

“For the record, I didn’t know they were going to betray us. And technically neither of you had a choice.” Vince defended his partners, considering they were standing right there, but it didn’t seem like he needed to. Flidais was unperturbed, as she often was, clearly accepting the concept that she had, in fact, betrayed them; Al was still entirely too focused on the dagger, though his eyebrow raise at the mention of his betrayal said he wasn’t denying that it happened, either.

“Yeah, yeah, thanks for the defense, wish it had happened like, ten years ago, but regardless,” Al said, holding up the dagger again as he waved off Vince’s defense. The other man’s face fell, just a little, at the dismissal, but Al didn’t notice, as he was full focused on the symbol for the dagger’s sheath. “Really, though: where did you get this? I know this house crest.”

“Oh, that’s from Vlad.” Vyx said, nonchalantly, closing the box up and pulling the key off their key-ring. It wasn’t worth keeping if they didn’t have the box anymore, after all. “I headed his way after I left London. Spent a day in Germany with Reinhardt – man’s a good cook, which is how I still have this massive thing of home-made sauerkraut—“ they tipped the jar around a little on the table, which was overly large and fairly full, “but then I rolled out to Vlad’s for a bit. Man’s lonely.”

“Does he know you have this?” Al asked, with serious concern in his voice. If Vyx was out, stealing from Vlad Dracul himself, they were going to have a problem. Vyx chuckled.

“I mean, it’s been like, what, three years? I’d hope he does.” They shook their head, stacking the chocolates on top of the jar as though to carry them. “Either way, I haven’t gotten any angry German letters, so I bet he’s chill that it’s here.” They shrugged, hefting the jar and chocolates into their arms. It was heavy, so they had to hold it just so. “Can you hold onto that for a second, though? This jar is hefty. Reinhardt thinks I can put food away like he does, even though he’s like twice my height and definitely twice my body mass.”

“Wait.” Donnie’s voice cut through the conversation; he’d been otherwise silent, as there hadn’t been much to say. What Vyx did in Europe was interesting, and while he was aware of who Martha was, he knew they’d regale him with proper stories once they weren’t pulling things out of a box. He was willing to wait – it would be less chaotic, too. But, standing outside the circle of people, away from the conversation, he’d heard something at the doors; it wasn’t people, there were plenty of people moving around, but something else, and his vampiric hackles had gone up at the sound. He stared at the door, the others watching him for a sign that he knew what was up, and then they all heard it.

The click was surprisingly loud against the hum of staffers conversing and moving items.  

“Move!” It was Al’s shout that broke the spell that had fallen over the group at the sound; for a moment, before he’d spoken, every eye had been turned to the front doors, the reality of the sound settling over the group like dust from the ceiling settling on their shoulders, a little at a time. The sound of something hard against the doors, the sound of footsteps, hushed voice behind the wall – it all pointed to the same thing, but it took people a moment to piece it all together. However, Al figured it out first, and his shout had the party turning back to the stairs with dawning horror, ducking away from the doors and running for a back conference room at full speed – which was a good thing, as only a moment later, the glass doors burst out in a fireball of an explosion, which rattled the building and pushed dust and smoke into the lobby, obscuring their view for a moment and filling the space with dust and heat. They were lucky; even with their vampiric constitutions, fire wouldn’t have done them any favors.  

“For fucks sake!” Claire snapped, coughing lightly at the dust in the air. She was still a ghoul, and breathing was still important for her, so the explosion had rocked her pretty hard. Back in the conference room, however, they were shielded from the worst of whatever the hell was happening outside – and from the yelling and the snarling, they could tell it was something. Molly’s office was under attack. “The hell was that?”

“C4, probably.” Al said, already pulling one of the SMGs he kept in a shoulder holster under one arm, checking the magazine and blowing dust from the sites. He wasn’t sure it wasn’t full of dust, but he’d manage. “That click was a blasting cap being primed, if my ears serve.”

“And you’d know a thing or two about C4.” Flidais added, her calm and deadpan delivery making what was probably meant to kind of be a joke almost feel like a barb to the chest, though Al brushed it off; his scowl was just from the fact that they’d been attacked, though it was clear her words weren’t kind. “So? What’s the plan?”

They all looked up as, suddenly, the lights went out with a loud thunk of the generator turning off. A moment passed, and then the room found itself lit in blood red, the emergency lights kicking back on. Claire groaned.

“Well, they’ve cut the power.” Claire groaned as she stated the obvious, gesturing to the ceiling where the lights should have been. “Probably tryin’ t’cut the cell tower more than anything. Can’t get the word out t’anyone if we don’t have data. Fuckers know how I work.” She sighed, pulling up her phone anyway and scowling at the no bars symbol at the top. The cell tower on top of Molly’s office was critical, as the building was otherwise a dead zone for data – they’d beefed with too many technologically savvy Tremere - and Claire had to run a world’s worth of people off of one cellphone. It helped keep costs down and connectivity up – but while the tower itself was hooked into the backup generator, the machines that processed it into useable data weren’t, for security reasons. Better that they could shut things down on a dime, even if it meant things could get shut down on a dime. “So we’ll need t’get that back up, at least. And we’ll want backup, if we can get it. Molly’s down south, and Ray’s with her, but there’s still a squad at the gym who can throw hands. I’m not really a fighter.”

“I can run to Swinging Bimbos.” Donnie quickly took charge of that part of the plan, feeling something in him that said it was go time and letting that boost his confidence. This was his town, and his boss; he wasn’t about to just let them do something like blow up his boss’s office building without some kind of retribution. And while Ray was out of pocket, he knew there would be enough Brujah to clear a building, and they’d hopefully listen to him. He was lucky, as he didn’t really use guns, so he was ready to go at a moment’s notice; the others were busy unzipping cases and pulling out rifles, though they weren’t going slowly.

“Take Flidais with you.” Vyx said, gesturing between the two of them as they stuffed rounds into a magazine for their rifle. They’d had Vince’s in the same case, so they’d loaded neither; it wouldn’t have been wise to keep a loaded rifle next to a loaded rifle with nothing to cushion between them. “She’s probably the fastest in the room, and definitely the most nimble, considering she can turn into blood and everything. Better we all travel in pairs so we don’t get picked off by whomever decided to be brave today. Besides, she’s not having to load rounds right now.” They didn’t have to ask – Flidais was already nodding along, rifle loaded and on her back, clearly understanding her role in the matter. She was easy, as long as she felt productive, and it wasn’t like she was specialized in a way they’d need otherwise. Her expertise were rifles, bombs, and body building, but not the kind that the gym offered. Vyx quickly turned to Al, and to April, who was the least armed, checking her own small pistol deftly, squinting between the two of them in consideration. Al didn’t like the way they smiled at whatever idea they had – it meant bad things, probably. At least for him. He’d been quickly learning their quirks, and a smile like that never worked out well. “Vince, you take Al up to the roof. There’s probably some kind of tower up there, right? Something we can hook a laptop into, bypass the systems with a hotspot?” They asked, and Claire nodded.

“Could work, long as your laptop battery lasts. We have a personal receiver, since we use so much damn data, and it’s powered by the backup generators, at least.” She nodded, but Al’s face was a face of protest, not acceptance, like he’d been asked to babysit someone he hated and he didn’t want to.

“Why not April?” He asked, gesturing to her, and April, for her part, shrugged, clearly unsure herself. Vyx crossed their arms.

“Well, one, you’re better with the technical side of things and this might take a hell of a beating to get it to work, so we need you where you’re best suited. Two, I’m not sending the least armed person in this room to the roof where she’s in danger.” They gestured to April’s weapon, a little three-burst pistol, which was clearly not as good at self-defense as Al’s SMGs. “Three, and most importantly, you and Vince are gonna have to be alone at some point, so we might as well get it the fuck over with.” Vyx waved a dismissive hand, as though to say there wasn’t any arguing, and Al sighed. Ultimately, he couldn’t argue with that – they were right. He’d have to have time with Vince before they were done, no matter what, and it was better to get it over with. It didn’t mean he had to like it. “Besides, April is coming with me; we’re gonna find a place upstairs to make into a command center with Claire. Help relay anything we find out, like who or what or why to the right people, without risking anyone getting shot. If you get data running again, we’ll be able to coordinate the gym bros better and get this sorted. Sound like a plan?”

“Sounds like a terrible plan, but considering we didn’t expect to get attacked today, it’s probably the best we have.” Al shook his head, turning to Vince with a sour expression. He didn’t like getting forced into this, but they didn’t have any choices. Vince was, at least, armed again, holding his rifle in his hands in a way that said he remembered how to use it. “C’mon, Vince. Let’s get this over with.” Al said, heading for the door, and Vince followed, the pair disappearing quickly as they did so. Being able to just vanish was always a good thing, and it meant that they could sneak out without getting seen. Donnie watched the door for a moment, Flidais heading for it as well, ready to follow him to the gym.

“You think they’ll be okay?” He asked, turning to Vyx, who shrugged.

“I mean, if not, they’re gonna be not okay at some point regardless. It’s like throwing up at a party: if you’re gonna do it, might as well not hold off and make yourself miserable while you do. It’s not really any use waiting for it to happen naturally.” They sighed. “I’ll make it up to Al when we’re back on the road. Be safe, both of you. I don’t know what the hell’s out there, but you should be prepared for the worst.”

“Nothing we can’t handle, babe.” Donnie leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Vyx’s forehead, and they smiled happily in response. It was hard to be worried with Donnie’s confident affection, especially considering their other partners hadn’t killed him for it yet. He turned to Flidais, a woman he hadn’t really worked with yet, and she nodded, ready and raring to go. “Now, let’s go get some backup.”

~*~

They’d gotten out without getting seen, though in doing so, they’d seen the things that had attacked them, and Donnie was, honestly, a little worried about that. Flidais wasn’t, or at least, he wasn’t sure she was, as her face never really left stoic for anything less than actual disaster; it could have been that she was, in fact, scared, or it could have been that she didn’t give much of a shit about a pack of Garou attacking the front of Molly’s office; Donnie didn’t see her grip tighten on her rifle, or he would have realized that she was, in fact, a little worried. It helped, at least, that they seemed relatively ineffective – the staff had barricaded the doors with tables almost as soon as the dust had cleared, so the influx of werewolves into the building had been all but stilled immediately, pushed down to one or two instead of the pack that they’d intended. One pressed through as they passed, but only the one, and from the sounds inside, it wasn’t great for the Garou. Of course, it meant trying to exit the building was harder than anticipated, but Flidais was all but silent and Donnie knew how to move in his city without getting caught, so they got out and onto the street without any trouble.

“So, is the apathy just like, how your face works, or are werewolves a common thing for you people?” Donnie asked, once they’d gotten a decent bit away from the building. Swinging Bimbos was a little bit of a walk, and while he knew running would probably get them there faster, he wanted to save his energy. There was a possibility they were going to run, full pelt, back, so he maintained a half-jog instead, just faster than a powerwalk but something easy to maintain without needing to do something like use his stored vitae. Flidais kept pace easily, shifting her rifle to her back.

“Would you be surprised if I said werewolves weren’t uncommon, for us?” Flidais asked, her voice that constant monotone softness that erased any and all trace of emotion she had. It was almost uncanny, really; Donnie knew Tzimisce were cold, he’d spoken to Konrad Varnhagen once or twice, and he’d even spent a little time with Flidais, at the party. He was aware that being distant and cold was sort of their thing, moreso than other clans. But Konrad had made an attempt at a joke at least once; Flidais didn’t seem like the joking type, not really, and that meant her statement chilled Donnie down to the bone.

“I’m not really surprised by much when Vyx is concerned.” Donnie replied, taking a turn down an alley. It wasn’t necessarily a shortcut, but it would get them to a different path where he was less worried about being seen. There were others, he could tell, the smell of werewolf now on the breeze – once they’d stepped outside, he could tell what they were dealing with from the smell alone, as Garou always brought the stink of dog in a way Gangrel somehow avoided – and he was worried about intercepting their backup before they got his. “They haven’t told me, much, though I know a few things, and I think they may have lied about a couple others. So you’re still a mystery. How did you get mixed up in all of this?” He asked. Flidais turned to him, and for a moment, her expression was something sad, a flicker of a frown with real emotion on her face. It almost hurt more to see it.

“I was a Malkavian, once; a ghoul.” She said, and she said it with such a lack of passion that it was almost painful, and Donnie felt himself almost wince. He could tell he was in for a hell of a story. “My domitor killed the local Archon and was executed for it. Vince took me in.” She paused, something reverent about the way she said Vince’s name, like he was truly the one that hung the moon, even if she didn’t particularly care about the moon at large. “Konrad kidnapped me in June of 2016. He had made… edits to me, over the years, some at my request. At the time, I thought he was fixing me.” She paused, this time in her walking, looking down at the form of her body with a furrowed brow and a frown – but she didn’t pause long. “Getting what he’d promised hadn’t made me feel much better, as he sired me with it, and I hardly had time to get used to the body before he did.”

“Oh shit, you’re really Konrad’s childe?” Donnie asked, because that was definitely a surprise. He’d heard a story that had implied such, but he’d hardly believed it, though he knew Konrad had childer, probably, somewhere – vampires simply didn’t get that old without siring someone. There were too many expectations regarding legacy and living past one’s own means that a Kindred without at least one childe was an exception and not necessarily a rule. Often, the only ones without childer were either young, or the lowest level grunts who were more replaceable than desirable as a sire. “I can see the resemblance.” Donnie tried the joke, the fact that both were incredibly cold people, but the look Flidais gave him – a set of raised eyebrows – said that maybe the joke got intercepted by something and didn’t quite land.

“I wouldn’t doubt that.” Flidais replied, pausing at a corner and peering around it to be sure it was safe. “After he sired me, he attempted to kill Vince. It was part of a ritual to try and raise Cain from the dead. Unfortunately for Konrad, not only is Cain not dead, my beast wasn’t entirely happy that he’d tried to kill Vince.” She looked down at Donnie with a face that said her next words were entirely serious even if they didn’t sound believable. “In a frenzy, I ripped his throat out with my teeth and diablrized him.”

“Shit,” was all Donnie could say. He’d been told the story before, once by Vyx and referenced, again, at the party, but it wasn’t the most important thing they’d said in that conversation and it was still startling to hear the same story from Flidais, a third time, because it meant it was absolutely true. The first time, he’d dismissed it; the second, he’d thought it was some kind of private joke they had. Apparently, this was really what happened.

“Lucky for him, he wasn’t easy to keep down. We ended up sharing the body for a few years while Greensboro sorted itself out. After the war, and after Vince died, Molly separated us. I’ve been told I had a decent influence on him, and that he’s had no small influence on me. But that’s what you’d expect from sharing a body for a few years.” She shrugged, starting back off, and Donnie followed her, matching her pace quickly. She’d said quite a lot of things and he was still processing most of them, even if he’d heard some of the story before.

“Vyx mentioned that, once, and I think you did, too, but I just didn’t think Konrad was the kind of guy that would let himself get eaten.” Donnie said, addressing the thing that was in front of his face. There were other things he had to process through, but they could be thought about later – like her implications that Cain wasn’t dead but was up and about somewhere, doing something. He was a little uneasy with how close half of his new friends were to very powerful people. “Even hearing it from them, and then from you, I just couldn’t bring myself to believe it outright the first time. It seemed… unreal.”

“That’s how Vince always was.” Flidais said, and something like a smile ghosted her face, for just a moment. There was something deep, buried in her, that loved Vince so fiercely that even the blood couldn’t stop it. “I’d talk to him about his involvement yourself, at some point. If you think Vyx tells wild tales, Vince has a few that put them to shame.” She shook her head, the smile fading rapidly as her thoughts turned from Vince to anything else. “Have they mentioned the name Eldest, yet? Since you’ve heard some stories.”

“Yeah, once.” Donnie furrowed his brow, looking up at Flidais with concern. Whatever it was that she was getting to, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to know. Flidais turned away from him, and he could see the very slight smirk on her face as they ducked around another corner, heading back to the street proper from their back alley shortcut. “Why?”

“Considering you’re asking why, they clearly didn’t tell you who Eldest was.” Flidais rolled her eyes at Vyx’s lack of details, her face back to being as stoic as it usually was. “Vince met her, back when he was Kine. He told me the story, once he’d remembered it. Said he’d met a young, homeless woman outside a bar. He offered her a cigarette, and a drink, though she declined, saying she couldn’t go into the speakeasy he’d found, but she wouldn’t explain why. Next thing he said he knew, he’d woken up in Statesville. Said she’d given him a full transfusion, ‘cause another Kindred had tried to eat him and she’d decided he was worth sparing. She did take his memory of the whole experience, which meant we didn’t learn about his bond until right up at the end, but she never attacked him when he didn’t know.”

“Vyx had said that altruism sort of felt like friendship.” Donnie added, recalling the little they’d said about Eldest. Whomever she was, the woman seemed like a decent enough person to know, and the transfusion filled a bunch of holes in Donnie’s head about how they’d access a discipline they otherwise couldn’t have learned. “I figure Eldest was a really old Tzimisce? Since you all apparently know every powerful Kindred still alive?” Donnie’s tone was almost sarcastic, definitely joking, though he was serious about the guess. It was just getting funny, how many powerful people they’d met. Flidais’s smirk returned, just for a second, and that took the wind out of Donnie’s sails.

“You could say that.” She said, giving Donnie a quick look like she was judging how long to wait before she spoke again, in order to maximize impact. “Eldest was Tzimisce. That’s why she was Eldest – there wasn’t anyone older. She was our antediluvian.” Flidais let the words linger, and Donnie paused in walking, making her pause as well.

“I’m sorry – what?” He asked. It was one thing to think that Vince had met a very old Kindred, as they’d already done that dance before and he knew that was entirely possible; they were casual about Vlad Dracul himself, after all. But an antediluvian was a bigger deal than just any old Kindred, as Donnie was pretty sure most of their clan heads were dead and gone. Flidais turned to watch him, and there, that smile on her face that said she was enjoying dumping the news on him was the first real smile he’d seen, besides when she spoke about Vince, and something in him realized quickly why Vince loved her so much. The smile was her old personality, before the blood, breaking through, and if that was Flidais from before, no wonder Vince adored her. Donnie would have felt more affectionate towards her if she hadn’t been directing her teasing at him.

“Vince gave the Tzimisce antediluvian a cigarette. She saved his life from another Kindred, gave him a blood transfusion – which did count as a blood bond, mind you, so he was bonded to her – and then left him in Statesville. That’s why Vyx and Vince both can bend bone. It’s also why Vince couldn’t join us in the final battle – she could have told him to kill us and he couldn’t have disobeyed.” Flidais shrugged, letting Donnie jog to catch up to her, the look of shock still on his face. “Luckily, dying seemed to erase that, far as Konrad could tell. And she’s dead, anyway.”

“How are you people real?”

This actually got Flidais to laugh, and if Donnie hadn’t been half-panicked from the shock of learning that his partner had, at one point, been part of a man who had been blood bound to one of the most powerful Kindred possible to meet, who was also dead, and likely by their hands, too, he would have enjoyed the sound more. It was a nice laugh, all things considered. “I’ve asked myself that question more than once.” She said, shaking her head. Donnie could tell from the way the smile lingered that she was thinking of Vince. “But it’s what happens when you treat Kindred with kindness. They’re so used t’being against other people that most will crumple if you actually do something nice for them.” She turned to Donnie, giving him a look that said that, too, felt unbelievable, but she’d witnessed it enough times that she couldn’t discount it. “That’s how he managed to convince most people the world was ending – by being kind.” She turned back to where they were walking, and the smile quickly faded from her face. “Speaking of convincing people, I think that’s your gym.”

They’d found themselves in front of the same gym Vyx had crashed in front of, years before, and honestly, nothing had changed in the in-between. That was what they got for having a Kindred as the owner – most Kindred found change, especially change caused by the march of time, an anathema, especially when they themselves didn’t change at all, let alone as rapidly as time did. Donnie quickly moved past the windowless front, heading to the side door and all but kicking the thing open, ready to be well received and bring the party back to Claire, as requested.

He didn’t expect the lack of familiar faces, and he sure as she didn’t expect to be stared at.

“Lively bunch.” Flidais intoned, in a way that said she was also expecting maybe something a bit more joyous and was a bit surprised that his reaction was more confusion instead. Donnie quickly scanned the faces – mostly new, though he spotted one regular, a Brujah named Leo he’d hung out with previously – turning to Leo like he was a lifeline in a sea of weird.

“Leo, get the van started. We gotta run.” He said, his tone commanding, and Leo let the weights he was using down gently, pressing himself up from the bench. Short and squat, Leo didn’t look much like the rest of the Brujah in the room – the others were all highly muscled, though Donnie knew that, if they’d been Kine, they wouldn’t have been able to lift much at all; vanity muscles didn’t actually do work well, and they were all toned, showy muscle and very little else. One of the other Brujah – younger, feistier looking, someone Donnie hadn’t met and who looked like he at least admired the look of the guys off Jersey Shore – threw his weights to the floor, letting the sound echo and stopping Leo in his tracks as he did.

“Who the fuck are you?” He asked, cracking his neck like he thought he was hot shit. “Comin’ into the gym like you own the fucking place, givin’ us orders. Bet you’re some uppity neonate, thinks he’s hot shit.” The other Brujah cracked his knuckles, posturing. Donnie groaned – they didn’t have time for this.

“Leo, get the fucking van started.” He said, again, this time more exhausted. He turned to the other Brujah, hardly feeling the need to posture – he knew it wasn’t necessary; those that felt the need to show off never had the capacity to show up, after all – giving the other a steely glare. “And I’m the guy Claire just sent down here, ‘cause there’s werewolves attacking Molly’s office. That’s who. Now, are we doing this the easy way, or the hard way?” Donnie asked, serious. They didn’t have time for this, and they could posture it out in the van on the way. But the other Brujah only laughed, which, admittedly, the line was a bit cheesy, but Donnie was being too serious to care.

“Claire woulda texted me if there was trouble.” They cackled, stepping up closer to Donnie, trying to circle him. Flidais didn’t let him, unmoving, her resting bitch face making the other Brujah pause in his circling to go the other way. “She wouldn’t need t’send some uppity thin blood and his scary bitch,” He looked to Flidais, the insult gendered on purpose, “just to come get us.”

“You know, his arms would be good decorations. Not like they’re doing him much now.” Flidais said, and her deadpan tone at least had some of the other new Brujah considering their options. Leo shook his head, realizing that this was going to be a push-pull regardless, moving to the back to go get the van ready. By the time things got sorted, they’d need to run. Several of the others decided it was better to just follow the older man’s lead, leaving Donnie with the new guy and a few of his more die-hard cronies. Of course he would have cronies – men with little power often surrounded themselves with others so they felt like they had some.

“I got it, Flid.” Donnie held up a hand, her threat unnecessary – though it was funny, at least. The other Brujah scoffed.

“Yeah, call your weird bitch off, pretend like you don’t need her t’save your ass.” They stepped up, again, this time within grabbing distance of Donnie, trying the thing weak men often did where he pressed himself so close that Donnie could smell his rank breathe, almost nose to nose. Like the idea that they might get closer, like they might kiss, should frighten Donnie somehow. It didn’t – though, Donnie wouldn’t have made out with the man anyway, not without a breath mint, as he smelled like protein powder and Axe body spray – and Donnie didn’t even blink at the sudden closeness. “Give me one good reason why I listen to your punk ass and maybe I’ll consider it.”

Donnie didn’t hesitate, giving only a shrug of okay, sure, before slamming his head forward into the other Brujah’s skull. The issue with posturing so close, of course, was that he’d gotten within smashing distance, and clearly, he’d been too up his own ass to realize he’d stepped into the splash zone. Skull met skull, and predictably, the other Brujah reeled, stepping back like he could probably regain balance before finding that fact false and toppling to the floor, splayed out on his back. Donnie put his hands on his hips.

“That good enough, or do you want me to make more of a point?” Donnie asked, looking down at the man, before scanning the other faces. They seemed suitably shocked, and a couple seemed cowed. “Claire didn’t text you ‘cause the cell tower’s gone out, idiot. That’s why she sent me. Just ‘cause I spent the past couple years in a different city doesn’t mean this wasn’t my gym and my crew. So step up or I’ll make sure the Big Guy ships you out to somewhere fucking boring.” Donnie growled the threat out, the idea that this would be boring worse than anything else; a tough situation would only give the man a good reason to fight, and often, which Donnie figured he wanted. Boring meant they’d do nothing for days on end, and clearly, the threat held.

“Alright, Jesus.” The Brujah pushed himself to his feet, rubbing his head with the back of his wrist. The head butt had, unfortunately for him, left a mark. “I’ll listen this time. But if you want control of this gym again, you’ll have t’fight me, one on one, fair like.” He added, trying to save face. Donnie scoffed.

“I’m willing to push your ass into the ground any day of the week, kid.” He snapped, and that threat seemed to wilt the other Brujah instead of embolden him. Sure, he thought he could take Donnie, but the fact that Donnie didn’t seem to give a shit took the wind from his sails.

“Name’s Casey.” The Brujah, Casey, seemed to take the most issue with being called kid, and Donnie chuckled at the mild protest. He’d gone from thinking he was hot shit to thinking less of himself in only moments, and it was almost hilarious if they hadn’t been in a rush.

“Fine, Casey. I’ll fight you. But after we’re done here, and only after you gain a sense of self preservation. Molly would rip me a new one if I kept killing her neonates. Now get in the damn van.” Donnie pointed at the back door, the name drop solidifying his station in a way that couldn’t be doubted, and the others slowly filed towards the back, grumbling all the way about his apparent hostile takeover. He sighed, watching Casey slink back with them, his tail between his legs as he did so, hands in his pockets. “At least they’ll get to blow off that steam on a werewolf.”

“He needed it.” Flidais said, turning to follow Donnie as he, too, headed for the van. It wouldn’t do to make him run the whole way back; he’d thought they might, sure, but since the van worked, he wanted to save his energy for the fight. Plus, he wasn’t about to show up late. “I would have taken his jaw for talking back.” She added. Donnie winced.

“That sounds like a thing Konrad would do.” He said, pushing through the various back doors until he was outside, at the van, where the others were piling into the back. Leo already had it running, the window down and his one arm hanging out of it, a cigarette in his hands.

“It is.” Flidais didn’t elaborate, just confirming that Konrad did, in fact, do exactly that thing once, before hopping up onto the back of the van. “Shall we?” She asked. Donnie nodded, dismissing the thought of Konrad ripping someone’s jaw off for disobedience and hopping onto the back. There were too many Kindred in the van to actually shut the thing, but they’d ridden with the doors open before, and as long as everyone hung on tightly, there wouldn’t be any issues. He held on, smacking the side of the van hard, twice, to let Leo know he was in, and the engine started off without a beat of hesitation.

He just hoped the whole incident didn’t mean they’d all be late.

~*~

The elevators didn’t work, so they’d had to take the stairs, and the walk up the twenty stories was, much to Vince’s distaste, silent.

Al didn’t say a word the entire time, holding his SMG loosely next to him and taking the stairs like he had suddenly realized that no longer breathing meant not needing to breathe hard from all the walking, and Vince followed as best he could. He didn’t press as they passed door after door onto new floors, and he didn’t press as they made it to the roof, nor did he press as Al found the tower – it wasn’t hard, tall and extremely visible, nestled between a bank of HVAC units that weren’t on, considering it was mid-winter – and settled in next to it, plugging his laptop into the side and typing something quickly. Vince didn’t even press as he found himself a place to settle, lowering his rifle over the side and sighting one of the Garou on the ground floor. They were tiny pinpricks at that distance, but he, at least, had a scope – thanks to, of all people, Al.

“We’re going to have to talk about this at some point.” Vince said, finally, once they’d both gotten into a rhythm and had continued in silence through it all. His words were met with only the clack of Al’s keyboard. “Vyx isn’t going to let us back on the bus until we do.”

“I don’t know what they think we have to talk about.” Al said, and his tone was bitter like black coffee, and clearly, just the sound of his own voice was enough of a point to answer his question. He sighed. “There’s nothing to discuss.”

“Tell them that.” Vince replied, looking over his shoulder for just a moment before resighting a wolf and pulling the trigger. He only just heard the sharp yelp of a dog from below to signal he’d managed a hit. It wasn’t a kill shot, but injuries were injuries, regardless. His skills weren’t great, but he wasn’t that bad of a shot. Even if he’d only learned how to fire a gun in 2016. “Or tell me what’s bothering you. Those are the options. Unless getting left behind in NYC is something you wanna entertain.”

“The list of things that bother me is much longer, Vince.” Al said, barely taking his eyes away from the screen, but he could feel something building in him that just wanted to go. Whether that was over the side of the roof, down the stairs, or off, he couldn’t be sure. “You are at the top, for the record.”

“See, that’s why we gotta talk about this.” Vince said, turning again to Al, and only turning back to the rifle when Al gave him a scathing look. His job was mostly to stop people getting to Al, and they were at the top of a tall building; he didn’t have anything else to do, not unless one of them started climbing the walls. He checked, found he didn’t have a target, and pulled back again. “’Cause as far as I know, I haven’t done anything else wrongand what I have done, I’ve been punished for. And since we’re going to be in close proximity, we can’t just let this sit and fester.” Vince turned back, again, to see Al’s face staring at him like Al had briefly considered throwing him from the top and hadn’t fought back the urge enough yet to take it off the table. Apparently, Vince had decided for him that the direction he was going was off.

“Vince, you realize that the shit you did doesn’t stop being fucking awful just because you think you’ve been punished already.” Al snapped, typing away furiously, but it was clear Vince had managed to loosen the valve on Al’s issues enough to make him snap. Vince didn’t have to say anything else, as like escaping steam, the words just started out of Al at a quick clip. “But, sure, since you want to do this right now, let me list all the ways you’ve ruined my life, just for the record. So we’re all on the same page.” Al resisted the urge to slam his laptop closed – it would have been dramatic, but he needed to keep running the connection program and it didn’t run while the laptop was off – setting it down to let it do its thing instead and turning to Vince with a look of fury. “Honestly, first things first, dating me was sure a fucking choice. I’m god damn lucky Pip saw the value in us staying together and didn’t beat me to a pulp more than once for it.”

“You were the one that kissed me.” Vince returned fire, turning back around to face that look of fury, straight down the barrel. Al didn’t flinch, though the confidence had him a little on edge; Vince, before, would have shrunk, looked guilty, at least, but this Vince didn’t. This Vince had lived through dying, after all – confidence had arrived and he wielded it like it was second nature. “And you never said Pip hurt you. How the hell was I supposed to know that?”

“I don’t know, Vince, maybe it was the fact that he was trying to raise Lillith to curse her existence and destroy all vampires including himself.” Al’s snarl was pointed, and he expected Vince to shrink, and he didn’t, which only made Al madder. “If you think a guy willing to kill himself to get rid of the shit that wronged him wouldn’t smack his ghouls around, you’re an idiot.” Al shook his head, dismissing the images that surfaced in his brain at the thought; Pip, looming over him, crossbow in one hand and the horrible, plague doctor’s mask staring down at him with unblinking, unfeeling rage behind it. Al shivered. Pip didn’t hurt him that often, and the times he had, Al had rationalized the incidents away as something he’d caused – but that moment, that one moment, he hadn’t blamed himself. He couldn’t – Vince was the one good thing to happen to him, and if he’d blamed himself for that choice, he would have crumbled. He would have doubted every good thing he’d ever done for himself and fallen further into despair than he already had.

“Oh, speaking of being an idiot, then we have the fact that you got me pregnant!” The fury redoubled, Al quickly turning back to his computer to select a few things and keep it running. The pause wasn’t long enough to reply, and Al kept going unabated. “And that’s from someone who didn’t have a uterus. I’d gotten that removed! So not only did I have to deal with being pregnant for a bit, then I had to have a fucking Antribu Toreador drag that out of me a second fucking time – cause apparently, you fucked up the other notable flesh-crafter we know, thanks – and then we had to fucking live with that damn ghoul of yours for the whole nine months! Oh, and of course I wasn’t allowed to just ignore it, no, I had to experience a sympathetic pregnancy with it. I was miserable and it was because you were too stupid to realize that Fae don’t give a shit about what’s possible, they’ll make it possible.” Al crossed his arms, watching Vince line up another shot and pull the trigger. Something howled below. “Oh, and then there was having to watch that ghoul die – it could have been me, mind you – and then dispose of her, after watching the baby, that smug bitch that you made a deal with, and your fucking prize you traded for waltz the fuck back out like no big deal and leave us alone in that house.”

“I’ve said I was sorry, Al. I can’t undo what’s already done.” Vince tried, but Al wasn’t really listening anymore, having started off on a tear and not finding any reason to stop. Vince’s words hardly registered, as he was too consumed in listing off all the bullshit they’d been through.

“Not to mention, you didn’t come get me when I finally decided to leave Pip. No, Dan Motherfucking Nelson, the laziest son of a bitch I have ever met, had to be the one to come fucking get me. Dan! Do you know how fucking bullshit it is that the guy who won’t get out of bed for anything less than a box of truffles had to be the one to come find me and not my husband?” Al threw his hands up, and he didn’t see the look of hurt Vince had on his face at the way he said the word husband, like the moniker was the invitation of a curse and not one of the best things that had happened to them. “Oh! And then you died! You died and you broke my fucking heart and then you didn’t come back for ten god damn years and now you’re sitting there trying to pretend like the world didn’t move on without you while you were wandering the spirit doing Cain knows what!”

“I was talking to my dead dad, I’ll have you know.” The voice that came out of Vince was low, hurt, punished and beaten and standing back up with the power of something like friendship and something like rage, the protagonist in Vince’s veins finally receiving the gift they needed to punch back hard, and Al almost reeled from the tone. He’d expected that he’d list off the atrocities, get an apology, have a quick chat about change, and Vince would move on with things, still angry and still seething but able to be cordial enough for Vyx’s sake – but this was unexpected. “But hey, you’ve been so wrapped up in your perspective of things you clearly didn’t think about other people, which is very you, Al.” Vince set his rifle down, turning around to face Al properly. “So let me elucidate you a bit on my side of this sordid story. Cause I found this guy, right? And boy, was I in a terrible place, considering my girlfriend had been kidnapped, changed against her will, consumed her sire in a rage and then booked it like she had a late train to fucking catch. And then this guy, who I only sort of liked at the time, kissed me and now I’m finding out that apparently, that was my fault. What, am I being punished because you can’t tell the difference between me and Misha?”

“You keep his name out of your fucking mouth—“ Al started, real anger there. Misha, his first husband, from the ‘40s, was not a subject he liked broaching, let alone like this, but Vince laughed, loudly, at the words, cutting Al off.

“Or what, Al?” Vince asked, snappy and bitter. “You gonna kill me? Damn, you just got me back and you’re already threatening me again. I know you won’t though – you like my other half way too much and we both know if you kill me that’s over.” Vince shook his head, leaning forward with his elbows on his crisscrossed knees. “But I date this guy anyway, right, ‘cause he’s a mess and he needs a guiding hand, and the entire time, I have this sneaking sensation that he’s lying to me constantly. But it’s nothing I have evidence for, right, ‘cause he’s a spy so he’s good at that shit, so I’m trapped between being mistrustful of my own spouse and not being able to prove why. The gymnastics I did to ignore that were intense. Do you know how much that sucks?” Vince put both hands out, a weird bid for connection in their shared anger. “Especially ‘cause I was the only one willing to defend you! No one likes your stupid fucking persona, Al, and I know that’s kind of the point but do you know how fucking hard it is to constantly defend someone who’s so impalpable to be around that the Tremere doesn’t want any of it?”

“I didn’t ask you to defend me.” Al’s tone was bitter, harsh, but almost guilty; he’d never asked for any of the things Vince was blaming him for, after all. Vince laughed, this time less loud and less cackling and more a bitter, sad thing.

“No, you just put me in between you and them and let me take all the bullets meant for you instead, just so you could tell me later that you never asked.” Vince shook his head, waving the digression off. “You knew I wouldn’t fucking stop defending you once I started, and you took advantage of that, which is what characterized our entire relationship. You constantly and consistently manipulated me, from the moment we met, for your gains or Pip’s gains and never with mine in mind. And then! You betrayed us! Not only that, you pointed a gun at the one person who thought you were an irredeemable piece of shit and her loyal-dog of a boyfriend and you’re surprised they still hate you?!” Vince leaned back against the low wall that surrounded the top of the roof, looking at Al with an expression that was almost incredulous. “You know what that put me through, Al? Everyone hated me. Because I had an inkling, a Malkavian driven, facts-light, gut feeling that you weren’t on our side, and because I didn’t tell them immediately and let them kill you, oh, back in May of 2018 when I’d realized it, I spent a half hour having everyone I’d ever been friends with ripping me a new asshole. I didn’t point a finger at you and go I think Al’s going to betray us and didn’t let them put you in the dirt for it and that made me just as bad as you. Because you couldn’t keep your double-crossing bullshit under wraps until the end, I was punished.” Vince paused, his voice shifting to something more somber, more sad. “I almost left them, Al. I almost walked away. I know it’s hard for you to conceptualize, ‘cause you never actually let anyone be your friend, but losing every single person you’ve ever liked in one fell swoop? I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.”

“I didn’t know.” Al replied, and there was something soft to his tone, too. Now that the anger had been let out, there wasn’t anything left, just sadness, and softness, and somberness. Both of them fucked up, and it was clear enough now that neither were blameless for their actions. Al had been an asshole and made Vince’s life harder than necessary; Vince had made poor choices that made Al’s life harder than necessary. Vince shook his head.

“You never asked.” He said, turning to Al with anger, still, just softer, quieter. It was a brooding anger, one that had settled into his being over a long time. “And apparently, not knowing or not asking isn’t something that will absolve you of your fucking sins, right? Or do the rules only apply to me?” Vince found himself snapping again, and he exhaled, turning back to his rifle. He had to blow off steam, and putting some rounds into some werewolves was a good way to do it. The rifle crack was quick, and the yelp was quicker.

Silence settled between them, and there was hurt to that quiet, but it wasn’t an active hurt. It was the sore pain felt after one had been hurting for a while, and the real pain had left, but the echoes of that pain remained. The imprint of hurt left in the sand of their lives, even if the pain had walked away. Eventually, Al sighed, something sad and heavy and tired.

“I’m sorry, Vince.” He said, and Vince turned, and there were words on his lips, and Al could feel the phrase and the way he was going to say it, the bitter and hurt sass in his tone, so Al put up a hand to cut him off. “And I know! I know! It doesn’t fix it. I know. But you should hear it anyway.” He said, and Vince pressed his lips together in a thin line, his eyes watching Al closely for a long second, before he nodded in acceptance of that and turned back to fire another shot. He could handle hearing it, as long as Al knew it didn’t undo things. That’s what Al had told him before, after all. He’d never accepted a sorry. Al let the silence linger, again, hesitant to move forward for risk of the pain, as it seemed any movement would. “So, is this it, then? We’re just going to hate each other for the rest of eternity?”

“I don’t hate you, Al.” Vince said, turning back from the rifle with a look on his face that was sadder than it was angry. “I’ve never hated you. But you spent our time together destroying everything you touched. It was like… like Pip’s influence over you was an acid, and everything you had in your hands melted, eventually. And it sucked to be dissolved like that, Al.” Vince paused, turning back to the rifle, following the werewolves with the scope but not firing. “The man who died wasn’t me, anymore. He was a hollow shell and there wasn’t anything left. Just a soul made of swiss cheese and nothing but glimpses of a woman on the stairs and the smell of petrichor on a battlefield. You can’t make a man out of that, not anymore.” Vince didn’t turn, but his back hunched, a question in his shoulders that Al could see. “Did you shoot me, Al?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Vince nodded, breathing in, deeply, once, and then breathing back out. He didn’t need it, but it felt good to do. “I didn’t think you did, but I had to ask.” He paused, again, letting the silence settle, letting it linger. He needed to get comfortable with silence, because part of his brain itched to fill it with something and he couldn’t live that life for eternity. He was a talker, but he had to learn to rest. “I think we’re not good for each other, Al. Not as we are.”

“No shit.” Al turned back to the laptop, starting back on his typing, the program having finished running and needing his further attention. “I’m surprised we both didn’t end up dead, like some fucked up, gay as shit Romeo and Juliet deal.”

“More Twelfth Night now, but that’s neither here nor there.” Vince actually chuckled, and something about the sound of his laugh actually brought a smile to Al’s face for all of a second, which was more than he’d expected. “But I think… I think we bring out the worst in each other.” Vince added, turning back from the rifle and letting it sit on the ledge again. “I think there’s a version of you in there that I still love, but I think you’ve stomped that version of you down into the dust to keep it safe from my bullshit. And I hope there’s a version of me you still love, somewhere in here. I don’t know where it is – dying sort of rearranges you a bit, y’know – but I want to try and find it, if it’s something you want. But those versions of us aren’t here, right now, and the versions of us that are aren’t compatible.”

“So then, we, what? Don’t date?” Al asked, softly. The idea that they might actually move past things was, well, not something Al had ever pictured. He’d expected Vince to hate him, and reject him, and leave him again, like he’d done before. He’d expected they’d get cordial and then they’d drift and he’d end up alone, again, without him, like they had done before. This was different, and new, and strange, and he wasn’t sure how to advance. Vince shrugged.

“Yeah. Just… be friends.” Vince tried, and he didn’t hate the words. He still loved Al, and that was clear, but he loved Al like clownfish loved anemones – carefully and with a lot of protection before they tried again. He had to remain guarded, before they started off on the same bad roads, but there was a way they could try a second time, he knew. Something in him knew, in the same way he’d always known what Al was really thinking. “If being friends does something else, then we’ll sort that as it happens. But just… friends, right now. We have enough partners between us, we don’t have to make out.” Vince chuckled, and that actually got a chuckle out of Al.

“We’ll see how well that goes, but… I’d give it a try.” Al sighed, clicking around a little and finding the thing he needed. He was almost up and ready. “I am sorry, Vince. I’m sorry I put you in positions you didn’t deserve.”

“Hey, I had time to think when I was dead, and I’m pretty sure it’s mostly Pip’s fault. Like yeah, you did some shit and that sucks, but ultimately, Pip’s to blame and you did gift him a rocket to the face, so.” Vince shrugged, leaning back on the wall again, watching Al work like he was debating saying something and wasn’t sure if he should. “Speaking of dead people, when I was dead, I… it was complicated, but I got to talk to Misha.” He paused, letting Al look up from the computer, letting the shock of it roll across Al’s face in a wave. Misha was, as far as either were aware, eighty years dead at least. Al watched Vince for a long, long second, unblinking, before the man continued. “He, uh. Well, I know your dead-name now, if you need proof of that, ‘cause he called you by it, but… he was pretty cool with your updated pronouns, and he wanted me to tell you he still loved you. And that he was proud of you, for everything. I did kinda tell him you saved the world.”

“You lied to my dead husband?” Al asked, and there was something in the tone that was part asshole persona, but there was also kind of a joke in there, too, and shock that Vince would think such a thing, and Vince pushed himself up from the place he’d sat, heading over to sit next to Al on the roof. Al didn’t lean onto him, and he was okay with that. “I can’t believe you told Misha I saved the world.”

“I would never lie to him.” Vince joked back, and that got a real laugh out of Al, something bright and happier. “You were the last piece, Al. If you hadn’t come back, I don’t know if we would have won. We wouldn’t have been prepared. You helped save the world, and I just told him the truth.” Vince paused, curling his knees to his chest and waiting a long second before speaking again. “He wanted you to be happy. He didn’t seem to mind if it was with me, or him, or anyone. I told him I’d do my best to make you happy, and I’m sorry I apparently failed.”

“I was happy, Vince. I was as happy as I was gonna get.” Al said, opening up a messenger program and sending a quick message to Claire through it. As soon as it cleared, he would know the data was good again. “I was in an abusive mentorship with an undead hunter hell bent on killing an entire community ‘cause they were a net bad, having spent the first fucking sixty years of my life working alone as a spy. Having anyone on my side was a delight. I’m sorry I didn’t show my appreciation, much.”

“Hey, you could have shot me and you didn’t. We take that, here.” Vince shook his head, leaning over just slightly to bump Al’s shoulder with his own. “I still love you, even if we’re just friends. I’ll always love you. But I can’t keep loving the part of you that you won’t show anyone else, because it makes us both look like assholes and we can’t have two.”

“I’ll work on it.” Al shook his head – it wasn’t a lie, but he wasn’t about to just shake being an asshole, either; it was too helpful to keep up - watching the message ping through and sighing. “Data’s back up. I have to hang here to monitor it, but Claire can coordinate, now. You should probably get back to shooting. Donnie’s probably almost back.” Al said, but he leaned over, bumping Vince’s shoulder, once, as the man got up. Vince stopped where he stood, looking down at the blond man beneath him. “So… we’re okay?” Al asked, looking up. Vince nodded.

“As okay as we’re gonna get, I think. Which is better than what we were before.” He said, moving back to his rifle and taking up the position. “Luckily, when you’ve hit rock bottom and not okay, the only place to go is back to being okay again, y’know? Nowhere to go but up.” He turned his head, giving Al a cheeky grin, and Al rolled his eyes.

“Oh good, we’re back to the weird shit. Missed that.” He said, but he smiled all the same, seeing Claire’s excited series of thumbs up on the messenger app that told him she had gotten the message. Perfect. Now all he had to do was chill. Chill, and figure his shit out. But the world seemed a little less dark, at least.

It felt good to be okay. He’d take that.

~*~

A werewolf’s head exploded in a shower of viscera and blood. Vyx threw the bolt, roughly, and sited another head.

They’d found a room on the 5th floor that seemed appropriate enough, and Claire had set up what she called her mobile command center from there. It was just her laptop and her phone, of course, but it wasn’t the size of the command center that mattered, anyway – she could do anything she needed from what she had, and that was what really mattered. Once Al finished his job, her phone would act like a mobile hotspot, and then she could run just about anything she needed from her computer; her messages, her calendars, her contacts, all of it was synced, so she could access it from anywhere, and she knew all her people could see it, too. April sat at her computer, running a program she’d installed from a flash drive that was supposed to help; not necessarily against the lack of power, but against the techomancy that had been employed to put them in that position in the first place.

“You alright?” Claire asked of Vyx, watching out of the window as they splattered another wolf’s brains on the sidewalk. Being on the 5th floor, their distance was much less and their accuracy was much greater, though the Garou kept on coming all the same. They were prepared, and their numbers weren’t small – dozens lingered outside the doors, and many had already entered the building, not to mention backup that was very likely incoming. Donnie needed to hurry. “You’re throwin’ that bolt kinda hard.”

“This just isn’t exactly how I expected the first stop on our road-trip vacation to go.” Vyx grumbled, lining up another shot. They could see another group of Garou heading in from around the corner, and they quickly switched focus, taking out the lead before they could regroup. They weren’t really doing much to thin numbers, but they were sure as shit keeping the others occupied. “Yeah, let’s go have a relaxing, bonding roadtrip. Whoops, nope, never mind! Here’s fuckin’ werewolves!” They groaned, taking out another wolf’s knees and watching them collapse.

“Vyx, you know what Vince went through, right?” April asked, from the computer, typing away. Vyx had no idea what she was doing – the computer screen looked like that hacker-typer website Vince had visited once or twice in his youth, which was to say it looked like bullshit, but they weren’t sure if that was the blood or just reality – but they also didn’t really care. Hacking was her thing, and Al’s thing, though probably not their collective thing together. April didn’t seem like she was much into anyone else in the polycule, probably for the best. Closing off a group like that into a complete circle was a bad idea – something about echo chambers and making an inner and an outer group that Vyx wasn’t really into.

“I was there for every millisecond, questioning every decision he made. Well, kinda. I was also barely cognizant.” Vyx shrugged, pulling back from the window to pull the magazine from the rifle, pulling a bunch of loose bullets from a pile on the table and filling it again. They only had the one magazine, so they had to manually load it every ten shots. It was annoying, but they hadn’t exactly packed for combat.

“Then you know this is fairly standard when he’s involved.” April replied, hardly looking up. “I had a friend, once, online, who said some people were just always in the eye of the storm, as it were. Bad stuff follows people like Vince. It just sort of happens.” She shrugged.

“I’m still pissed it happened on my fun polycule vacation. Like… I know Vince and Al gotta talk and that’s all well and good but I was hoping they’d get to talk where I was kinda in eyeshot just so I could get between them if it went bad? Like I’m not worried about Donnie, Flid’s probably just scaring the piss out of him at most, but Vince and Al might really kill each other if it escalates too quickly. Not to mention, if something happens to anyone.” Vyx grumbled, making a noise of frustration as the bullet refused to load into the magazine. They considered throwing it, but stayed their hand, setting it aside and grabbing another.

“How do you even manage that many partners?” Claire asked, picking up the bullet and examining it. There wasn’t anything wrong with it, Vyx’s hands were just shaking, their frustration and their nerves clear. They really were worried about Al and Vince. “I mean, not technically, I got how you manage a calendar with six people, I manage like four calendars with several hundred people, each. But emotionally. How the fuck do you manage that many partners?” She looked down, and Vyx didn’t look up at her, slamming the magazine back into the rifle with maybe more force than necessary.

“Very carefully.” They said, leaning back out of the window again and firing another quick shot off. They followed their target – he hadn’t died, just been winged, the bastard – pulling the trigger again, but nothing happened when they did, just the hammer falling and then nothing. They groaned, pulling back through the window and yanking the magazine from the rifle, hard, looking into the body like they could just pluck the offending round from the breech and call it a day. After a moment, however, they let out a breathe, realizing their frenzy wasn’t exactly helping things. “Sorry, I just… It’s hard, y’know? Trying to keep six people from killing each other. Especially when a good number of them have good reasons to do so.”

“Then why have that many partners? Clearly, this is more of a hassle than it’s worth, right?” Claire asked, sitting down on the table Vyx was sitting at. Vyx started to pull rounds from the magazine and examine them, unsure why the rifle misfired, and Claire absently stacked the cleared bullets on their end so they didn’t roll off the table as they were placed there. “Like, four calendars is hard shit, but I don’t hate doin’ it.”

“I… Honestly, it’s probably good for you to know this, too, April, even if we’re not like… a thing.” Vyx gestured between the two of them, indicating that they weren’t really dating but her proximity was enough. “But ultimately, long and short, this? This is much better than me not having enough partners.” They said, leaning back against the wall with a soft sigh, closing their eyes. The conversation never got easier, even if they’d had it six times. “I think my brain isn’t right. Like, I’m a Malk and I know that means a level of weird is normal, but I think there’s more to it than that. Like, for instance, the Madness Network? That thing Malks send messages into sometimes? I’m always connected to it.”

“Really?” Claire asked, her tone less pressing and more interested. Vyx was an odd duck among a flock of odd ducks, after all. “Like, right now?”

“Yeah. There’s… three different people singing three different musicals, people keep trying to sample their mix tapes through the network which sucks because they’re always bad, and I can hear the conversation about the werewolves spreading.” They said, tuning in briefly and regretting it, keeping their eyes closed the entire time. The mix tapes were the worst, because apparently, it was not limited to one or two towns, nor was it anyone who was actually good at making music. A captive audience was a captive audience, after all. “But it’s not just hearing it, y’know. Like… if it were just background chatter, I wouldn’t care. But like… have either of you ever been alone with your own thoughts for a long time?”

“Fairly often, yeah.” April shrugged, and Claire shrugged as well, less sure about her own experience with her own thoughts but knowing the question had been answered well enough to not need her response. “There’s a lot of them – ADHD, right? - but I manage.”

“What does your voice sound like? To your head?” Vyx asked, opening one eye to look at April sidelong. April watched them, and her face twisted in a way that said she didn’t understand the question. “So like, think a thought to yourself. Whatever the hell you want. Tell yourself your favorite food or something. Then tell me – what does that voice sound like?” They paused, letting April think on it for a second, and Claire watched them like she wasn’t sure exactly where they were going with it, but she was intrigued.

“I mean, it sounds like me?” April phrased it like a question, because while her answer was true, she wasn’t sure that’s what Vyx wanted from the conversation. They nodded, going back to unjamming their rifle in a way that was much calmer. Having taken a second, they were much less stressed and the process was easier. “Isn’t that what it’s supposed to sound like?”

“I don’t know, honestly.” Vyx shrugged, reaching into the body of their rifle and not watching as their fingers rooted around in it, trying to see what was wrong by feel alone. All of the bullets in the magazine were fine, so it meant the dud was stuck in the body somewhere, fucker. “Doesn’t really matter. Point is, you were in your, what, twenties when you were ghouled? So you had at least twenty years with your own thoughts and your own head-voice in there, so you know that girl.” They paused, finally fishing the round from the body of the rifle, and a quick inspection showed that the back of the cap had been indented somehow, so the striker simply hadn’t hit it. They threw that bullet across the room in retribution – it deserved it. “Meanwhile, I was sprung, fully forth from Vince’s head like Athena made flesh. I have had a brain with a voice in it for… just less than a decade. And that entire decade, that voice had been crowded out by a bunch of other voices.”

“Imagine,” they added, setting the rifle down now that the offending bullet was dislodged, heading for the magazine and beginning to reload it, “You hear a voice in your head and that voice says something like, damn, Al’s a fucking bastard. Al has to die. I hate Al. I hate everything about him. I hate his mullet and his persona and his stupid fucking voice. You, knowing your brain-voice, could easily go, hey, I didn’t think that, and dismiss whomever was in your head as an idiot. But I can’t tell the difference as easily.” They paused, picking up the rifle, something in their hackles rising like they didn’t like what came next, slamming the magazine into it. “If that showed up in my head, and it was strong enough, and mad enough, and I didn’t have anyone there around me, there’s a decent chance I’d think it was my thoughts and act on them.”

“Have you acted on them before?” Claire asked, seriously, like she needed to know how many crimes Vyx was hiding from her, and the way Vyx looked up said the answer was a number larger than what Claire would be okay with.

“You think this paranoia about it came from nowhere?” They asked, an answer in return without admitting they’d done anything at all. It was better if Claire didn’t know. “Being around people that know me helps. Talking helps. Anything that keeps my inner head-voice making noise so I keep an idea of what it sounds like active. ‘Cause being alone, I lose that. I can’t tell you what my own head sounds like when I haven’t said words in a week, y’know? And when I lose that, I risk anyone’s voice becoming my voice, and when that happens, well… I’ve seen how everyone treats Al, and he had the excuse of being abused.” They leaned out of the window, sighting another wolf and pulling the trigger, finding the satisfying bang to their liking. “Not to mention Glamis. Like, I know how most Kindred see me. I’m a liability, I’m insane, and probably better off dead. I don’t need to give them a reason, especially one I can’t control well.”

“People don’t think you’re like that, Vyx.” Claire tried, but she was interrupted by a fairly hefty bang, like Vyx had planned the shot to cut her off.

“Then why did they execute my grandsire without a trial?” They asked, almost rounding a little on Claire. “Why was it that Vince had to beg and grovel just to be believed? Why did he have to all but throw himself at the feet of his friends for them to realize he was telling the truth? If people really don’t think I’m just an out-of-my-mind walking series of problems, why do they treat us like it?”

“Because Malkavians have a bad rap, Vyx.” April was the one to answer the question, and she did it in a way that said that she hated it, too, but she knew the answers they wanted. She sighed, pushing her laptop back from her, as all it needed to do was run until they received word from Al. “I’ve been around for a while, maybe less than some, but I’ve spent time online on Kindred social media, and it’s… I don’t think I’ve met anyone who’s excited to meet another Malkavian. At best, it’s oh, good, got another one.”

“Yeah, but why?” Vyx asked, turning back to the window. They could, at least, help with fire support while they listened. April paused a moment, considering her words before she spoke.

“Well, I’ve worked a little with Damon, and I know his issue is that you make him feel stupid.” She said, and that had Vyx’s head turning, like they didn’t understand how they’d make a man like Damon Wellington feel stupid. Damon was both highly intelligent and so far up his own ass that he couldn’t have contained his ego if he tried. April almost chuckled at the expression. “This is mostly from Vince, since I haven’t seen you interact with Damon, but Vince would just… say things. Wild things, no context. And he’d have so much certainty to his voice and it wouldn’t make any sense, but then we’d ask, and he couldn’t explain anymore. What he’d said was the simplest he could make it, y’know? That man’s a lure, or you need better roots, and he’d stare like he couldn’t understand why we didn’t get the answer. And when you don’t get the simplest version of something, well… it’s like if I told you two plus two equals four and you didn’t get it – you’d feel dumb, right?”

“Not to mention, even if they do get it, lots of older Kindred don’t like being told they don’t know what’s goin’ on around them.” Claire added. It was easier to respond now that she wasn’t alone – she hadn’t wanted all of Vyx’s ire on her, and spreading it between the two of them seemed to be keeping them more level. “Molly, for instance. Loves a Malkavian, really. Some more than others. But if Marie rolled in to her hotel room right now and told her somethin’ fucking weird like, uh, I dunno, the dogs, ze bite at your heels and destroy your curtains,” Claire tried to do a French accent, and while her impression was okay, her normal accent meant it sounded odd, “She’d struggle to believe it ‘cause she’s supposed to know everything going on in her domain. And here’s Marie, rolling in to tell her that’s wrong, she’s blind, there’s shit happening and she doesn’t know about it. You think that goes over well for a lotta Kindred, or you think maybe being challenged about their rule gets their hackles up?”

“I’d hope that if a Malk rolled in to say hey, there’s this guy and he’s trying to end the world, they’d at least believe that, but y’all still struggled.” Vyx shrugged, but they at least were starting to get it, even if they didn’t like it.

“But that’s also the problem.” Claire got up from her seat on the table, pacing a little as she continued. “Let’s say you did exactly that, right? Wandered into Molly’s office on a cheery Monday morning, said hey, by the way, there’s this guy and he’s trying to end the world and kill all Kindred. But of course you’re not gonna be that direct, right, ‘cause it’s Malk shit and that’s hardly ever direct. You in the general sense, I mean - you’re honestly probably the most to the point Malks we’ve ever met; you’re just the exception to prove the rule, y’know?” Claire lifted her hands as though to concede a point no one made, before continuing. “But in that event, Molly’s got two choices, far as I can see them: either react to what you said, or hold off. And I know you’re like, well, she should act, right? But if you’re wrong, or she’s wrong in interpreting your bullshit, or she doesn’t quite get it and acts anyway, she’ll cause panic in the city.”

“You have to understand before you can act, Vyx, and the thing is, you come at this with an innate understanding. You know what you mean. But we don’t.” April added, tapping away at a few things as the program wrapped up. “And sometimes, I gotta say it, Vince didn’t even know what he meant, which never helped any. And sometimes you’re gonna think something’s a big deal when it’s not, so it’s like crying wolf, right? You say hey, the, uh… dogs are destroying the curtains, I guess, and then Molly comes home to find a rat named Dog or something chewing a drape and thinks you’re overreacting. Unfortunately, the threshold for how many times a Malkavian can be wrong about something going on in the city before they’re no longer trusted is like… one or less.” She paused, smiling. “Also, looks like Al’s got things up and running, Claire, if you wanna come give it a look.”

Claire all but bee-lined to her computer, and Vyx could tell that all conversation with her would be over, for just the moment. It was time for her to do her job. April stood up, heading over to stand next to Vyx, watching the wolves out of the window as Vince helped take care of a few of them from above. “I get that it sucks, not being treated right. Being a ghoul around you all wasn’t a peach, either. The amount of times I think you all forgot I could die from a gunshot was enough to be kind of scary.”

“Sorry.” Vyx said, softly, but Claire put a hand on their shoulder and shook her head, as though to say they didn’t need to say anything.

“The big thing is, Vince proved Kindred could change. That being a net bad wasn’t a thing everyone did. And that’s great, ‘cause before Vince, I think a lot of people could have been convinced that was true and now it’s clear it’s not.” She smiled down at Vyx, trying to be reassuring. “You just came in at the hard part, where we have to keep making people change. They will. They have before. Just… be patient, y’know?” She chuckled. “Keep surrounding yourself with partners, if that helps, I’m not knocking it. Which… is there like, an upper limit I should be aware of? Are we gonna keep adding floors to Geometry?”

“There’s probably an upper limit.” Vyx shrugged, chuckling. It felt good, bonding a little with April, especially over their treatment by others. “I don’t know if I’ll find it. I think it depends on the type. Like, there’s definitely an upper limit on Kindred I’m gonna live with. We have only so much viable space and so many hours in an evening. But spare paramours on the other side of the globe? Where I can visit and then fuck off again without causing harm? Unlimited space, I think. Or at least, just a really high upper limit. Being immortal really throws any ability to estimate for a loop.” They scanned the street, a smile coming to their face. “Speaking of paramours, I think I have eyes on our collective favorite Brujah. Or at least, the van I know he drives.” Vyx gestured, and on cue, a white van ripped down the street, skidding to a stop in front of the building. Brujah piled out of the back, the doors swinging wildly as they did, the crowd including both onlooker’s favorite – Donnie. Vyx watched him launch off of the back of the van, landing, fist first, on a werewolf. A second tried to grab him, but they quickly sited the thing’s head, and they watched Donnie jump as he turned to see it splatter across his face when they took the shot. “Oops. Sorry!”

“Molly’s been notified; she’s not coming back up, but she can if we think it needs it. I don’t think it will, but it’s good to know she knows. Leo’s in the van with the gym squad and in contact with us both. I’ve got more help coming from outside of the city, but it’ll be another hour before they get here.” Claire announced, leaning back in her chair with a sigh. They were on the come down, as it were, and she could relax. “Connection’s good and the staff will get the power back on shortly. Now to just clean up the mess and make everything pretty again.”

“Brilliant.” Vyx pushed away from the window, gathering their things. “Tell Al and Vince to come downstairs. I think it’s time we finally got our hands dirty.” They turned to April with a grin. “Wanna go meet our shared boyfriend and punch a werewolf in the face?”

“Sure, but I think I’m going to use my gun.” April chuckled, giving Claire a quick nod – she’d be back for her things before they left, but she wasn’t about to drag her computer into a combat zone – before following Vyx for the door.

~*~

“Ugh, you stink.”

“Well, maybe if someone hadn’t splattered a werewolf’s head on me, I’d smell better.”

“Look, Al was the one who packed the rounds, okay? I didn’t realize they were that punchy; I just load and shoot.”

“An exploded werewolf is better than a live one.”

“And we all appreciate dead werewolves, Al, so thank you.”

Once the Brujah had arrived, the wolves had been cleared out in short order. Unfortunately, the Garou had banked on keeping the office pinned down, out of contact, and without backup, so when things went to hell for them, they didn’t have a Plan B. The only thing they had were claws, and that meant that not everyone made it out unscathed, but besides a handful of new scratches on Donnie’s arms or a bite on Al’s ankle, nothing was particularly nasty.

Kindred couldn’t turn, anyway, so there weren’t really any worries.

“Thanks for the assistance.” Claire said, waiting at the curb with them while Will re-parked the bus. As a practical man, he’d moved the bus the moment the attack had started, just so he didn’t have to worry about the diesel engine being involved in a gunfight. There was no result where that ended well. Getting it back into the parking spot wasn’t the easiest, but they were patient, at least, even as he maneuvered through endless three-point-turns to try and park it. “I don’t wanna say we couldn’t have done it without you, but it was sure as shit some good help.” She chuckled. “You Malks are good at being right where you need to, huh?”

“Or getting ourselves into shit, which is kind of the same coin but with a different face. Like one that’s got two heads.” Vince added, and there was a moment of silence after, like they had to acknowledge that he was doing the weird shit again. “What? No matter how you flip it, the results are the same, but some people will tell you they guessed it right anyway and want to take your wallet for the trouble.” He tried to explain.

“Vince, when you get weird, you get weird.” Al simply replied, giving the other a clap on the arm, which was more than anyone had seen them touch since they’d arrived. Vince beamed, anyway – Al’s hands were warm, and that had to be on purpose. “Alright, party people, back in the Vengabus!” He said, as the bus put itself into park.

“That’s Vengaboys, Al.” Vyx tried to correct him, waiting for the doors to swing open and distinctly feeling like they were heading home from school after a long day, bass on their shoulders like a half-carried backpack. They shook off the half-memory, half-feeling as Al pushed past them onto the bus.

“Vengaboys is the band. Vengabus is the song name.” He corrected them, pausing at the top of the stairs to give them a grin that said he wasn’t being seriously pedantic, just jokingly so. “Did you really expect someone like me to not be an expert on turn of the century Eurodance? C’mon, Vyx, you know me better than that.” He chuckled, and Vyx shook their head, the line of people following behind Al keeping them from getting on the bus themselves.

“Hey, Will, does this bus have an aux chord, and can you not give it to Al?” Vince asked, the last past Vyx, pausing at the top of the stairs. They heard the laughter, but not the conversation, as Claire put a hand on their shoulder, stopping them from heading up and into the bus.

“I’ll make sure Molly knows your little coterie came out to help.” Claire said, and her tone said this was a gift, a good word to the right people, as thanks for the help, and Vyx nodded, understanding. A good word with Molly had a lot of weight to it, after all. “Where’s the road taking you next?”

“Maine.” They responded, passing Vince their bag as he approached the door – he could tell they were in conversation, so he didn’t do more than stick his hand out, but they needed to store the weapons before things got moving and it was a fiddly job. “I’ve got a box up north I have to get to.” They shrugged, but their face shifted with concern as Claire’s did. “What, Maine an issue?”

“You can say that.” Claire pursed her lips, like she was trying to figure out how to say something delicately that she didn’t want to mess up. “Molly’s been tryin’ to carve out a slice of Maine for a couple years, now. She wants to try and cut off port access to our north, so anyone in Europe that wants to try something funny has to land down south or risk the wrath of the Sabbat in Toronto.” She explained, her eyes cutting up to the bus, where Donnie was visible, actively storing an instrument case above the main seating in a cubby. “Her intent is t’give Donnie control of Maine for all that help you gave us, but… it’s taking longer than she likes. She’ll figure something out, soon, so don’t worry, your boy will get paid out, but if she is struggling t’maintain a hold up there, I’d just be careful.”

“What’s out there, fae?” Vyx chuckled. They’d already had a run in with the fae – or, well, Vince had. It was a whole thing. Claire’s frown, though, said she didn’t appreciate the joke.

“Maine’s mostly woods, Vyx. It’s wild out there. Garou, fae, things beyond the fae. There’s a reason that, every time we get something concrete, we lose it within a week. Something doesn’t want us fuckin’ around up there, so just keep your head on a swivel, alright?” Claire gave Vyx a wary smile, like that promise would be enough, and Vyx nodded. They were pushy, and chaotic, and optimistic, but they also weren’t stupid. They knew better than to actually play with fire.

“Yeah, we’ll do our best. Last time I was there, I didn’t have any problems, but I also didn’t have a bus full of Kindred, so. We’ll see.” The shrugged, but they gave Claire enough of a grin to let her know they weren’t going to press. “Thanks, Claire. Stay safe.”

“You too.”

Vyx didn’t hesitate any longer, swinging themselves onto the bus, and the doors closed just as they reached the top of the stairs, the bus starting back off into traffic. Now that they were heading for out of the city, Donnie was willing to let Will drive – especially as he was a bit busy giving his arm a bit of medical attention. He’d be fine, in the end, but wounds from a Garou took a bit to heal and he didn’t want to bleed on the seats. “Stop one, done! Werewolves, punched. Everyone feelin’ alright?” Vyx asked, leaning against the partition while Will took them north.

“Could be better.” Al said, examining the bite on his ankle. “He bit through my boot.”

“Could be worse.” Donnie replied, tearing off the bandages for his arm before tossing them to Al, who caught them with a raised eyebrow and a wary frown. Not much could have been worse, to be fair – he’d been bitten and it sucked. “You could have been Kine.”

“Let’s just make sure any Garou we find keep their teeth to themselves next time.” Vince got in between them, a bit, trying to keep anything from brewing that didn’t need to. Al shrugged – Donnie wasn’t wrong – wrapping his ankle with the bandages. “Which, hopefully? We’re going somewhere without any?”

“Unfortunately, no.” Vyx sighed, shaking their head. “Next stop is Maine, which I’ve already gotten one warning for. Apparently the wolves were up from there, and that’s not everything – there’s fae, too, and things beyond the fae, as Claire said.” They exaggerated the tone, as though things beyond the fae were funny things to joke about instead of real threats, “We’re just gonna need to keep eyes open and guns on us while we’re up there. I didn’t encounter anything weird, but a bus is not a bike, so let’s just make sure we leave Maine with all our limbs.” They turned to the group, who seemed to be in agreement. “Alright! Next stop, Maine! Land of lobsters, snow, and apparently weird shit in the woods.”

Will passed beyond a building, and the city fell away from them, leaving only short buildings, suburbs, and a fading skyline. Vyx just hoped they wouldn’t regret this.  

[nosnet]

How You Remind Me

by C. Todd

Time Period:  Mid 2026

Perspective: Donnie

Rating: PG

Content Warnings: Innuendos

Word Count: 2,508

Comments: A cute and sappy moment between Donnie and Vyx. They say the L word, Lesbians obvi.

‘Hey babe, sorry I don't think I'm going to be able to get out of here tonight.’

‘Damon still have you guys beefing up the network?’

‘The coup has him worried sick about cyber security. We've been running breach attempts for the past few nights with no end in sight.’

‘Sounds like you're in for a long weekend… He can't give you a night off?’

‘Damon is persistent about this kinda stuff, I'll make it up to you soon I promise ;)’

‘Lol, alright, stay safe and try to have some fun, Tell Sven I say hi. Love you’

‘Love you too Donnie <3’

Donnie tossed his phone aside as he let out an unneeded sigh. This was the third night in a row that April had been kept in Wellington tower, helping the current ‘Tremere’ Magister rebuild after the attempted coup on his reign only a few weeks ago. It wasn't like Donnie to really harp on the fact that plans got cancelled, he just missed his girlfriend. Between April being needed at the chantry and Vyx spending most of their time with Al, he found himself spending his nights alone more often than not these days. Luckily Donnie was anything if not adaptable, and he knew tonight would be another one of movies and take out unless he decided he really needed some air. He scanned his apartment, it was nice, a little smaller than his old place in New York but it was cozy. It had enough rooms for him to have an office away from his bedroom along with a well stocked bar, and the conjoined living room and kitchen was spacious enough to have a fair amount of people in it at once. He liked it, small and cozy, even if part of him did miss sharing the apartment below him with Vyx for a brief time. Vyx had reconnected with an old flame, Al not too long after coming back to Greensboro and since the man was at the time living in a sewer they had asked if he was okay with moving to the apartment above. It wasn't a hard decision, Donnie loved Vyx even if they hadn't said the words to each other, but he realized he was a creature that did enjoy the privacy of his own space. It also didn't hurt that Donnie could now have April over and Vyx didn't feel the need to make themselves scarce. It had taken some doing, and having a lot of his things shipped from his old apartment to Greensboro, but it was all there, his computer, his bed, and a smattering of other odds and ends that brought the place together, at least he didn't feel like he was starting completely from scratch. 

The sound of boots on metal broke Donnie from his thoughts, the sound quickly followed by the loud chunk of the windows lock being forced open. Donnie didn't move, remaining relaxed on the living room couch before a familiar voice rang out. 

“Hey, QB, ya home?” Donnie felt a smile spread across his face as he leaned back. 

“That depends, you gonna bite me this time?” footsteps sounded from behind him again until Vyx leaned their head down beside his from behind the couch. Their pink braids flopping against it and their eyes, now a vibrant canary yellow, looked at him with a twinkle of mischief. 

“Only if you ask me to.” They mused, before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to Donnies lips. When they broke apart the smile was still on Donnie's face, as Vyx vaulted over the couches back and plopped down next to him. 

“No Al tonight?” Donnie asked. He wasn't upset by Vyx’s presence, quite the opposite actually. But as far as he knew they were supposed to be together tonight. Although what sort of Schedule their little polycule kept was loose at best. Vyx however, pouted for a second before leaning into Donnie. 

“Damon has him working on cyber security for at least the next couple of days. I don't think I've seen Al so excited. He's getting paid to fuck with Damon, that might be a dream come true for him.” Donnie let his arm stretch over Vyx’s shoulders. Gently pulling them ever so closer, which they happily obliged. “I figured April was probably stuck in the same boat so I wanted to come and check in on you. Didn't want one of my best guys bein all lonely.” They giggled at that and a chuckle escaped Donnie as he pressed a kiss to the top of Vyx’s head. 

“Yeah, we were supposed to hang out tonight but she's still stuck in Wellington.” He shrugged, easy with the change of plans. “So I've got nothing but time for probably the next few days.” Vyx nestled themselves against him, letting their head rest between his chest and collar. 

“So, what do ya wanna do?” They asked and Donnie took a second, he didn't really have plans outside of just taking it easy tonight, Vyx didn't have any meetings he would need to menace people at, and a night off was never really amiss. 

“Well,” he started rolling a few ideas in his brain before finally coming to the conclusion that he could do what he was originally planning but with an additional Vyx added in. “I've got a Rocky and Creed box set we could plow through. That, some Pizza and whatever cheap beer I have in the fridge wouldn't do us too bad.” Vyx nodded at that, letting the idea roll around their brain for a moment before a happy smile spread across their face. 

“A night in sounds good actually, and I haven't seen any of the Rocky movies so might as well?” There was an excitement in their voice that seemed to make his chest flutter a little. He'd been slowly working on building his self esteem, reminding himself that he wasn't going to be replaced by whatever next shiny thing entered into Vyx’s life. But the fact that they were excited to just spend the night in with him made him feel validated, especially with him diving into polyamory for them. Pizza was ordered and Donnie set up the film in the DVD player he'd brought with him. Most things had gone digital by this point but he liked having physical copies of certain things he truly held dear, and the Rocky movies were most of his childhood. 

Pizza arrived, and the room was filled with the sounds of training montages and over the top boxing scenes. Donnie was locked in, almost a kid again and living for every moment. Vyx for their part was also invested, whether it was because of the movie itself or how important it seemed to be to their boyfriend remained to be seen. The ending credits to Rocky Three were starting to roll, and the two’s position on the couch had changed. They were laying down now, Donnie being relegated now to Vyx’s pillow as well as a watch partner with their head lying comfortably on his chest. Vyx’s hand traced a pattern on his chest, finding the ridges of scar tissue from his pre embrace wound through the fabric. 

“Hey QB,” they piped up, shifting their head to look him in the eye as they did. “Can I ask you something?” Donnie studied Vyx for a moment, the way that they looked at him. Their eyes telling him more than they would in the moment. The color was the same but the spark had dimmed. It was replaced with concern and a level of melancholy that seemed alien on Vyx. 

“Go ahead.” He said, the concern plain in his voice. “Something eating at ya?” Vyx let out a breath and the look they gave Donnie said that this may be a lot. 

“I… I just wanted to make sure that you,well no, that we are okay?” They paused for a moment trying to find the words, and a scowl formed and they shook their head, as if someone was giving them particularly bad advice. “I know things have been kinda moving fast since we came down here. We moved in, I reconnected with Flid, then the whole Damon thing happened, and then it was the party and Al and.” They stopped for a moment, trying to organize their thoughts into something cohesive. Donnie wasn't going to but in, he wanted them to get whatever was bothering them out, even if part of him was scared that he had done something wrong. “I know I sort of up rooted our little domestic situation after a while, but I needed to get Al out of the sewer, he’s never been the best about taking care of himself, and I know you can do that so that's why I asked if you were okay to move up here. But part of that felt… well it kind of felt shitty. Like, hey come move to North Carolina with me and we can be a thing as well as bodyguard and protectee? I don't know, words are hard. And I know you have April and I knew you two would work out, and I knew we would make time for you and me stuff but I…” Donnie placed a gentle hand on Vyx’s cheek, the movement soft and full of care, and that seemed to break whatever Damn Vyx was trying to carefully dismantle. Bloody tears welled in their eyes as they tried to continue. “I just… I love Al, I do and he needs me to kind of keep him from self-destructing, but that doesn't mean that you aren't important to me too. And I know you've had a lot of trouble with the whole you're not important thing. And I know I haven't really said it but dammit Donnie I love you too, I think I fell in love with you when you just rolled with everything that first night in New York. You took care of me, and hell you listened to my badshit story and didn't even flinch. You just accepted me for who I was and didn't look at me like I was absurd. We spent close to a week fixing a bike and just getting to know each other before I rolled out and you stuck with me the whole time. And to top it all off I fuckin disappeared for a year before I finally came back and you didn't just roll with it. You uprooted your whole life to come down here to be with me, to protect me…” The pause returned and Vyx began to almost sink in on themselves, their grip on Donnie's shirt tightening, desperate to hang on. Like if they held on hard enough he wouldn't leave. Their eyes no longer looking directly at him but down to the shirt, as if they could find the words they wanted to say written in the fabrics stitching. 

Donnies hand moved, slow and gentle, as he tucked a finger under Vyx’s chin and lifted it so that their gaze met his once more. They looked like they wanted to say something, but before they could Donnie leaned forward, pressing a kiss to their lips that spoke more than any words he had. Vyx for their part sprang into motion, their arms winding around his neck as the hand around their waist pulled them closer. A long moment passed before the two broke apart a smile gracing both faces, and a chuckle escaped from Donnie. 

“I love you too, ya big dork.” He mused, and poked their nose with his off hand. “That does feel really good to say.” A giggle escaped Vyx, their grip tightening ever so slightly as they nestled back into his chest.

“So… were okay?” They asked, there was a lightness to their voice. As if they already knew the answer to the question, but they just needed to hear him say it. 

“Yeah, we're okay.” His off hand moved again, running his fingers through Vyx’s hair ever so gently. “I knew going into this that I wasn't going to be the only person you had around. It's an adjustment, but not one I can't live with.” His smile broadened, had anyone asked him three years ago if he'd leave New York to go and live in Greensboro North Carolina to be with a malkavian that crashed into his life. Well he would have laughed in their face. But here he was, in a new town and if he had to be honest, happy. Truly happy for one of the first times since he was embraced. He was loved, and not just needed, but wanted, and that's all he really could ask for. 

“Well,” Vyx started, the all too common spark of mischief returned to their eyes as a devilish grin stretched across their face. “The sun’s almost up, and as fun as they are to watch, I don't know if I've got another Rocky in me.” Their hands moved, slow and inviting, their fingertips just ghosting Donnies jawline before pressing lightly into his chest. “But I can think of something else we can do.” Their eyes flashed to the bedroom door, as if to make their intentions even more clear. Donnies eyebrows arched, and his smile shortened to an almost cocky smirk. Vyx was a master tease, and unfortunately for them he was a rather quick study. He wasted no time, scooping them up in his arms and pressing a soft kiss to the top of their head. 

“I don't know babe,” he whispered, his voice low, almost seductive. “That was a lot of stuff to unpack all at once. Ya sure you wanna dive head first into that?” Vyx’s lips pursed into a pout as he carried them. Turning the tables on them like that was rude, but they knew Donnie well enough at this point that he was good for it. Besides there was something sweet about not wanting to cheapen the moment they just had by running into the bedroom. 

“Fiiinnne,” they whined, “But once the sun goes down you're all mine, ya got it?” Their tone was flirty, even as they feigned disappointment. The two crossed the threshold, clothes were removed, more for comfort than anything else and the two found themselves in a familiar place. Donnie resting comfortably on his back and Vyx tucked neatly into the crook of his arm, their head resting on his chest once more. “Y’know… I really don't know why I waited so long to finally say that. But I'm glad that I've said it now, cus it's true. I love you Donnie and if you didn't realize it before, well you're definitely stuck with me now.” The two giggled together for a moment as Donnie shifted, wrapping Vyx tightly in his arms. 

“Well that's a relief, cus turns out you're stuck with me too.” He pressed a kiss to their forehead before finally whispering, “I love you too Vyx.”

[nosnet]

Past Lives (1) – Old Flames

by J. D. Dennis

Time Period:  Early 2027

Perspective: Vyx/Vince

Rating: PG

Content Warnings: this one's just kind of a vehicle for information so like, we'll get to stuff with content warnings but this one's just getting us there

Word Count: 11,574

Comments: Set immediately after Dead and Dead Again, Vince gets to join the squad on a road trip following the places Vyx visited while they found themselves. Get ready for the road trip to be a good vehicle for a lot of really important and probably sad conversations that need to be had before everyone can wear the get along shirts. It’s gonna be a doozy.

There was a hollow feeling in the back of their head. It was like the empty halls of a forgotten library, echoing and empty, desolate and void, but Vyx could still hear the whispers of conversation held just outside the hallowed doors, faint and distant but present. It was honestly kind of nice, to be frank – their head, up until very recently, had been very occupied, housing not only their mind, and it’s constantly on radio connection to the Network, distant though it might have been at that moment, but the mind of their apparent dead twin brother Vince, who had recently woken back up from being dead. It wasn’t that he was particularly loud, or took up much space, or that they minded having him around, but it was like wearing a normal shirt with two people in it; it took communication and effort just to organize their limbs enough to get to their bike, and that was maybe too much.  They’d gone immediately to the house of their boss, a woman they trusted with the process and who was probably the only one capable of separating them on the entire East Coast, which had been a two hour drive but definitely worth it, and once Vince had been ousted, their head felt hollow. It was kind of nice, honestly, though they knew the voices of the Network were only tempered because they were listening to their boss, Molly, talk.

The room they were in wasn’t Molly’s office – she purposefully kept no holdings in North Carolina, as spreading that far would feel like a threat to those that mattered – but rather the office of Molly’s husband, Konrad Varnhagen, who was working on the second half of raising Vince. It was taking a little longer than the first half, but that was sort of expected. Getting Vince out of their head was, fortunately enough, a snap, though Molly had prepared for it well enough that anything less would have been a concern. Molly wasn’t exactly the best with ghosts, her purview more physical than metaphysical, not to mention supernaturally conjoined ghosts; to compensate, she’d borrowed a ghoul from one of her international rivals, Jess Briatta, and had spent most of the seven years between raising Vyx and raising Vince studying the process, just to be sure she knew what she was doing. It meant that, once Vince had come back, Molly had been able to separate the parts where he and Vyx overlapped quickly, and Vince had been whisked off to a different body and then further to a different room, leaving Vyx’s head blissfully empty. Maybe a little lacking, even, but they couldn’t really tell.

“It’s only an eighth, give or take a hair, which, considerin’ you were a quarter him, it probably doesn’t feel like much.” Molly was saying, softly, sitting behind a desk that was large and wooden and grand and looked like it had been stolen off the Titanic’s decks. Konrad’s office had a weird quality to it, as far as Vyx could see, homey but somehow also impersonal, though that sort of tracked, as Konrad was kind of a weird man. The grand desk sat at the back of the room, lit by a small lamp that mimicked candle flame, giving the whole space a soft and cozy glow. There was a small sitting area, with a loveseat and a couple of chairs, and a small, electric piano, likely a replacement for something larger and grander. Besides that, however, the rest of the room was filled with books. There were shelves on every wall, under every table, and stacks on every available space; it would have been neat to look through them all, see who Konrad was from what he read, but unfortunately for them, everything was in German. It meant that, while the room had the feel of a sitting room from the turn of the century, it almost felt a little alienating that nothing in it could be read. This was, of course, likely on purpose, but it made the whole space feel like it wasn’t even his office.

“I don’t feel anything missing.” Vyx replied, Molly’s remark about missing an eighth of their soul not bringing them any kind of concern. They were curled up on one of the loveseats, which felt like it was trying to consume them; there was a brief, but vivid, fear that this was actually true, and that the plush arms of the loveseat were actually just arms and that the cushion they were on was just some poor sap’s lap. It was entirely possible; he’d done that before. “Should I?” They paused, looking up at Molly, who looked haggard and tired like she’d just clocked out after eight hours of retail on Black Friday. It meant the prim and proper air that always followed her like a dangerous miasma had all but vanished.

“I don’t think you should, but this isn’t really my thing, y’know.” Molly shrugged, taking a long draw off a cigarette she’d lit, exhaling slowly. She didn’t need to breathe, and smoking did nothing for them, besides make the room smell like smoke and tobacco; old habits were hard to break, however, and this was an old one. “Might mean one of your toes won’t move or something minor, probably. If you speak French, that ghoul I brought in’s been going off about how none of this makes any sense, so she might give you a bit more information than I can. I wouldn’t worry about it, though.” She shrugged, pushing herself up from the seat that probably belonged to her husband, heading over to where Vyx sat. She moved like she knew the world looked at her from her legs up her chest before they ever saw her face, sensual in her walk and in the way she let her hips sway. There was little wonder how she managed to get so many people to so carefully fall in line, and it wasn’t just her sense of altruism. “However, there is one concern to worry about. A little birdy told me you kept safety-deposit boxes while traveling across the country. That right?”

“I, uh. Yeah?” Vyx paused, looking up at Molly with a face that was definitely worried. Molly’s tone sounded like they were in trouble, but they weren’t sure how having safety deposit boxes in different places was a bad thing. It wasn’t illegal – they checked – and they’d used the same fake ID across the lot, so they were all accessible by the same person. And it wasn’t like they weren’t paid up – they paid by year, not by month or day, though now that they thought about it, there had been nearly two in between their last payment and right then. Whoops. “I mean, it’s not like I can cart a massive bag around on a bike, after all. I had to leave stuff. But I thought I paid them up for long enough. Did I not?” They asked, sheepish, and Molly sighed, standing over them with half lidded eyes; clearly, the tired thing wasn’t just from work, it was from dealing with people like Vyx. Luckily, the sigh was an acceptance of the issue, even if she was kind of mad about it.

“One, no, you didn’t. Claire covered the balance for the next year, so they’re not gonna get emptied, but the little birdy that told me was an irate postal worker from Texas. Apparently, you’ve got three down there under the same name and they weren’t happy none were paid up.” Molly shook her head, rolling her eyes. Kine money politics was bullshit, and she knew it, but that didn’t mean they weren’t beholden to it anyway. Money made the world go ‘round. “Two, I told Deacon I’d keep you where I could see you, front and center. Having all these boxes, all over, just means you have a convenient excuse to not be in North Carolina just ‘cause you don’t wanna be. I’m not opposed to you traveling, I just want to know when and where and why.” She sighed, again, exhaling the cigarette smoke out like seeing the breath made breathing real. Like if she just dreamed hard enough, she’d go back to the time of her life when she needed to breathe and eat and see the sun. “So, here’s the deal I’m offering: you’re gonna go get all of those boxes, and you’re gonna get them now. Not whenever the hell you think you’ll get out next, now. I don’t care how long it takes, but you’re gonna grab your shit, drag it back here, and close out those boxes. Then when I tell Deacon or whomever else you piss off that I know where you are at all times, I’m not a fucking liar, and Claire isn’t stressing out over paying unexpected late fees every couple of years.”

“Yeah, that’s—that’s fair.” Vyx chuckled, because she wasn’t wrong. For all they were, partially, Vince, they were also his opposite – he spent his time traveling the globe, making friends and getting people who traditionally hated each other to put that aside. Meanwhile, they spent their time traveling the globe causing problems and pissing people off. It wasn’t intentional, of course, but they’d gone out to go learn about who they were as a person and that meant finding the things that pissed them off as much as finding the things they liked. An unfortunately, a lot of Kindred were really good at the pissing them off thing. “Counter-offer?” They asked, looking up at Molly and pulling a cigarette from behind their ear. Might as well, right?  “Well, not really counter, more like yes, and – I take an RV and the polycule and we drive from place to place.” They explained, and Molly quirked an eye at the change, like she was curious as to why. She knew better than to outright ask – Vyx was too much Vince in how much they just kept talking. “For one,” Vyx started, knowing the implicit question themselves, “Flying won’t cut it. I’m pretty sure I left a couple of handguns somewhere in Texas – which, yeah, that’s probably part of the reason they’re pissed about non-payment, you can’t exactly dispose of a gun just any which-way, right? - and I am not about to get into a spat with the TSA because I’m trying to transport a revolver and I don’t have checked luggage.” They chuckled, and Molly rolled her eyes; of course they’d gotten guns somewhere along the way. She wasn’t sure why she was surprised.

“For two, the polycule needs quality bonding time. Al and Flidais have always been kinda weirdly distant from each other, which, at this point, makes no sense. Like, I get it before, Al was on Pip’s side for a bit and Flidais was also Konrad, so that’s fair. But now they gotta make friends. Oh, and Donnie needs some quality time with Al before they decide it’s better off they kill each other.” Vyx nodded, like that was going to fix all their problems. Forced proximity was not often a good thing for strained friendships, but Vyx seemed convinced it would do them good in the long run. Molly shook her head.

“Fine. You’ll want a ghoul for a driver, though. Not much sense in only making progress during the evening, right? And I figure you’re gonna wanna enjoy your time while you’re out, so you’ll want someone t’watch your stuff. I don’t have anyone I can loan, unfortunately, so you’ll want to ask around, but I wouldn’t leave ‘til you find one. When do you think you’re leaving?” She asked, watching Vyx already pulling out their phone and tapping away. They weren’t ignoring her, she knew, but they were already solving the problems and it was hard to keep their attention when they were trying to do two things at once. They sent one text, paused, scrolled through a list of names, made a gesture of ah ha!, and sent a second text.

“Sorry, I was making arrangements.” They shrugged, brushing it off and putting their phone back down. “But as for when, honestly, the sooner the better? If we let Vince just exist around people I think that might just make shit weird if they aren’t being forced into friendship. Plus, also, I’m stealing Damon’s driver so we should probably go before Damon can say no and get back before he’s too pissed about it.”

Molly didn’t get a chance to offer protest – she honestly didn’t care if they stole Damon’s staff temporarily, but she did care if he got pissed about it and tried to make it her problem, and unfortunately, there was no one better at making things other people’s problems than Damon Wellington, Baali Regent of Wellington-Salem – as there was a knock at the door with a light hand. The visitor didn’t wait, Konrad Varnhagen, Molly’s husband, slipped inside, closing the door behind him like he was trying to keep something at bay. He looked proud of himself, smug even, standing with both hands on the handle behind his back like he was waiting to show Vyx a new car or another surprise present. He was an attractive man, of course – he could bend blood and bone, he wasn’t about to let himself exist as someone ugly – but smug honestly looked really good on him. It was better than him trying to be generous; it came off as smug anyway. “I do not mean to interrupt,” He said, giving his wife a polite and deferent nod, and she gave him one in return that said they weren’t doing anything important and he’d caused no problems, “But I have finished with Vincent’s new form, and he wishes to get your opinions on things. I think he’s perfect, but he is unsure.”

Konrad stepped aside without further ado, pulling the door with him, and there was… Vince. Vincent M. Renato, the Spanish and Italian freeloader from Florida who had all but stumbled into being a vampire while trying to make his way north to fuck-knows-where. A man gifted everything by being a vampire. Vyx hadn’t really seen Vince, not from the outside, not the way they were seeing him, their view only in mirrors and lakes and pools, but there was something about him that just seemed correct, like the form he was in right then was how he had always been. He was taller than they were, almost Molly’s height, but his skin was the same kind of olive brown and his hair was naturally dark like theirs was, before they changed it to the bright pink they found themselves fond of. Konrad had found him a t-shirt – it read, Screw your lab safety, I want superpowers, clearly something that had been jokingly given to Konrad and then passed off again, and it was a little baggy but not too big - and a pair of jeans and shitty sneakers, which were all he ever wore, and he hovered in the doorway, like he wasn’t entirely sure how to manage now that he was his own person again, and he looked… correct. Like nothing had changed, even if he wasn’t sure how to pretend like he hadn’t. Dying and coming back was a challenge, and one Vyx was uniquely suited to, luckily, but Vince clearly needed the help.

“Hey.” He said, hands in his pockets, awkward in every movement, like he was still feeling out how far his fingers went. This was also a sensation Vyx was uniquely familiar with, having done more or less the same thing the first time. They hopped up from the loveseat, brushing off their skirt before stepping up to him – and their decision about being shorter was on full display, almost a full head less than Vince was, and for some reason that felt correct too in a way that wasn’t quantifiable – and extending a hand.

“I know you’ve been in my head and I’ve been in yours, so this is kind of not necessary, but officially, Hi. I’m Vyxen. Vyxen Mia Riveria.”

“Vince.” He replied, and Vyx shook their hands a little wildly and he laughed at the gesture. His laugh wasn’t unlike theirs, and they were excited to find all the places where they were the same amid all the bits that were different. It helped that, from the outside, it was clear that they would get along swimmingly, but swimming in a dangerous substance that would probably kill most people.

“How are you feelin’, Vince?” Molly asked, putting her free hand on her hip, something reverent in her tone, like she understood he was going through some things right then and not to press on them. Vyx remembered she’d said something about him trying to pull her out of the rain, and the tone – affectionate, maybe a little sad, like she wished she could tell him everything she needed to say but didn’t know how – made sense with the thought. He was probably the closet thing to a savior and an ally she had out of the whole experience, at least from people she didn’t already know. Vince shrugged, easy, like he was happy just to be there, which, honestly, he was.

“Fine? I mean, I just went through like, a whole thing in the afterlife and I haven’t really had time to process that I’m back, which I will definitely get to later, but like… physically, fine? The blood’s doing what the blood always did, crown and all.” He gestured to Molly’s head, the inevitable visual of a crown something she was honestly used to at this point. Consistency wasn’t exactly the strong suit of Malkavians, but apparently, she was a Queen in every timeline. “Shit’s… brighter, I guess?”

“You were colorblind, Vincent. I did not see any reason to include that detriment in your re-imagining.” Konrad supplied, an easy explanation, and Vince nodded, both like he was aware that he’d been colorblind before but like he was also working out that this whole brighter thing was because he wasn’t.  

“That’s… yeah, that’s probably it. Honestly, not sure how I lived like that. Like, I wasn’t gonna mention it ‘cause it’s my eyes, but your lipstick has always been a pumpkiny orange color.” He chuckled, gesturing to Molly’s face and shaking his head. “But yeah, nothing feels… broken. My fingers work as well as expected, I have all my toes – not that I expected less toes, just, y’know, checking – and I think I’m still all there, brain wise. It’s kinda like I never left.” He shrugged again, like that was probably the strangest way to put the whole process, though it wasn’t wrong. His body wasn’t his body anymore – that had ashed, that was gone – but Theseus still sailed strong and no one was the wiser. He paused, staring briefly off to the side, and something about his expression glazed over for just a moment, like he wasn’t entirely there anymore, like he’d seen something and just sort of spaced out. Molly’s brow furrowed, but Konrad put a hand on her arm, like she didn’t need to do anything.

“He’s done this twice. I’m still figuring out why.” He said, and it was clear he wanted more data, more information about what he was seeing before they stopped Vince from doing it. Clearly, it wasn’t a problem of his blood bending, but he also wasn’t going to be okay until he was entirely sure that was true. Vyx huffed, reaching up to snap their fingers in Vince’s face, and he came back quickly, which only brought a scowl to Konrad’s face. “Thank you, Vyxen.” He grumbled, clearly miffed that he couldn’t experiment further. Vyx frowned at him, crossing their arms.

“You can just ask.” They said, turning to Vince before they could get a lecture about tainted data and implicit biases in patients and observational facts being simply better. “You just spaced, like big time. What’s up?” They asked Vince, and he frowned, looking down at the floor like he could find the answers in his shoes. They remembered he did that, sometimes; he wasn’t really looking at anything, just thinking, which was a tall order considering what he saw with the blood. Vyx, luckily, had always had the blood as part of their mind, and they waded through the sea of weird like a professional; Vince still remembered a time when people looked like people without him having to think about the secrets that told him.

“There’s this… like, storm? Tornado? Thing?” Vince finally said, gesturing in a general direction of away with his hand. “Way the fuck out there and never quite in the same place. Like, if I turn, it turns with me? I don’t know how I see it, honestly, ‘cause I can see the walls and the ceiling and the floor and stuff, but then I look that way and it’s also just… there? Looming in the distance. Super far away, of course, but like… I dunno, part of me wants to know more about what that is. Part of me is kinda afraid of it, but the rest of me is like, if I’m seeing it, it’s important. Right?” He said, looking back to the group and finding that Molly’s face was stern and frowning at him like he had just said he was about to crash a plane into a building somewhere. “That bad? That looks like your that’s bad face. I remember that face. You made that at us a lot.”

“Vince, if you’re describing what I’m thinking you’re describing, that’s the Tempest.” Molly said, crossing her arms, the intonation of the word Tempest such that Vince was a little scared at just the word alone. “When we die, our souls go into the spirit, right? That’s where you were, doing… whatever it was you said you were doing. You were in part of the spirit. At the, eh, end of the spirit, as it were, is the Tempest. When a soul’s ready to move on, that’s where they go.”

“So the light at the end of the tunnel?”

“Except it’s not a light and everything you know as you gets stripped off of you and cast behind.” Molly corrected, shaking her head before he got some wrong idea. She knew there were texts and things talking about heaven and she also knew most of those were absolute horse shit meant to sell the idea of eternity to the scared. “Souls in the Tempest aren’t really souls anymore, just collections of quintessence – the stuff that makes up magic; don’t know if it’s the best word but I’m not a mage, right - floating around without anything else. Just the basic building blocks for a person without identity or anything.” She shrugged, like the words weren’t quite right but she didn’t have any better ones and she didn’t think any better existed. “Point being, don’t go into that thing. I can’t get you back if you go that far. No one can. Once you’ve gone to the Tempest, you’re done.”

“Do you think this is an effect of the blood?” Konrad asked, one hand to his chin as he scanned Vince’s body, like he was trying to figure out what thing he did that made such a thing happen. He was certain he hadn’t done anything – he was a professional and a perfectionist; every part of Vince was perfect down to the alignment of his fingernails. But, just in case, he wanted to be sure, because he wasn’t about to let Vince be defective on his watch.

“I mean, I haven’t wanted a cigarette since you brought me back, so probably?” Vince said, not really looking over as Vyx held a hand out. They had their own cigarettes, this set pilfered from Molly’s purse when she wasn’t looking, and they offered Vince one, which he took absently and held between his fingers. He had no urge to put it between his lips, however, and that brought his eyes to the cigarette itself, like that was the secret. He held it up, staring, before letting it go. It hit the floor, and he almost flinched as it did, like he somehow hadn’t expected that. “Before this, I’d be losing it right now, ‘cause this thing is in my hands and not in my mouth, right? But now I’m cool. So I guess the blood might have changed how it works against me.” He shrugged, picking up the cigarette from the floor as he spoke, holding it in his hands as an example and not smoking it. Vyx passed him a lighter anyway, and he lit the cigarette, coughing a little as fresh smoke filled virgin lungs.

“It makes sense. I’m always tuned into the Network. What if you’re just always tuned into the spirit?” Vyx asked, taking their lighter back, and Vince nodded, and for a moment, Molly was watching the same person agreeing with themselves, something strange and tandem about their movements that wasn’t just from proximity but from something deeper, more from the core. It wasn’t just the blood had them understanding what the other meant, and it wasn’t just that they’d been around each other long enough to have learned each other’s habits, but it was something more, something deeply connected that had them understanding each other from the first word of the sentence. Like twins, except less a speculation about proximity and connection and more a real, hard wired thing. It was almost a little disconcerting, if Molly hadn’t been aware that it was a thing.

Vyx’s phone dinged. “Regardless,” They said, checking the text and nodding along to it like it gave them answers they wanted, or needed. “We’re getting a posse together to go hunt some old safety deposit boxes of mine before they arrest me for the late fees like an overdue library book. Most of the posse is people you’ve kissed. You wanna make a big entrance?” They asked, and Vince briefly froze, like he wasn’t sure if the answer was actually yes or if he was going to get a choice. Being around a lot of people, very suddenly, was not exactly on his to-do list, considering he’d just gotten his legs back, but Vyx seemed to know the right thing to say. “Flidais will be there.”

“What kind of big entrance?” Vince asked, cautiously. Flidais’s name did the trick – he was still far too smitten with her, even after all that time – but he was still concerned. He didn’t make it past the end of the world – even if he did die – by being reckless. Vyx just grinned, reaching out to take his hand in a way that said it would be everything he needed it to be.

“The best kind. A surprise.”

~*~

They’d hoped they’d beat Al back, but they’d had to travel for two hours to get up to Molly in the first place, and considering they had to stop by a Goodwill to find Vince a t-shirt and jeans that really fit him, there was just no way. Even speeding recklessly, and their ability to dodge traffic, it still took them almost the entire two hours just to get back into the city – though, including the Goodwill trip, that was good time - and they could just feel in their gut that they weren’t going to get home first. It wasn’t exactly the surprise they wanted – they were hoping to smuggle Vince into the RV through the back door, so they could fling open the front door like some kind of Penn and Teller bit – but they figured it would be a surprise all the same. Or, at least, they hoped it would be.

Donnie was the only one besides Claire, Molly’s secretary, who’s chat icon indicated they’d seen the message Vyx had sent. Everyone else had probably muted the group chat, most likely because of the memes. They’d sent a lot.

Vyx pulled into downtown, the late evening glow of city lights casting bright spots on their helmet, and they pulled into a space just at the entrance to what was considered downtown, across from the Mellow Mushroom that had sprung up in an empty tavern. Greensboro wasn’t a particularly big city – there were three major streets in the downtown area that went on for maybe thirteen blocks at most, though that was bigger than some downtowns Vyx had been to – but there was always something cozy about it. The tight quarters didn’t feel stifling or boring, as every building was chock full of weird things one could do, and the personality of the city was almost electric. Vince pulled his helmet off, giving the whole downtown a solid once over as he did, something like delight on his face at seeing it again. He had been gone quite a while, but Greensboro was a city that didn’t often change quickly, progress a slow and methodical march, so very little was different. Sure, there were other businesses in certain spots than what he recalled, but the facades of the buildings were as unwashed as he’d left them, and the people didn’t seem different, not really. Vyx also took their helmet off, shaking their head as they did to free their pigtails from their jacket. They didn’t dismount the bike, however, holding it upright with one leg.

“Okay, so, here’s the deal. We almost certainly didn’t beat Al back.” Vyx said, looking over their shoulder at Vince, who was just staring at the city skyline in the distance with a half smile on his face. They snapped their fingers, and he almost jumped, rejoining reality with a chuckle. “Don’t space on me, dude. We got stuff to do.”

“No, I wasn’t spacing, I just… I wasn’t gone for that long, to me, anyway, y’know? But I still, somehow, missed this place. And I’m just… it’s good to see her again.” Vince paused, turning back to the skyline, the low glow of lights and the hum of cars and the distinct ring of the train crossing bell in the distance. Vyx hadn’t lived in Greensboro, not really, not like Vince had; they’d experienced it third hand, and while Vince hadn’t lived in the city for very long himself, he’d done more to defend it than Vyx would have ever considered. He’d given his life to keep the city standing, for what it was worth. It only occurred to them, as they watched him stare at the city, that whether or not Greensboro had lived through the war was a death no one had told him of; it was like he was the only one who looked for the name among the reports.  “She hasn’t changed, much.”

“She’s a trooper.” Vyx shrugged – they didn’t have to understand the sentiment to agree with it – before moving on. They had other things to get to, and while they were fairly sure they’d gotten back to town second, every moment they lingered was a moment that another person would show up and ruin the surprise. “She’ll also keep being here after this road trip, as far as I know. Which, speaking of, here’s the thing: I wanted to beat Al back here, but we definitely didn’t, so he’s probably back there waiting. Are you ready for that?” They paused, turning back to look at Vince seriously, and he turned back to them, something steeled falling into place on his face. Vince and Al had been married, once before, but their relationship was rocky, marked with bad decisions and worse consequences, and while they knew there was love there, it was bitter and biting and full of hurt. They had a lot to work through, from both sides, as both were culpable to each other’s pain in ways they hadn’t had a chance to discuss. It wasn’t going to be easy, but that’s why they were going on the damn trip.

“I have to be, don’t I?” Vince asked, a noncommittal answer. He said it like that had always been his life, and something sad slid into focus: the idea that, even though Vince was lauded as a hero and a legend, he hadn’t actually wanted to do anything he did. That he was just dragged along like a puppet, unable to make different choices, and the only reason people praised him rather than pitied him was that the choices were good and he didn’t resist being pulled through them. Vyx frowned, but shrugged.

“I mean… It’s up to you, dude. Like, I want this road trip because I want my boys to put on their Get Along shirts, y’know? Donnie’s a good dude and I know if I don’t make him exist in the same room as Al until they’re friends, Al’s going to start getting mistrustful and it’s gonna get nasty. You know how he gets.” Vyx set their helmet on the front of the bike, swinging their free leg over and leaning against the seat, letting Vince keep the thing upright. “Plus also I know there’s stuff between Al and Flidais that needs to get aired out. Like, you don’t get to sit on the opposite sides of a war and a boyfriend and not have some feelings collect. I don’t know what feelings, but I’d rather them get that out of their systems now rather than later. But you weren’t – fixing your situation wasn’t really the plan, y’know? I can force my partners to get along, but I can’t make you do anything but come along for the ride. If you don’t want to make things good with Al again, you don’t have to. Just don’t fight him in the RV?” They looked up at Vince, almost a little pleading, and he sighed, swinging his leg over the bike as well and letting it lean against his body as he leaned against it. Like a precarious, wheeled A-frame.

“I don’t know what I want.” Vince said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. It was cold – it was early in the year, and while the state never got really cold, it wasn’t warm – but Vince was still just in a t-shirt, and nothing about him said he felt the temperature difference. Sure, Vyx knew he was a vampire, but it got them a couple odd looks from passing cars all the same; they didn’t care, but they were still hyper aware of the stares. They produced a cigarette, offering Vince one, and he took it absently, the passing of the lighter and the lighting of the end done entirely from muscle memory. He exhaled. “I… Look. I know you were technically there, so you know what happened at the end of things. The big fucking portal and the fights and Ray jumping from the PNC Building. You know how much that sucked.” Vince said, softly, looking up and away at the signage for a cat café across the street. It was new, and he wasn’t sure what was there before enough to be sad it wasn’t there anymore. “And, of course, Al was stuck working for the guy trying to kill us and betrayed everyone, and then everyone hated him and wanted him dead except me. I fought for that position tooth and nail, dedicated myself to it because if I didn’t, no one would, y’know? If I hadn’t, they would have killed him on the spot and with gleeful delight, which like… it would have been one thing had they been sad about it, y’know? But they definitely weren’t, and that sucked more than just wanting to kill him and I wasn’t having it. But… if you’d asked me, back then, whether or not I believed Al was really innocent, really worth protecting like he didn’t deserve a punishment, I don’t know if I gave myself the space for anything less than an absolutely. Because if I wavered, the dam would break. I don’t know if I believed that he was really with us, just that if I didn’t insist on it, he’d be dead. And then, before we could talk about it or anything… I died.” Vince sighed, shaking his head. It had been a hard lot, the end of the world. “There were things we did to each other, over the course of things, that weren’t great. Things I did, things he did. And for me, it’s all… fresh. It happened yesterday, two months ago, a year ago. For him, it’s all ten years dead, if not longer. I don’t know how that’s going to go, but my gut says not great.”

“Yeah, that’s fair.” Vyx shrugged, slinging their leg back over the bike. They didn’t have time for a full introspective, but the brief glimpse was nice. It meant they felt a little more prepared for the inevitable shit-show that was this road-trip. “I mean, if it were me, I’d just go for it. Feel it out as we went. Like, what’s the worst that’ll happen, you break up? He’s already your widower. You’re technically divorced via death, it’s not like you have to get divorced or anything. So feel it out and dip if things get hairy. You can do that, and Al’s got me, now, so it’s not like he’ll fall and nobody will catch him.” They offered, and Vince shrugged, because it was a good enough option, and he knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. It wasn’t like he had many others – just forward momentum, like he’d done for everything else. That was how he’d gotten involved, how he’d survived the first three years as a Kindred, and that was how he’d live through the rest. Putting one foot in front of the other, just like everyone else. “Regardless, prepare yourself. Al’s probably waiting outside, and I still don’t know if he looked at the group chat.” They stubbed out their cigarette, putting their helmet on; Vince put his helmet back on over the cigarette and got back on the bike, before they revved the engine and pushed off, speeding past all the traffic – it wasn’t hard, though the cars on either side of the street made it a very tight fit - and towards their bar.

Al was, as expected, waiting outside of the bar when they pulled up, a large duffle and a backpack on the street next to him and a vape in his hands, watching the empty parking spot in front of the bar with the kind of eyes that said try me bitch. The thing was, the spot in front of Geometry was a highly contested thing; they had parking out back, but it was a pain in the ass to get to and a bigger pain for any vehicle that was larger than a small car, as one had to traverse a fairly small back alley just to get there. Donnie was pretty good at getting most cars through, as he was used to driving in New York City, where the alley looked like a wide thoroughfare in comparison, and the bikes caused little issue regardless. However, delivery vans were simply too wide, so Vyx had employed the best solution they could have managed: a well-placed traffic cone in the front spot, only up while they were actively waiting for a truck. It was bent and broken, as most good cones were; it signaled that it had tried to do its job even under harrowing circumstances and had prevailed. It sat in front of Al, half bent over like a crotchety old man, tape peeling off from where they’d made an attempt to label it, keeping the space empty for whatever RV Al had gotten. Vyx pulled into the space, hopping off the bike and leaving it tucked to the far side; they were hoping to bring it, so it didn’t make sense to park out back. Vince hopped off as well, and they dragged the wheel up and over the curb, so they could move it whenever the RV returned.

“Hey, V.” Al said, reaching out with one arm to give Vyx a hug, affectionate and sweet if distracted. Trying to organize a group of six to go on a roadtrip in less than two hours was a bit stressful. “The driver you texted is on the way back with our ride. It’s… I’m gonna say it, it’s probably not what you expected, but trust me, it’s gonna be great.” He chuckled, leaning over to press a kiss to the side of Vyx’s head. They leaned into the hug, happily accepting his affection. They’d only been really dating just under a year, and they’d been living together less than that, but they’d clicked in a way that was otherwise hard to describe. It was like they’d always dated, and they just hadn’t been informed of that yet. “Is that our sixth? Mystery man?” He asked, gesturing to Vince.

Vince took his helmet off, and Al almost dropped his vape.

“I figured it would be easier if we had space for six instead of space for five with the extra hanging out in my brain.” Vyx said, looking up at Al when his grip around their shoulders tightened, and they frowned at his expression of shock and confusion and concern. They knew this would be messy, of course, but they’d hoped he’d crack a smile at seeing the undead man returned and in his own body.  “I texted you. Lazarus has risen? In the group chat.”

“I muted that chat, immediately.” Al said, softly, a reflexive thing, as his brain was actively processing that the man he’d fallen in love with, married, and gotten killed, was actively standing in front of him, smiling softly like time hadn’t passed between them. Vyx made an ah face; they’d known, but the confirmation was nice.

“Yeah, mute the chat I made to make sure you all knew when Sleeping Beauty broke the curse. Nothing could go wrong there.” They sighed, untangling themselves from Al’s arm and letting it fall, listlessly, to his side. He wasn’t interested in them right then, anyway, and they knew better than to linger. “I think you both probably need a few minutes, so I’m gonna go get my stuff and also go digging for Vince’s stuff. You jammed that in the closet, right?” They asked, and Al nodded, not taking his eyes off Vince, even as they left for the fire escape. Vince set his helmet on the bike, leaning against a decorative tree the city had planted between the sidewalk and the street.

“Hey.” Vince said, kind of awkwardly. He hadn’t changed, any, since he’d died; his hair was still short and dark and a little spikey, messy like he’d fallen out of bed and rubbed his hands through it and called it a day. His skin was still an olive brown, eyes still dark and alert and seeing things Al clearly couldn’t, though maybe they were a little more distant now than they had been. He was still tall and gangly and long limbed, built like a puppy in the awkward teenager stage. Meanwhile, Al had changed significantly; the Nosferatu blood, briefly though it may have been, didn’t keep a hold on his face, but the years sure hadn’t been kind. He had a beard, where before he’d been clean shaven, the dark blond scruff now at least maintained but definitely a sign that he’d let himself go a bit in the decade Vince had been gone. He’d grown his hair out, too, but it had been since cut at home, leaving him with a blond mullet that clearly hadn’t met a proper barber. He wasn’t any taller, or paler, but his eyes looked much more haunted, more harried, and Vince tried not to wince. It wasn’t that Al looked bad, but he could see the years laid out in the lines on Al’s face and he knew those years were his fault.

“Hey.” Al replied, and then he didn’t say anything else, letting the silence between them linger like all the things they had done to each other and never got to discuss. Eventually, however, he hit his vape, and the sound of it seemed to break the spell over the situation. “So, you’re coming with, I take it? Did they… elaborate on the situation? Or the party comp?”

“Eh, enough.” Vince said, with a shrug. He didn’t need the details; he never did, really. He worked well enough riding along without explanation to actually need things like details. “Though, if you don’t want me there, I can… we can figure that out.” Vince offered, the usual bleeding heart response that Al had expected from him. Clearly, he’d seen that Al hadn’t been immediately overjoyed and went straight to the idea that Al hated Vince. Which, maybe Al did; he hadn’t really gone through his thoughts on a man he was pretty sure was dead in a long time. He sighed, trying not to make it a groan because of course Vince always thought everything was his fault. That’s how he always was, and it was as annoying as it was kind of sweet.

“Vyx told you you’re going, so you’re going. I’m not going to argue that.” Al said, rolling his eyes. His hackles were up, Vince could tell; it was likely that he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted Vince around as much as Vince wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted to be there. There were troubles between them, the kind usually formed over eons but this time nurtured over the course of a few years, and the sea was vast and deep and separated them so thoroughly it was taking a decent effort just considering whether it was worth crossing. “I’m not a child. I can manage to be in the same bus as an ex.”

“I’m an ex?” Vince asked, softly, just trying to figure out where they were, but that had Al almost rounding on him.

“Yeah, Vince! You are!” He snapped, and then he paused, inhaling slowly and exhaling again; he didn’t need it, but the lack was a new thing and he was still getting used to not needing to breathe. After, he was a bit calmer, at least; something probably to do with his vagus nerve triggering. “Vince, you were dead for a decade. I’ve done my mourning over you. I tried to move on. Whatever we had, we had. And now you’re expecting me to just let you back in like it’s nothing?”

“I’m not expecting anything.” Vince shrugged, easy as always, but it seemed his ease only made things worse for Al. “I’m just trying to see where things stand. I get it. A decade is a long time, and I wasn’t there for it, and that sucks. But we’re also vampires, Al, and a decade to Kindred is like a weekend. So I’m just trying to figure out where I stand in this new place. If that isn’t by your side, that’s… that’s fine, I can handle that. I just… I don’t want to think things are one way and they’re the other and make a worse mess of things. I need to know.” Vince paused, taking the cigarette that had been hanging from his mouth – he hadn’t noticed, and honestly, Al hadn’t either, the visual just so common it was part of Vince like the color of the man’s hair – and relighting it with the lighter he hadn’t given back yet. “I just want you to be happy. If that’s with me, or without me, I’m easy. But that’s not my decision, and I still can’t read minds.”

Vince’s head turned, looking up at the fire escape, where the sound of voices drew his attention; Vyx had finished packing and was returning. Al looked up as well, sighing loudly at the fact that, whatever he was about to say, he wouldn’t get a chance; he wasn’t about to air his private business in front of his partner, let alone their other partners. This was something that needed to be kept quiet.  “Let’s do this,” Al said, quickly, watching Vyx lead two other people down the fire escape, their boots noisy on the metal. “I’m okay with you being here. I think I just… I need to get used to this. It’s a lot. But we’ll talk, at some point. And we’ll figure out where we’re going from there. But until then, you’re just… we’re just partners of partners. Can we do that?”

“I’ll do my best.” Vince nodded, the solution alright with him for the moment. He loved Al, he really did, but he knew Al was the kind of man that didn’t respond well to force, and often bucked it on principle of the situation; if he’d tried to argue, it would have only turned the street into a shouting match, and that would have probably been the thing that really got Vince killed, or at least it would ruin any chance they had for repair. But there was a promise to talk, and sort things out, and he could manage that.

“I see you’re both still alive!” Vyx said, leading a small line behind them, Donnie carting a duffle and a backpack that had clearly seen better days, the strap almost snapped in protest against only carrying it around by the one, April holding two backpacks and a purse. Vyx wasn’t unburdened, a jacket over their arms, a bass case on their back, and a wheeling duffle in their other hand. They didn’t have much, but they’d collected a small smattering of clothes and things over the course of their time not traveling, and they weren’t going without a change in outfits this time. “Think you’re good to travel together?”

“I’m not going to kill him.” Al said, shrugging. He wasn’t entirely there for Vyx’s joking attitude, and they recognized this quickly, putting the humor away and dropping their things into the pile with the rest. “We’ll see about everything else.”

“Hey, can’t ask for much more than that, now can I?” Vyx asked, chuckling all the same, heading over to Vince and passing him the small pile of things in their arms. “Got your jacket. There’s some stuff in the pockets, and I think there’s something like… trapped in the seams somewhere. I can’t figure out what pocket it’s in.” They passed the jacket over, Vince slipping it on his shoulders like he was putting on a second skin. In the jacket, he finally looked complete, and he exhaled like he’d been forgetting something and finally remembered.

“It’s not in a pocket.” Vince said, pulling the lapel of the jacket back and showing off a visible lump in the lining. “I sewed a… well, okay, so I think it’s a bell but apparently it’s a rock? But if I shook it, or just put my hands on it, I think, it contacted an old mage we used to know. It saved my ass once or twice.” He chuckled, shrugging his shoulders to settle into the jacket. It was in the jacket, with a cigarette in his mouth, that caused recognition to cross April’s features; she hadn’t known Vince, not well, just another face among the coterie, but she was, at least, aware of him.

“Wait, Vince?” She asked, like she was happy to see him but she was surprised he was around, dropping her bags into the pile and heading over to him. She paused, unsure if he was the kind to hug, nor if she was the kind of person to want to give him one unsolicited; they weren’t exactly close. She hovered, instead. “Vyx said you could come back, but it all sounded so… fake to me, I wasn’t sure it would happen.” She smiled, though, delighted to have an old friend within all the new that wasn’t just Al. Vince chuckled.

“Well, I apparently have a record for doing the impossible.” Vince tapped his cigarette ash onto the base of the tree, briefly doing a visual count of people and finding one missing. He’d address that shortly; there was still time. “That must mean you’re Donnie?” He asked, of the only person he didn’t know by name, and Donnie shrugged off his bag, heading over with an extended hand for a handshake. They shook, and for a moment, the universe tensed, like it wasn��t sure if this was paradoxical or not. Donnie and Vince were, as far as Vyx was concerned, very similar. “Vince. You’ve probably heard my name before.”

“Not often, and sometimes you’re Lazarus instead.” Donnie chuckled; he, clearly, was the only one who didn’t mute the chat. “You’re mostly that one guy that isn’t Vyx, but that’s probably so I don’t get confused, considering I don’t know you from them.” Donnie admitted, and Vyx slipped under his arm when he withdrew his hand, which brought a smile to his face.

“The only confusing thing is gonna be between you two, honestly. Vince, this is Donnie. He’s my newest partner and also my mandated Brujah bodyguard.” Vyx patted Donnie lightly on the chest, like they were showing off a car. “Heart on his sleeve, cares about people, decent hand behind the wheel of a car. Donnie,” they paused, gesturing to Vince, “Vince. My newest sibling and source of my Malkavian bullshit. Heart on his sleeve, cares about people, decent hand behind the wheel of a bike.” They listed the same qualities as though to make a point, and for a moment, it was clear Donnie could see how he and Vince were cut from the same cloth – until Al’s voice ruined the moment.

“I’m not dating Donnie, before you ask.” He said, and that pulled a cackle from Vyx as they tore themselves away from Donnie’s arm, and like that, the moment was broken. Donnie didn’t mind; he wouldn’t have dated Vyx if he cared about their coming and going. “Where’s Red, by the way?” Al added, absently. “Will said he’d be back in a moment; apparently trying to find a place that fills diesel that isn’t blocked up with trucks isn’t easy at this hour, but he got it loaded and he’s headed back.”

Vyx didn’t get to address who Will was – they hadn’t texted a Will, they’d texted Damon Wellington’s driver, who they believed was called Billiam, which didn’t ever get quite to Will, but Al had people and that was good enough – as a second bike zipped down the street, taking the turn into their lot at a speed that said the rider was definitely Kindred and definitely didn’t care. Vyx could hear the engine turn off, turning to Al with a smile that said whatever they were about to witness, it was going to be like Al’s reunion, except maybe worse or maybe better. “Think you summoned her.” They said, giving a sidelong glance at Vince. It took the man a solid twenty seconds to realize who they were discussing, and his face broke into a massive grin at the realization.

“Sorry for being late; the last cultist wanted to play the long game and I didn’t have time to wait for him to come out of hiding, so I had to force it and that took too long.” The voice belonged to the biker, who seemed to be in a rush as she headed over from the parking lot, even if she didn’t jog. She had her bags on her, mostly a guitar case and a small backpack, and she was dressed as she always was – a grey great coat, a pageboy cap, hair tied back, and a perpetual look of resting bitch face – though there was blood splattered across her shirt and pants. She didn’t seem to care, but there seemed to be a little urgency in the idea that others might. She didn’t look up until she was putting her things in the pile, too occupied trying to balance her bags and get her bike keys together without dropping anything.

When she did, she looked to Vyx, and then Al, and then past them, and her expression melted as she saw Vince. It melted into shock, the guitar case falling from her hands into the pile, landing softly, and she stood there for a long second, just watching. Vince couldn’t contain his grin, before holding his arms out, like he was asking her for a long overdue hug. Flidais started his direction at a clip that would have been fast but not quite running, her legs long enough that she didn’t need to do so; however, her expression shifted from shock and almost delight to near fury in the last couple of seconds, and Vince shrunk from her as she rushed over, though the grin never left his face and he never quite pulled his arms in.

The sound of her hand cracking him across the face was loud enough to make pedestrians stop.

“You absolute asshole!” She snapped, her shoulders hunched in something like pure fury, the most emotion anyone had seen on Flidais since, well, ever. That was the thing about her clan; their connection to their inner blood was strong, and rumor had it that their blood technically dated back to dragons. But it meant that, even if that blood slept, and left them cold most of the time, when it woke back up, hell was let loose on the world. It meant that normally, Flidais was very stoic, cold, and hardly smiled, but right then, in that moment, in that heated second of pure fury, she was nothing but anger. Vince took the hit like a champ, of course, and he didn’t step back, lightly hunched over in a show of deference, even as he kept his hands up in the air like that might stop her hitting him again. Did he deserve it? Yeah, probably. But he didn’t want to get thwacked again. “I told you to say no to him! I told you that if you told him yes, you would die! And look what happened! You died and you left all of us behind!”

“I’m happy to see you too, Flid, and I am sorry.” Vince chuckled, voice soft, and he would have said more, said something to explain himself – he wasn’t the only one that made the decision, but among a group, and the rest had all favored keeping Konrad around in their shared form than her, which she had warned would probably get him killed – but he didn’t get a chance. Flidais’s fury was short lived, and having gotten that out of her system, she threw her arms around his neck and melted into him, like she couldn’t bear to be apart from him for another moment. This was something Vince could deal with, and he wrapped his arms around her back and leaned into her hug and the cold of her neck and he sighed out something that was not unlike relief that he was entirely complete again. “That’s my girl.”

“Wait, what happened?” Donnie asked, while they remained in their hug, Flidais too unwilling to move. Vyx gave Donnie a look that said they didn’t quite understand it – they didn’t exactly go cave diving into Vince’s personal memories often, so they didn’t recognize the conversation Flidais referenced – but it was Al, of all people, who spoke up.

“Red over there was body sharing with Konrad Varnhagen due to a botched diablerie. Konrad apparently asked the group as a whole whether he should front for the final combat, or whether he should let her out. From what I understand, she’d already told Vince that if he said yes to Konrad’s question of should I front, he’d die, but they said yes anyway.” Al shrugged, the issue easy enough to explain as someone who had been there, only just after it had happened. “The stupid thing is that, if what I was told was right, they didn’t even need Konrad. Marie had it handled. I think it was just people being lazy, and thinking they were taking the more powerful choice.”

“If you do something that stupid again, I’ll kill you myself.” Flidais finally pulled back from the hug, cupping Vince’s cheeks in her cold hands and pressing a soft kiss to his lips, her threat implicit in the way her nails dented his cheeks. She was entirely serious, and it was entirely out of love and devotion to him. Vince nodded, an agreement, and that had her stepping away, and with that, she was doused with water and the fire entirely faded, leaving her the same cold shell she’d been before. She turned to Vyx, giving them a look that said this was, somehow, their fault. “Thanks for the heads up, by the way. I’d have given up on being civil with that cultist sooner had I known he was back.”

“Hey, now, I texted the group chat like I was supposed to! I did my job!” Vyx threw their hands up, like they were getting sick of being blamed for everyone else muting the chat. “I even texted the driver! I did what I was supposed to do. You all just gotta check your chats more.” They shook their head, turning back to the street and looking for the RV they were now just waiting on. It was taking a long time. “Speaking of, where the hell is Billiam? Or the RV? Or whomever you said you had out getting gas?”

“Oh, Will?” Al asked, pursing his lips like there was a joke Vyx just didn’t understand. “That’s Billiam, same guy. Damon, apparently, invented the name Billiam because he can’t stand someone who’s name’s a nickname. Out of respect for the guy willing to risk Damon’s wrath to drive us around, and out of disrespect for Damon, I figure we use his actual name.” Al made sure to get the whole story out before he released any laughter, and Vyx turned to him like he’d said nonsense. It was only the arrival of a bus, shorter than most and bright yellow with paint and stickers on the sides, which tried to park in the space out front, that drew their attention away from their confusion. They stepped forward like they were going to wave the bus off – they were waiting for someone, the space wasn’t open – but Al put a hand on their arm. “That’s him now.”

“Al.” Vyx said, watching Al guide the bus into the space, wherein Billiam – or, well, Will, which, yeah, Vyx agreed that calling him his actual name instead of the bullshit thing Damon invented was probably more respectful – hopped out of the driver seat. “Al, I said RV. This is a bus.”

“So, here’s the thing.” Al said, heading over to the pile of bags and starting to pass them over to the driver, who began to load them into the bus. Donnie didn’t hesitate, grabbing what he could fit into his hands and hauling it over, April grabbing her bag before someone could disturb what was clearly a bag full of hacking gear and hauling that behind him and onto the bus. If Al hadn’t been on the trip – thus almost guaranteeing Wi-Fi – Vyx would have had more questions, but it was likely they’d have better Wi-Fi than anywhere else, so it made sense.

“You texted me, hey, can you snag an RV leaving tonight at like, seven. Which, fun fact, most places that rent RVs close at seven.” Al paused, handing off a set of bags to Will, starting a long chain from the pile to the bus with Al at one end and Donnie at the other. “But I get one guy on the phone, somehow, and I get them to at least consider staying open another five minutes while I get there, but, surprise, they didn’t. So then, I’m left outside the RV dealership looking like an ass, with no options for a ride, and with Will texting me the whole time asking where he should meet me, but then, low and behold, I meet this couple who were trying to sell this bus. They’d apparently tried the whole hipster road-trip live out of a bus life and they’d made it two years before they decided they didn’t like it, so they wanted to sell the bus to the dealership, and the dealer had said no. So, in lieu of an RV, I thought, hey, this would work well enough. It’s got all the things an RV has, it’s just yellow.”

“I think it’s cool.” Donnie added, walking the various instrument cases onto the bus and finding a place to put them, unwilling to chain them from the front. They didn’t have actual instruments in them, so there were some legal concerns about where they could be stored, and more general concerns that they’d been stored empty. Sure, none of them really cared about appeasing cops, but it would suck to have gotten pulled and had guns just out and visible when they didn’t need to be. Or have one go off from wayward train tracks and hit something important. “And it looks like there’s enough space. It’s even got a small kitchen.”

“As I said, they’d done the whole living out of it thing for a while, so that vetted to me that it was actually compatible with what we needed. If two Kine can manage, we can.” Al said, and Vyx finally sighed, rolling their eyes and their entire head as the last of the things were shuffled on board.

“Fineeeee. But only because we’ve already loaded the damn thing and I’d rather leave now than let whatever this mood has been fester for a whole ass evening while we track down another RV.” They shook their head, heading for the doors, and the rest followed suit. Inside the bus, it wasn’t particularly large – there was a small table and booth seats, with a tinier kitchen and a smallish bedroom towards the back with what was probably one, maybe two beds – but there was enough space for the six of them to sit, or stand, or just hang out, and that was what was important. Vyx paused, looking at the five others in front of them, and Will to their right, with a grin.

“Alright, thank you everybody for joining me on Vyxen Deliveries, the only bus-bound cross-country transit out of Greensboro that takes things home instead of bringing them to you.” They started, pausing only briefly to chuckle at their own words. “But seriously, I do appreciate this. I don’t… a lot of you know I don’t like doing the whole alone thing, so having anyone on this trip is stellar, but having everyone here is even better. Bil-Will,” they corrected themselves, giving Will a thumbs up and getting one in return; clearly, he liked that people were using the right name for him, “has the itinerary, but we’re gonna be following backwards along the path I trekked when I spent like five years finding myself and unloading the safety deposit boxes I left behind. Whatever else we do, I’m easy on, so if you’ve got something you wanna do, we can probably do it. Will’s gonna get some downtime, too, for the record, ‘cause Damon’s making him take this as a vacation and he’s being a saint about it, so. He’ll be driving during the day and I imagine someone gets the wheel at night so we don’t waste time or money on constant hotels. All I ask is that, if you’re gonna bicker or fight, do it outside the bus. This is about us figuring out what getting along looks like, so I want this space sacred. Sound good? Any questions?” They asked, looking from Vince, sitting next to Flidais like if she let go he’d fade into the background, to Al, who seemed pleased people didn’t hate the bus, to Donnie and April, who looked between each other like they weren’t sure if there were questions available to ask. Everything was handled, settled, or sorted; the list of locations were set, the activities attained easily enough. Donnie was almost certain Claire had to have had a hand in things, with how well planned they were. Eventually, Vince lifted a hand.

“Where first?” He asked, and Vyx didn’t let that linger, turning to Will and signaling for him to go. They’d locked up when they’d been upstairs, so there was nothing left to do but get started, and the bus lurched out of the space and back into traffic, towards the highway. Downtown was slow going, with a bus, but Will was a good driver and Vyx didn’t worry about buckling in while he moved.

“New York!” Vyx replied, turning back to watch the road as the bus took its first left turn from downtown and rattled onwards. They knew two things, watching the streetlights pass under the waning moon, the traffic at that time of night steady but not horrible: either this was going to be great, or it was going to be terrible.

They hoped it wasn’t the latter, but they braced themselves all the same for the former.

Whatever it was, it was going to be a trip to remember.  

[nosnet]

Dead and Dead Again: Pyat’ (5) - Reunions

by J. D. Dennis

Time Period: Greensboro, end of 2025

Perspective: Vyxen

Rating: PG-13

Content Warnings: deep sad stuff, lots of flirting, body modifications

Word Count: 15,497

Comments: Dead and Dead again hits its fifth chapter, where we rejoin the last of the paramours and Donnie makes a new friend. Donnie’s scene will be posted by C. Todd when it’s finished~

“No, Vyxen, I do understand what the concept of an aesthetic is; I was there when they coined the current use of the phrase. What I don’t understand is why you continue to gravitate towards giving yourself a genetic mutation, and not a particularly common one at that, and then tell me it’s either have differently colored eyes, or die. This is where my confusion lies, Vyxen.”

Vyx had been in Greensboro all of a week before they’d found themselves shuffled off to attend a party that their new boss, Molly, was throwing. This wasn’t really a surprise – she was a party person, and the fact was, her secretary had been texting with questions about dress sizes and other clothing related sundries almost since they’d arrived, so hearing that it would actually be that first Saturday didn’t come as a shock. Vyx’s attendance was not optional, though they took no issue with it, considering Donnie’s attendance was also not optional; they were going and he needed to stick with them, and that brought them some measure of comfort. They figured out, mostly from Claire, that the party wasn’t going to be particularly small – they’d rented out a floor of the nearby Koury Convention Center just for the night – but that was also apparently their fault. See, the party was a way of celebrating the fact that there were many people who had, successfully, survived the end of the world, and honoring those that hadn’t, and the numbers that had participated and survived weren’t small. The numbers for those that hadn’t made it weren’t small, either, but they knew that already.

No one minded that it wasn’t on the right date and, in fact, several months late. Schedules were hard.

The party had started just after nine, and they’d arrived a little early, determined to find a good space to park Donnie’s bike before everyone’s cars took every other parking space. It wasn’t a glitz and glamor kind of thing, unfortunately, so they had toned down the dress on Claire’s recommendation – they wore a short, red dress with spaghetti straps and a pink, long-sleeve shirt underneath, tights and boots and pigtails rounding out the look – though they worried they’d still be under-dressed all the same. Kindred didn’t do many things in half measures, and looks were one of them. Donnie had matched, a dark leather vest and dark pants and a debonair, almost scoundrel like aesthetic, driving boots and a jacket to keep the wind out and a knife tucked squarely in his boot. He didn’t need it – his fists did plenty – but there was never harm in having a spare knife around.

People had flooded in after they’d arrived, and Vyx somehow managed to find a back corner by the drinks and avoid greeting most of them. It wasn’t that they were on bad terms with many, of course – there were a few they weren’t exactly jazzed about seeing, some because they hadn’t been friendly during the war and others because they hadn’t exactly been friendly after – but it was a little overwhelming. Especially watching Molly do all the greeting, flitting back and forth between parties of people with pleasantries and deference and directions to people they might already know. It was exhausting, and Vyx was still trying to figure out how much they liked large groups of people and didn’t exactly want to waste all their time and energy on random pleasantries. Especially for people they hadn’t spoken to in nearly eight years, who hadn’t even bothered to try and reach out to them. It wasn’t like their coming back was a secret.

Luckily, they weren’t the only ones who had the idea, and within an hour of the party’s proper start, they’d found their presence graced not only by Molly’s husband, Konrad Varnhagen, but also Flidais. Konrad had found them, first, likely due to the fact that he was hoping to snag the space and do the exact same thing. Clearly, large groups of people weren’t his ideal, either, though he was a stoic enough man that it wasn’t visible that he minded. It was odd, considering he was in a position of power that would require such meetings, but it also made sense – he had pissed off most of the people in the room, Vince included, when he’d tried to raise Cain and eat him, kidnapping Flidais in the process and siring her away from her original ghouled clan of Malkavian.

Honestly, the fact that Flidais was willing to engage in conversation with him at all said how much he’d grown on people. He wasn’t an unkind man, just an odd duck with no filter, no capacity to joke, and no reason to try to make either work anyway. Though, the fact that they’d spent several years sharing the same body meant they’d grown much closer than probably anyone anticipated they would.

“At least they’re only changing their face. I remember when I’d tried to bend my leg back; you gave me quite a talking to.” Flidais said, standing next to Konrad, watching the crowd with the rest of them. Both were luckily dressed more down than Vyx had expected, though Flidais still wore a vest over a white shirt, with grey capri slacks and tall boots; Konrad had a suit jacket, of course, but it was over a turtleneck, giving him more of a well-dressed hipster vibe instead of something formal. Flidais hadn’t been so well dressed, before, so clearly, being around the man had rubbed off some.

“Oh no, I’ve done that too. Did he tut tut at you when he found out?” Vyx asked, sitting backwards in a chair next to Flidais, a glass of blood wine in one hand and a cigarette in the other. They hadn’t asked if they could smoke inside, but the windows had been opened, so clearly, someone had expected people to smoke anyway. Flidais chuckled – she was such a cold person, after her siring, that what would even count as pure delight only registered as mild amusement – cutting her eyes to Konrad as though to say yes, he did. Konrad, for his credit, scoffed at the commentary.

“I did not tut, but you did leave half a city block of gravel in your legs. I will not have my name associated with sub-par vicissitude.” He grumbled, but Vyx only gave him a big smile, like that wasn’t really a big deal at all. From the outside, it was a weird interaction – Konrad wasn’t a particularly friendly looking man, all hard lines and strong jaw and a sense of sharpness that made him look like every part of his body was a knife edge; the fact was, being a Tzimisce, it was not unlikely that any one part of him could become a knife, if needed. Donnie watched him talk, the way he was relaxed but not necessarily smiling, the way he leaned like he was trying to be a statue and succeeding, or the way he held his glass of wine in his fingers like the glass was just part of his hand, and privately decided that he wasn’t as bad as people made him out to be. Sure, he’d been told the stories, but the longer he hung around the man, the less true they seemed. Before, he’d been the worst person any of them knew, and Vyx had admittedly freely to that – but this was not a man who Donnie thought capable of inspiring dislike, let alone rage.

“Honestly, Konrad,” Donnie started, looking the man up and down, Vyx turning to face him like they were surprised he was socializing. He hadn’t said much after Flidais had arrived, as the conversation between the three of them had been mostly about body modifications, how Vyx was getting on with the changes Konrad had made, how the three of them were all capable of minor adjustments on their own and how Flidais had found his taste in perfection to be too uncanny for her; it was a whole lot of nothing that Donnie hadn’t been remotely interested in participating in. But hearing the man talk, the way Vyx was so affectionate, had a thought forming, and he couldn’t leave it behind. “Ray told me, once, that people didn’t like you, and the more you talk, the less I can see why.”

“Oh, don’t rule out what you understand based on your current observations, Donnie.” Konrad said, with no smile and no hint of joking, even though something in Donnie said he was attempting to be lighthearted and maybe a bit funny. He wasn’t particularly good at it, but Donnie was starting to realize when he was trying. “I have given everyone in this room plenty of reason to dislike me, some more than others. It is bewildering to me, still, that you people have decided to remain in my company.” He shrugged, taking a sip from his wine, looking at Vyx and Flidais with an expression that said they were specifically the you people he was talking the most about. “Considering what I did to Vincent, and you, Flidais, I would not have been surprised if you’d tried to kill me every chance you had. I don’t believe you capable of succeeding, but I have yet to see any kind of effort and I do not understand why.” He paused again, taking another  long sip and uttering his last line into his glass, “I would have at least made more of an effort, if someone did to me what I had done to you.”

“Konrad,” Flidais shook her head, giving him a weary look, “I ripped your throat out with my teeth, ate you, and then got stuck living with you in our shared body for nearly two years. If you can’t understand how we’re past being angry at each other for that, I don’t know if I can help you.” She shrugged, but she did flash the smallest of smiles, mostly at Donnie, who balked at the words. He’d been a Kindred for a while, sure, but the casual air by which she was discussing diablerie was not something he was used to. Especially considering she was talking to the victim. Donnie wasn’t sure he’d ever heard of anyone making it out the other side of having their soul consumed.

“And I don’t know if you could have actually hurt Vince enough to make him hate you.” Vyx added, with a shrug. “He was really bad at hating people. But I think it’s ‘cause he saw all of these idiots and went that’s a family and decided that, even if people fucked up, tough love was the way to fix them. I’m not gonna linger on the irony that he got shot for exactly that, but.” They shrugged again, draining their own glass of blood wine and looking to the table to get more. “But unfortunately for him, Q.B., he’s kind of right. You don’t get to be the bad guy in the story and not leave behind a legacy of bullshit. But hey, if you hadn’t fucked around and tried to raise and eat Cain, we probably wouldn’t have noticed Pip was trying the same ritual. Your fuckup actually helped a lot.”

“I did succeed at the ritual; I did not fuck up.” Konrad added, like he needed to correct the record. “Marcello failed to complete the ritual at all, thanks to the intervention of Malkav, if my understanding of the situation is correct. I do not wish for his failures to be compared to my successes, even if Cain didn’t appear before us, regardless.” Konrad’s sneer was deep, almost hurt, and Donnie could tell even he hated the Nosferatu from everyone’s nightmares – apparently Pip was a nickname - as much as everyone else. “He was neither intelligent enough to see through his own hubris, or politically savvy enough to not have to dominate his allies to his assistance. His only success was in uniting everyone against his cause.”

“If you succeeded, why didn’t Cain appear?” Donnie asked, confused. That actually received a smile from Konrad – and oh, no, that was probably the reason people found him strange, as his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes and made him look almost manic rather than anything like kind – and a softer, sweeter smile from Flidais; it was like Donnie had asked about some private joke that everyone else knew about but didn’t want to spoil.

“Well, as far as I understand it, the ritual Konrad was doing was meant to take someone who was dead and bring them back, right?” Vyx started, and there was mirth there, something really funny about this whole situation that he hadn’t quite caught yet. “But the thing is, if someone isn’t dead, it doesn’t do jack shit even if everything works right. You can’t just raise non-dead people from the dead, after all.” They paused, letting the concept wash over Donnie a little at a time, and the other frowned.

“Wait, Cain’s not dead?” He asked, like that was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard, but the smiles he got in return – and maybe it was better if Konrad didn’t smile, honestly – told him he was, in fact, right. “No way. Cain’s not dead?” He asked, again, like he needed to hear it. Vyx snickered.

“Driving taxis in L.A. If you can find… Martha? I think Martha succeeded, right? Martha and… someone said that one Gangrel from West Virginia, Molly’s old friend, the short one, she also apparently met him but Vince was kinda dead by that point so that’s anecdotal, not to mention she’s a hard bitch to pin down so fuck if it matters, right?” They shrugged. “But if you can find either of them, I’d ask. I know Martha caught his cab, once, for sure. She can tell you all about it.” Vyx chuckled, and Donnie made a quick note that he should both find Martha but also to take the whole concept with a grain of salt. He was being told to ask either a Malkavian or a phantom no one really ever saw for their account of meeting Cain. 

“I still count the ritual as a success. No one would have been able to guess that Cain had remained alive all this time.” Konrad shrugged, finishing his glass of wine with a tilt of the head. “And I did retain several childer from the situation, plus you all did eliminate several of my… ah, coworkers, I imagine is the most correct term, and while it was frustrating at the time, I think we are better off without them. Especially Leslie. I did not particularly care for her take on the blood, but her use of fire was needed.”

“Hey, we kept the pretty ones. Like Luis – speaking of, do you know where he might have gone? And did you ever give him that jaw back?” Vyx asked, and Donnie realized the tangent was starting off on a path he didn’t recognize – Vyx had only tangentially mentioned a Lasombra called Luis, whom they had hit with a car several times – and pushed himself up from the lean he’d settled into.

“I’m gonna grab a drink. Need anything?” Donnie asked, and Vyx offered up their glass as a way of asking for a refill. “Got it. I’ll be back.” He paused, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of Vyx’s head, before heading away from the conversations he didn’t really need to be a part of.

“That was disgustingly sweet. Please don’t do that again.” He heard Konrad say, and it brought a chuckle to Donnie’s lips as he made his way away from the group he’d found and into the party at large.

It was a strange experience, honestly, being part of a party for an event that hadn’t happened in his undead lifetime. Donnie had heard stories, of course, but there simply wasn’t anything like living through a situation, and of the people in the room, he was one of the only ones who hadn’t been there firsthand, and it meant that no one really recognized him much. He was used to that, of course – he wasn’t exactly famous in New York, after all – but it was still such a strange experience to watch everyone else in the room hug and talk and reminisce. He was on the outside of a glass box looking in, watching the animals in the zoo, who had all met years previously for a breakout he hadn’t been a part of. The weirdest part, however, was that he didn’t feel isolated from the rest, even if he didn’t exactly know anyone and no one seemed to want to get to know him. He was just someone’s plus one at a party, and that was all.

He approached the drink table, quickly noting that the wine situation was getting low and taking a moment to rectify that situation before someone got into a fight over the last drops in a bottle. He was deft with a corkscrew, and quickly popped several new bottles open, knowing they needed to breathe, before filling his glass and his partner’s with the last of one of the old bottles. It wasn’t much, but he felt good being useful, and he turned, glasses in hand, with a smile on his face that said that, if nothing else, he’d made some kind of impact.

His eyes caught sight of a young woman across the room, and the definition of impact suddenly changed.

The woman was tall, though likely due to the fact that she’d been convinced to wear heels for the party, with dyed blue hair and rosy cheeks and a bright smile. Her dress was black, the skirt half-way down her calves, the top buttoned across like a military coat, and she held herself against the back wall in a way that said that she, too, didn’t quite feel like she was in the right place. Donnie watched her, watched the way her fingers wrapped around a glass of wine – she was Kindred, that was good to know, or at least she was good at pretending like she was – watched the way she laughed at nearby conversation and he felt his stomach fluttering in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. Vyx had wandered into his life, and their time together was enjoyable, but they hadn’t produced butterflies like this woman did. The concept of talking to them didn’t make Donnie wildly nervous.

“Did one of the corks get stuck---?” Vyx’s voice brought Donnie from whatever trance he’d found himself in, staring at this woman across the room like he was trying to memorize the look of her lips in red lipstick or the way the eyeliner made her eyes look round and dark, and they followed his gaze until they caught sight of who he was staring at. “Oh hey, that’s April! Haven’t seen her in ages. Glad she lived.”

“She was part of this?” Donnie asked, glancing at Vyx for only a second, enough to register their presence and their words before he was drawn back to staring at her. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, honestly, but something about looking her way felt comforting. She was cute, and she looked kind, and Vyx hadn’t immediately said anything of concern besides the fact that she was apparently involved in the mess from 2018.

“Q.B, everyone here was a part of this in some capacity. You’re at the therapy ‘cause you were part of that shit party.” They chuckled, watching him not look at them the second time, watching the way he gripped the glasses in his hands like he was trying not to shatter them but if he stopped thinking about it for more than a few seconds he would, and the realization came over them in a wave, lighting them up from the inside and making them grin. “Oohhhhh, you like her!”

“What?” Donnie finally had his attention pulled away – and something in him protested, like he was scared he would look back and she would be gone, a mirage in a sea of weird that would have saved him from the rest – and finally handed Vyx the glass he said he’d get them. “I just saw her.”

“And you were immediately infatuated, my good dude.” Vyx took the glass, taking a long drink, having been deprived for longer than necessary. “I literally came over here ‘cause you hadn’t come back and I was starting to worry someone had started shit with you.” They grinned over the edge of the glass, like they knew a secret Donnie didn’t want them to know, and if he hadn’t needed to blush voluntarily, he would have been red to the ears. “You have a crush.”

“Shut up.” Donnie replied. He didn’t want to tell them no, he didn’t, because yes, he did, and it felt like some school-yard nonsense to be talking about crushes, especially considering they were all undead, immortal beings from the beginnings of time – some of them, literally. “She’s… pretty.”

“Oh yeah she is.” Vyx agreed, and it was a little jarring, hearing the person Donnie was actively dating agree that someone he thought was pretty was, in fact, pretty. She was more than pretty, of course, but Donnie didn’t have anywhere near the kind of literary degrees to have the words to describe her any further – she was beyond description, almost a beacon of light in their darkened world, a brightness against the black evening sky. But Donnie rolled with it, because he knew being polyamourous was already on the table and it did extend both ways, and if Vyx was agreeing then they wouldn’t mind anything further. Of course, that would take the courage to go talk to her, but he’d get there. Maybe by next party. “Go talk to her.”

“What?” Donnie was surprised at the words and almost jumped at the suddenness of them, because he’d just mentally determined that she was too pretty and he was too nervous and he’d need to make at least another pass at trying to talk to someone less jarringly pretty before he’d consider going over to her, and yet, he’d already been thwarted. Vyx’s tone said they weren’t going to let a no stand between them and getting Donnie a new partner, though he knew they wouldn’t actually ruin anything, at least on purpose. “Vyx, I don’t know her. I can’t just---“

“The fact that you don’t is exactly the reason you should introduce yourself to her. Everyone else here remembers her as the skittish hacker chick that ran us through the wringer back in Richmond. You know her as the girl with hair that probably smells really good.” Vyx leaned in, the idea of the smell of her hair lingering in Donnie’s mind, and he wasn’t sure if he should grumpy that they were planting those kinds of thoughts in his head or if he should lean into it and let his imagination wander. It didn’t help that Vyx kind of had a point. “Talk to her. What’s the worst that can happen?”

“I don’t know, she could punch me in the face.” Donnie shrugged, taking a long swig from his own wine to try and distract him from the fact that, unfortunately, he wasn’t exactly put off from the worst case scenario. He’d been punched fairly hard by people he liked, and while it would absolutely signal that she wasn’t into him, he wasn’t wholeheartedly against the idea of being punched. It was a consequence of his vampiric upbringing – he just spent a lot of time around guys who broke each other’s noses as a way to say I love you.

“That sounds like a grand time, Donnie. Why avoid it?” The voice that joined them had Donnie nearly jumping out of his skin, because Sven had not been part of the conversation the first time and for some reason, Donnie hadn’t believed that a man that tall or that wide could be as quiet as he was. He was, unfortunately for the Brujah, an incredibly quiet man when he wanted to be, and had snuck up on them a little while they were talking. Vyx turned, face split with delight on seeing him, before they scanned the area to either side of him and realized he was missing an uppity Tremere. Damon Wellington was not with him.

“Eyyy, Sven. How’s things? Where’s the ding-dong?” Vyx asked, making a bit of a show of peering around behind him, pausing only once to give Donnie a look – one Sven couldn’t see, as they were behind him – that said this was only delaying the inevitable conversation. Donnie pursed his lips, pointedly ignoring the look, because she was pretty and he didn’t want to ruin a good thing by bringing his stupid mouth into it, but he knew he could only get away with that for so long. “You’re down a wizard, I think.”

“Damon… elected to stay at home.” Sven said, pulling a flask from his belt and taking a long draw. Donnie could smell it from the moment it opened, and it smelled like paint thinner and copper. “After our previous meeting, we both believed it was better that I attend this function… alone.” Sven nodded, like that was all he wanted to say about that, turning to Donnie, who didn’t like having the eyes all focus on him again. “But enough about my troubles! Who is it that is to punch you in the face?”

“He saw April and went heart eyes and almost swooned. It’s adorable. Sven, tell him he needs to talk to her.” Vyx explained, much to Donnie’s chagrin; he didn’t need to get teamed up on by both of them, but alas, that was the crux of making friends. Sven laughed, a deep belly laugh of a thing, which actually drew April’s attention for just a moment; in that moment, Donnie looked over, and they briefly caught eyes, and—was that a blush, or her makeup? He wasn’t sure, but he knew she saw him, and she smiled – a polite thing, maybe, or something more, he couldn’t tell – and she tucked her hair behind her ear, briefly, before averting her eyes again. If Donnie’s heart worked, it would have launched itself from his chest, because he couldn’t tell if that was something reciprocated or if he was just dreaming. A large hand landed on his shoulder and brought him back down to Earth before he floated away into space.

“Donnie, I have never been failed by daring to speak to someone I found attractive.” Sven advised, leaning down so his head was more level with Donnie’s. He was a tall man. “And fear not! She was a Brujah, when she was a ghoul. Punching someone in the face is an act of love for many clans! Hells, I once punched Damon in the face when he requested it, and the next thing I recall, we were dating! Though I am not a Brujah.” He chuckled, giving Donnie a clap on the back as though to encourage him to go over there. “I would be careful, however. Kana was not one to let Ghouls run amok, so she was asked to be sired before the decade changed and now she is a Lasombra. I do not believe she lost the desire to punch, however.” He pulled himself back up, shaking his head. “Speaking of, Vyxen – Al actually asked about you.”

“He what?” Vyx found that they also had a moment where the record scratched in their brain, frozen briefly with their glass halfway to their mouth. They knew Al was likely there – he wasn’t exactly on the right side, but they knew Molly wouldn’t let him skip. This was her penance for their role in things, and that meant it had to be his. But asking about them, considering he’d rejected them outside, had something in them fluttering. They recalled Al, from back in the day. He wasn’t the most palpable, but Vince had seen sides of Al that no one had and those sides were worth more than their weight in his love. Donnie saw the opportunity and quickly turned the tables.

“He’s the guy that rejected you, right?” He asked, giving Vyx a sly smile that said they were in for the same treatment and he hoped they’d buckled up. “I think he’s figured out the error of his ways. You think you want to forgive him?” Donnie asked, raising an eyebrow, and Vyx’s sour face almost threatened to smack him – which he laughed at. Sven was right; punching was a way to say I love you in Brujah.

“Why did he talk to you?” Vyx asked, turning back to something more concrete to ask about, avoiding Donnie’s question with ease. Sven rolled his eyes, like he knew what Vyx was doing but he couldn’t avoid answering, because it was a valid question.

“He noticed that Damon had not arrived with me and was concerned. I informed him that Damon was alive, but unfortunately, my patience with his actions was not infinite, and it has come to light that he has meddled in a way that I cannot forgive easily. He was, of course, disappointed – I believe he finds something normal about antagonizing my husband, considering – but he’d also heard you and I had spoken and was curious.” Sven shrugged, trying to avoid the awkward conversation about Damon; Vyx already knew why, of course. They were part of the cause. “He wanted to know if you were anything like Vincent. I told him that I could not judge that for him, and that he’d have to talk to you and learn that for himself. He did not seem… disinterested.”

“Oh.” Vyx paused, their own vision caught in the middle distance, weighing the situation. On one hand, Al was asking about them, and about them and not about Vince, and that was something. On the other, he’d done a number on their psyche, and while they’d come out better for it, rejecting them outright was still kind of painful. They bounced from leg to leg, like they couldn’t make a decision. “Oh.” They said, again, instead. Donnie stepped in to meet them, putting a hand on their arm and bringing them from the spiraling headspace they’d gotten into. He could recognize when they were beginning to drift off elsewhere.

“Okay, I’ll make you a deal.” Donnie said, catching Vyx’s eyes, and they nodded, unsure what he was getting to but willing to roll with it. “You go talk to Al. I’ll go talk to April. We reconvene back here in, what, a half hour? Hour?”

“More than two and I’ll assume you got a room somewhere.” Vyx nodded, as a way of agreeing to the deal. Sure, talking with Al was going to be something interesting, but they’d determined that they needed to take a page from Vince’s book – the man wasn’t going to get forgiven by anyone else until they themselves made the move to do it, and while Al was an asshole, he wasn’t that bad. Besides, they kind of liked when he was shitty, just only when it was to other people. “Sven? Hold us to it?”

“Having witnessed this agreement, I will make sure it is observed.” He chuckled, putting his glass down and putting a hand on both Vyx’s and Donnie’s shoulders. Vyx stuck out a hand, and Donnie took it, shaking on the agreement. It felt weird, but also right, and Donnie knew it would be good for Vyx in the long run; how it would turn out for him, well, he could manage regardless. “Now go forth, and have fun.” Sven wished them well, all but pushing them off into the crowd, Vyx heading towards the other half of the room where they were sure Al would be, Donnie heading off to the edge where April stood, leaving Sven alone. He sighed, picking up his wine glass and leaning against the nearby wall. He could see Donnie, at least.

It was hard, witnessing young love when his own love life was in the shitter, but at least he could be happy for them. As long as it went well, anyway.

~*~

They found him on a balcony.

They weren’t even aware there was an upstairs, honestly, but that’s what they got for not exploring the space more. There was, however, a small upper floor, the space a double the height of a normal floor, with a balcony overlooking the main room with further chairs and tables taking up that space, and while it was mostly empty, they found Al leaning against the railing, watching the crowd. He didn’t see them immediately, and it gave them a moment to give him a good look over; they’d expected he’d look bad, honestly, but he didn’t look that bad. He didn’t look all that different, just a little more ragged. He was still short, as short as they were, now, and still blond, though his hair was shaggier, more unkempt, but in a way that tried to look like he meant it to look like that. The fresh-out-of-bed look, except it was likely he was fresh out of bed and just pretending like he’d spent three hours styling it that way. He was gaunter around the face, paler and ashier, more dead – Sven had said something about Kana not keeping ghouls around and used that to get to Al, so it was likely he’d been sired, too, though by who Vyx wasn’t sure – and he had a beard, an unkempt layer of scruff that could have been handsome had he not looked more like a mountaineer. He was at least kind of well dressed, a half-open floral shirt and matching pants and a bag across his chest that he left open, clearly containing his vape supplies. Honestly, for how they’d seen him before, he looked alright, if tired and maybe a little harried. But there was nothing about him that screamed leave in a way they’d hoped; they weren’t sure what that might have been, but they’d hoped there might have been something they could use to justify turning around and walking away before they were hurt again. Hell, even the blood was giving them a respite, refusing to see him as anything other than the man Vince had married. Sometimes, they found, the blood was kind and let them see the world as it was – maybe it was that, sometimes, their perceptions were too strong. Or, they realized, watching him take a hit off the vape and expel the cloud over the railing like he was making an attempt to be annoying but didn’t have the energy to do much more than vape, maybe the blood just knew they were seeing Al at his most truthful, anyway, and didn’t think any other layer would matter.

Vyx fixed their dress with their hands. It was now or never.

“Hey,” They tried to purr, to flirt, to sound enticing, and they knew they were bad at it but they honestly didn’t care. They were almost nervous, because, well, this was Al. The risk of things going very poorly was higher than most, and they didn’t want to try twice and wind up fucked over twice. Al was very good at wounding them directly at their core, where it hurt the most, which – wasn’t that love? Just done poorly? They weren’t sure. But they had to try – it was Al. They’d seen Al at his absolute worst, through Vince’s eyes, and they didn’t hate him then, so nothing would really turn that off; the only thing that could stop them would have been his second rejection. And even that would be only for so long. “Can I take a picture of you real quick? I wanna make sure Santa knows what to put under the tree this year.” Vyx tried the line, terrible though it was, and Al look up as they slid over to him with… a smile on his face. It was a sad, little thing, the hint of a smirk from a man too far gone in his sadness to really feel joy but who couldn’t resist the horror of the pickup line they’d tried. The smile was more than they’d gotten before, and that was something.

“Where the hell did you get that line?” Al asked, and it was a little judgmental, sure – they’d brought it on themselves, the line was awful – but it also had a little bit of a laugh in it, and that sparked something in Vyx that said keep going. That his chuckle was a crack in the levee and that the flood waters were rising and maybe, with the right application of force and tension and leverage, they’d burst that sucker right open. It was something, at least. Better than a swing and a miss.

“Well, there was this cute guy, that I kinda dated; I mean, technically, my twin brother married him but I got to watch the whole exchange from the sidelines so it was kinda like we dated? And he always had the worst pickup lines, but I’ve always been a sucker for a really bad one, y’know? Sometimes y’just gotta say something stupid.” Vyx laughed, and they leaned on the railing next to Al, only a couple hands away, enough distance that they wouldn’t touch but not so much they couldn’t have a private conversation. It wasn’t like anyone was up there with them, but they figured it better to not shout. “He was good about that, back when they dated. Saying stupid stuff to make the hard shit seem less hard. Like, damn, they went through the end of the world and I don’t know if I would have noticed ‘cause he was so good at trying to keep things light. Even when he fucked up.”

“Sounds like he fucked up a lot.” Al tried, taking a long hit off his vape, the self-deprecation oozing out of him like a dark sludge. Vyx half-scoffed, half snorted, like the idea that he fucked up a lot was absurd, not because he didn’t but because it wasn’t as bad as he was making it out to be.

“I dunno, I think everyone fucked up a lot, back then. Like Dan? You remember Dan Nelson, right? If I recall correctly, Varnhagen gave him these six bullets as a present, and Dan proceeded to give every cool ally we had one as a like, oh look dragon’s blood bullets, very fancy, very powerful. What we all found out later was that they were tracking bullets so he just happened to put a vampiric Air Tag on everyone we ever loved.” Vyx relayed the story, pausing only to let the chuckle escape from Al’s lips at the tale. He’d known the results, he’d been there, but he hadn’t recalled the moment until they spoke, considering it had been nearly a decade.  “Dan almost got everyone we were friends with killed, and that was one of the light ones. Don’t get me started on some of the fuckups that didn’t make it, like Damien Shadow. Weirdo and a creep that got ghouled by Glamis only to antagonize Varnhagen in an Elysium and got his head and spine ripped out for the trouble.” They paused, fishing for a cigarette, which they had stored in the top of their dress; they didn’t have much to make a pocket from, but it didn’t mean they couldn’t still store a pack of Donnie’s cigarettes and a lighter there all the same. “We all fucked up, a lot. I think things would have been much simpler if any of us were capable of basic competence. But if we were, I also don’t think we would have gotten anything done, ‘cause they were pretty good at anticipating people who were competent ahead of time.”

“At least they didn’t chase away everyone they loved.” Al added, and it was clear he was trying to be distant, to be closed off, to keep them at arm’s length by using his mistakes as a block between them, but he was having trouble with it. Maybe it was the way Vyx leaned against the railing like Vince would, cigarette, now lit, dangling from their lips like letting go of it was the biggest mistake they could make. Maybe it was that they had talked him up, and the flattery was getting somewhere. It was hard to tell, but the façade was cracking.

“Well, the guy I know only thinks he did that.” Vyx shrugged, not playing into his self-inflicted misery. “See, the guy my twin married? He’s always had a hard time being humble and admitting people do fuck up sometimes. Like, yeah, he’s really good at what he does – and fuck, he’s good at a lot. Man’s a wizard with C4 and good on a computer and quick with a joke and quicker with an SMG, right?” They paused, leaning over to press an elbow, lightly, into Al’s side, a physical ribbing that he didn’t shy away from. They used the movement to slip a little closer. “But he also pushes people away when he thinks he doesn’t deserve them.  He’s self-deprecating, and I think he thinks he deserves to be friendless and alone because he fucked up. I think he thinks that, because people have sort of stepped away from him, that they’re leaving him because he’s a mess, but they’re only leaving because he won’t let them get close.”

“What do you want, Vyx?” Al asked, and like that, the game was over and the real conversation was starting. His tone was tired, exhausted even, like he wanted them to get whatever the fuck they had to say out so he could go back to brooding on the balcony in peace. Vyx sighed, exhaling the smoke out from their lungs in a long stream, collecting their thoughts. Greensboro was, surprisingly, quiet on a Network level, at least as long as they ignored the sounds of the Palladium. It helped that most of their Malkavians were dead, or didn’t fuck much with the Network.

“I want to talk, Al.” They said, softly, turning to him with a smile that was all Vince wrapped up in lips that were maybe a bit too pink and eyes that weren’t quite right and dark pink hair that was too bright. “Like… look, I get it.” They finally hit on the thing they’d been trying to strike at all night, and Al could tell, the way their shoulders hunched and the way they picked up the pace when they started off, like they couldn’t stop speaking if they wanted to. For everything they were, and weren’t, there were parts of them that were so Vince it was almost painful to watch. “I’m not Vince.” They said, and for a moment it was a hard statement to believe, but reality always had a habit of focusing and Vyx really wasn’t Vince under the microscope. They didn’t let the weird look Al had stop them, however. “I’ve been told that over, and over, and over again, ever since I came back up to the real world. I am the walking embodiment of disappointment.” They inhaled, deeply, only cutting their eyes a little to see Al’s expression – and it was one of sadness, like he’d never wished that on them and he didn’t mean for them to feel that way, but it was yet one more way he’d fucked up. He was trying to take blame for actions he wasn’t even around to cause. That wasn’t where they were going, but they were glad, at least, he was aware that his initial meeting with them was kind of rough, even if he’d kind of swung it too far in the wrong direction. “But I’m also not trying to replace Vince. He’s in here, rattling around somewhere. And as long as he’s not trapped trying to solve some kind of SAW-escque, post death puzzle that he can’t get out of, he’ll wake back up, and I figure when he does you and he have a long conversation ahead of you. But until then, I’m here and I don’t want him getting in between us if that’s a thing we think is good.” They said, and they finally looked at Al, who was staring at the middle distance like a thing he’d been tossing around in his head for ages had finally settled into something more concrete. 

“Honestly, I’ve been thinking.” He said, not looking at anyone or anything in particular, “I think… I don’t know if I actually want Vince back.” He paused, looking at Vyx for a second like he was calculating something, before reaching out a hand. They offered him the cigarette he clearly was asking for – and something sparked, just a little, as their fingers touched, the fact that they knew him so well as to know when he was asking for a smoke without him uttering a word something that stood out to them both – and he lit it with their lighter, letting it take the edge off. He’d replaced his coil, of course, but there wasn’t anything like the real deal. “I love the man, I do. I don’t regret getting married, and I’d even say I miss his stupid smile and the way he couldn’t hold a grudge to save his life. But… we weren’t… he was just so…” Al paused, snarled, a Gangrel holdover, unable to put the words to his thoughts. Vyx nodded, anyway.

“You and he brought out the worst in each other. I get it, I watched, I was there.” Vyx shrugged, the truth obvious – they were, in fact, there – as they took another long draw. It wasn’t an incorrect statement; Vince had been, as far as they’d seen, callous and uncaring and made quite a lot of decisions that would have been labeled terrible ideas had he thought about them for more than fifteen seconds. But Al hadn’t encouraged Vince to be better and had honestly only encouraged everyone to be just a little worse, mostly by acting like an asshole or lying to the group as a whole, and making Vince defend him without remorse. “He fucked you over a lot because he was an idiot who thought about very little before he did it. He got better, of course, but it did take the world ending before he realized he needed to think through his actions. Meanwhile, you lied to his face for months and never questioned your loyalties ‘cause you felt like Pip claimed you first.” Vyx paused, letting the words settle, and from the tension in Al’s shoulders, they could tell they were right and he wasn’t comfortable with it. They’d called him out as much as they’d called Vince out. “So, are you saying you don’t want Vince back? Like, ever?”

“I don’t know what I want.” Al said, the truest thing he could say, leaning on the railing and letting his head dip, briefly, as he did so. It was hard, being in love with a dead guy, especially when the dead guy’s cute twin was standing right there. Was that even weird? He had no idea and honestly, he had to fight down the urge to avoid it entirely. He’d pushed them away enough, and they kept coming back, and he had realized they were really the only one who did and he couldn’t, in good conscience, push everyone away. He had been without someone to talk to in so long, he couldn’t bring himself to reject them. “I think, if he comes back, we’ll need to… to talk a bit. I don’t know where to go from there, but it won’t be where we were before.” He nodded, a little resolute.

“So then… why push me away?” Vyx asked, softly, a real hurt to their voice, and Al, for all he was worth, only could shrug. He knew it was a disappointing reaction, but it was all he had.

“I dunno, I just… Vince had a way with people. For some reason, that idiot could walk into a room and everyone would eventually think he was a good enough friend, even if he didn’t do anything other than bother them all night. He was charismatic, even if he wasn’t great with words, and he just had a way of making people feel safe being soft. I guess I’d… I’d put a lot of faith in the idea that, if I just had him, people wouldn’t hate me as much. And even if they did, I’d still be with the one guy who didn’t hate me at all. But you weren’t… you weren’t going to save me from the me everyone knew, and it felt like that was… it. I wasn’t anything without Vince to cover my ass, and I wasn’t going to dig myself out of the hole I’d dug myself into without him.” Al shrugged. Vyx sighed, tucking the still lit cigarette behind their ear and turning so they were facing Al entirely, leaning with one arm on the railing.

“People don’t hate you.” Vyx said, firmly, giving Al a withered glare that said he could say that again if he wanted but it wouldn’t make it true. “You think people hate you, because that’s comfortable. Being hated isn’t a great place to be, no, but at least you’re sure how people feel about you. You don’t have to change anything because you know that, if they already hate you, you’re not going to be able to change that. But it isn’t true, and you know it.” They paused, letting that settle on his shoulders, and they got a glare in return, which was expected. No one was forcibly broken from a depressive state without some protest. “The fact is, you didn’t even do anything. You were the pawn in a game played by a dead guy, just like Molly. And yeah, sure, some people had to lash out at someone and that someone wasn’t always her and it couldn’t be Pip, but I think this party is the sign that people are getting over it. Molly’s throwing a shindig with every conceivable person would could blame her, or you, and no one’s dead yet. Like, has anyone come over to yell at you tonight?”

“No, but Damon’s not here, so maybe that’s why.” Al shrugged, but Vyx reached out, putting a hand on his shoulder, which brought his gaze back around to them. He was cold, under their hands, but they were cold, too. One of the many issues of being undead.

“Damon aside, no one’s come over here to yell at you because people don’t hate you. Trust me, we both know how people around here behave when they hate you and I know you’re not seeing it from them because you’re not dead. Hell, Kana? I know she’s here, I saw Nakamura recently and they’re attached at the hip and the ring now, right? If anyone was going to come over here and give you an earful, it’s her. You remember, she didn’t even have a good reason to dislike you, she just did. But even she decided to stay her hand, and she’s the Prince. Talk about motive and means.” They pulled their hand back, the length of contact only just long enough to make a point and not so long as to make Al uncomfortable, and he actually seemed disappointed that their hand had left. “I think the issue is, you didn’t have any control over the situation. Trust me, I was there for all of it, I know. You were a pawn just like everyone else, and if Molly had no control, you sure as shit didn’t. And I don’t think any of us know how to work around an apology for something no one here did, and especially since the guy we could actually blame is a pile of ash in the gutter somewhere. Which, nice shot by the way.”

“Yeah, that was satisfying.” Al actually laughed, something really joyous, the first time all night where the smile he had wasn’t a little sad. Vyx understood – it’s not every day you get to look at your abuser in the face and then hit him with an RPG.

“So yeah, it kinda sucks. It’s been a shitty couple of years. But people are starting to realize the bad guy’s dead and blame is for losers and it’s not like they can fault you, y’know? Like, you could have totally put on an evil cape and done the whole evil cackle and gone full bad-guy mode, but you haven’t. The only person who still thinks you’re hanging out in Pip’s shadow is you, Al. Everyone else has noticed that the sun is out and there’s nothing blocking the view. Metaphorically, of course.” They added, like they had to, even though they both knew that the sun being out would probably have killed them.

“I wish I could believe that.” Al sighed, the heart of things laid bare, clearly wearing on him. “But I’ve spent this whole party up here, alone. I even tried talking to Sven, but he didn’t stay. If people are as willing to forgive me as you say, they should be coming over here, or at least letting me talk to them without leaving.” He said, softly, and Vyx let out a loud, ridiculous sigh, half flopping over the railing. This seemed to catch Al off guard, and he perked up, like he wasn’t sure what exactly they were doing but he was confused by it.

“My god, Al, stop trying to give Vince the brain-cell, he’s dead and I’ve got one on loan.” They groaned, and Al couldn’t stop the smile that crossed his face, even if the words were technically dunking on him. They were starting to grow on him, a little at a time – sure, they weren’t Vince. They were more animated, more spirited, more vocal, with less hesitance and less seriousness about them. But that was also what Al wished he’d gotten more of, from Vince – someone who would meet Al in the middle with his persona, his ridiculousness, his façade. Vince was too much of a straight-man to Al’s terminally online persona and only served to highlight how shitty Al was to people. This felt like someone who would highlight his kindnesses alongside everything else, by being almost a little shittier. “Look, you made yourself out to be a complete piece of shit, right? That was a whole thing.”

“Yeah.”

“And now you’re surprised that maybe you were too good at the persona?” Vyx asked, and that seemed to unlock something in Al’s brain that hadn’t been unlocked before. “If people think the real you is an asshole, even if they don’t blame you for what you did, they’re not going to try and be buddy-buddy with you, either. You didn’t exactly make yourself a peach, y’know? Like, I love it, right, but also Vince got to see you at night when you took the costume off, and that means I got to see the man without the mask, too. But you didn’t really take that mask off, ever. So yeah, people are gonna think you’re an asshole and not wanna come say hi.” They shrugged, and Al paused, turning around to lean against the railing backwards, his elbows on the metal bar and the cigarette between his teeth.

“If that’s the way people see me, I don’t know if I can change that, Vyx. Where would I even start?” He looked to them, and they furrowed their brow, like that was a legitimate question – until the answer hit them and they brightened. Al couldn’t help but smile – the way they brightened, both in their expression but also physically, their whole body lifting onto their toes as the realization came over them, was simply too neat to witness.

“Well, how about me?” They asked, excited, extending a hand with an emphasis that said they didn’t know how to only kind of lean in to a situation. “Hi. My name is Vyxen Mia Riveria, I use she/they pronouns. I think I’m in my twenties, but honestly, fuck if I know, right, ‘cause Konrad made this meat suit for me and I definitely didn’t have a life before my unlife so I’m ballparking.” They waited, patiently, and eventually, he stuck his hand out, and they shook, like they were meeting for the first time. “Now you.”

“This is stupid.” He said, but they didn’t let go of his hand, effectively holding him hostage until he did as they asked. He sighed – but he sighed in a way that was enjoying the moment and he was simply trying to pretend he didn’t. “Hi, Vyxen.”

“Vyx. I like it like I like my boyfriends, short and sweet and to the point.” Vyx chuckled, and that had Al actually laughing, because it was just so stupid but he hadn’t had fun like that in years. “Admittedly, I’ve got one under the belt right now and he’s not that short, but his sweetness makes up for it. Now I’m in the market for someone who’s a bit shorter but maybe a bit spicy.” They rolled the word through their lips, and Al felt something just… click into place. It was a feeling of comfort, of sliding into something that felt like home, of opening the door after a long day and knowing there was food in the fridge and a robe to change into. It was like taking one’s boots off after a long trip, and he couldn’t define exactly what it was, but he felt it when they leaned in and he knew there was something here that wasn’t just bound by nostalgia and memory.

“Hi, Vyx.” Al corrected. He liked the way their name sounded in his mouth, and it was a weird sensation. “I’m Alphonse Renato, he/him, and I’m in my eighties, but I know, I know, I don’t look a day over twenty.” He chuckled, and they shook their hands together, again, like it was specific and important that they shake after introductions, before they let his hand go. “So, Vyx, what do you do for fun?” He asked, and it felt like they were still playing the bit, but also he was asking seriously, and they paused, taking a drink off a passing tray. Some of the drinks were more than blood wine, with ice and little umbrellas and all sorts of colors. They tucked the umbrella into their hair, and Al snickered.

“Well, I’ve been traveling a lot, lately, but I think it’s time I settled down in the city again. I like riding, mostly my motorbike, but that’s not the only thing I ride.” They gave Al a wink, the kind he would have given them, and he grinned in a way that said he understood. “I like finding hot people to date. I’ve got the one – his name’s Donnie, by the way, he’s over talking to April. He thinks she’s cute, so I’m rooting for him.”

“He’s lucky, she’s been single since the war, as far as I know.” Al nodded, like he approved of Donnie’s choice – he’d been on the receiving end of April’s hacking skills, and he fondly remembered her as a giant pain in his ass. He didn’t know Donnie for beans, but if Vyx liked him, he figured April was headed towards something good enough. “Does he know about this, by the way? I’m not fixing to get punched in the face tonight.”

“Oh, he knows. Sven said you were asking after me, and he wanted me to come talk to you, which, hey, good news, that’s two people who don’t hate you! Donnie doesn’t even know you well enough to hate you.” Vyx grinned, shaking their head and fishing around in their drink, pulling a piece of ice from the top and popping it into their mouth. “Anyway, besides motorbikes and hot people, I like spicy food, black coffee, shitty Mexican takeout, leaning in to whatever’s happening around me, and…” They paused, and Al watched their brain work through the motions one at a time. Glass, full of ice. Balcony, with people below them. Including at least one, well dressed, uppity Tremere. They weren’t really identifiable from the balcony, but the stiff shoulders and the stiffer suit said Tremere Magister. Al watched the three details merge in their head, a smile slowly crossing their face that said they had a bad idea, and the gleam in their eye said they weren’t going to stay their hand. “And I like doing this.”

They hardly hesitated, tossing one cube of ice over the balcony. It plonked, wetly, off the head of Elnora Winston, a Tremere in attendance from London; they were right about the title, but maybe a little reckless in the choice. She spun, trying to find the source of the ice, but Vyx had immediately turned to pretend like they had done no such thing, and Al had followed their lead. What she couldn’t see were the snickers from the both of them, hidden by their backs, Al reaching out to awkwardly flap at Vyx until he had a hand on their arm, like he could prevent them from doing it again. It wasn’t that he wasn’t against the moment – he liked being annoying, and clearly, they did, too. He’d made a whole business out of it – but he also learned how to pick his targets and they clearly didn’t care.

“Vyx, I swear to god,” He started, watching them watch him. He liked watching them think, because he could predict every move that came from them, even if he was unable to stop them. It was like watching a cat – sure, he could tell from the gleam in their eye and the wicked smile on their face and the fact that they were watching him laugh, their shoulders shaking with their own giggles, and they clearly seemed to like watching him laugh, that they were going to do it again, but he didn’t know how to stop them. Even as they raised their arm, slowly, ice in hand, their eyes entirely on Al, not on Elnora, who had turned back to her conversation with her hackles up, Al could tell they were waiting for his go ahead. That if he really and truly didn’t want to get up to the mischief they were offering, he could stop them and they would, in fact, back down. If he didn’t want to commit to the bit and have a little fun, they’d step away.

He didn’t stop them. The thing that clicked into place locked in. They were a matched set, whether he liked it or not.

They tossed the ice cube. This time, instead of plinking off Elnora’s head, it caught just behind her collar, and she shrieked the kind of shriek that said there would be blood split that night. She spun, and this time, neither Vyx nor Al were prepared for her speed, and she caught sight of them watching her, a glass in Vyx’s hand and their other raised like they’d just lobbed a piece. Vyx bristled, hair standing on end, because Elnora was mad and while they’d never met her personally, they recalled her power and whether it was worth crossing her – it wasn’t – and realized that maybe, just maybe, they’d fucked up. They looked to Al, their smile still in place but maybe a bit tempered by the fear of the moment, and he looked to them with a panic hiding beneath the smile on his face; they both realized quickly they were in fact sharing the brain-cell, because they both knew they had the same idea.

Run.

Al found that, while he was fast, Vyx was just as fast, and they kept pace as they turned and all but booked it for a nearby hallway. There were doors enough – mostly employee only doors, nothing fancy – that they had no problem finding something to duck through, trying to put as much distance and as many walls between them and Elnora as they could. Fighting her was right out; getting an earful wasn’t a pleasant end, either, and they both wanted to avoid that. The door led to a hall, which led to a bunch of different conference and ballrooms, all filled with tables and chairs and nowhere fun to hide. Eventually, however, Al opened a door and found it was a storage closet, with a big dresser at the back of the room and full of boxes. He leaned out of the room long enough to get Vyx’s attention, summoning them into the room and helping them step over the piles of boxes towards the back. With all the stuff in between them and the door, he hoped Elnora would see the room and give up without searching.

The dresser was cramped, empty but small; luckily, Vyx was small and so was Al, so they managed to fit. It wasn’t the best fit, but he knew they’d manage, closing the door and trapping them inside. Vyx shifted, and eventually they settled, his knee between their legs, their head nearly on his chest, pressed so close that they could have shared a mutual heartbeat had either of them had one. Furious footsteps raced down the hallway after them, only a few moments after the door closed, and Al had to remind himself that he didn’t need to hold his breath anymore, considering he didn’t breathe. He braced one hand against the cool metal and the other found its way around Vyx’s torso, and they bit back a sharp intake of breathe they didn’t need at the sudden touch, but not in a way that said they disliked it.

The door outside opened, and there was silence.

Silence ticked by, moment by moment, breath by breath.

And then the door outside closed, leaving the room behind as the furious footsteps started off and faded into the distance.

Al waited until they’d been gone for long enough that he knew Elnora wasn’t sulking around outside before he let out a breath, a thing meant to help him relax, letting himself lose the tension keeping him pressed against the wall. Without that tension, he found Vyx was closer than they had been before, all but sitting on his knee, their leg between his, their feet tangled, one hand pressed to the wall behind him and the other now settling on his chest. Their fingers laced, gently, through the floral collar that he’d left mostly open, the devil-may-care attitude a staple of his wardrobe, and he looked away from the door to find their face was so close they could smell that the drink with the ice had been something with gin and orange. They were close, and they were cold, but that hadn’t mattered before, and they were grinning madly like they hadn’t ever had that much fun, and there was something irresistible about it all.

Neither were particularly sure who actually moved first, but the gaps between them were quickly dashed. Hands, before so purposefully placed away from the other, kept distance, were no longer restrained, finding arms and sides and jawlines to cradle and press against and hold; their tangle of legs only got more tangled as they shifted their weight, unsure who exactly was holding them upright as they all but crashed together, their make-out furious as though to make up for lost time. Al could tell Vyx smelled like gin, and orange, and natural cigarettes and someone else’s detergent and what he thought was shotgun oil; they found he smelled a little like the sewer and a little like the detergent he always bought from the Dollar Tree, ‘cause it was never worth putting money into cleaning when you lived in a sewer, and the same brand of gun oil that Donnie used and the acrid bite of burnt cotton and the sickly sweetness of a vape juice they couldn’t identify the flavor of.

They would have stayed like that, locked in a perpetual meeting of lips and hands and teeth and legs and too much emotion contained after too much time passing, had they not been quite so furious about it, limbs trying to take up space they didn’t have. As it was, their fumbling in the enclosed space had the door opening on them, and after only a few minutes in the dresser, they tumbled back out of it, falling onto the pile of boxes and storage, tangled in each other, the empty boxes flying up from under them as they landed, hard.

Al laughed. He hadn’t felt that good in years.

“Well,” Vyx said, pushing themselves up from being splayed over a box, running a hand over their hair and finding that Al’s wandering hands had turned it into a mess they couldn’t fix without a brush. They giggled, letting themselves get flushed – it was worth the blood – watching Al, who remained supine, laying against a bigger box and laughing. They found the laughter bubbled up from somewhere in them as well, and they fought it back, just enough to be able to talk, the laugh still in their voice, “That happened.” They said, and that only had the laughter redoubling, because describing the situation like that only made it funnier.

“Yeah, that did.” Al nodded, staring at the ceiling, a series of white tiles that looked like every other convention center ceiling in the world. Vyx appeared in his vision, bending over him, offering a hand, and he used it to right himself, brushing off his shirt and pants from the layer of dust that had gathered. No one had been in that room in ages. “Since we’re there, you wanna grab a drink?” Al asked, like he was working backwards – making out first, drinks second – and Vyx giggled, delighted with the turn of events.

“Sure. Maybe a party drink? I should be checking back in with Donnie soon. He’ll think I ditched him to fuck you and while I am so here for us right now, I don’t know if I want to be the kind of person who has sex in the back room of a convention center. Like, I’m still finding me, but I think me has some standards.” They chuckled, and Al shrugged – he wasn’t planning on anything, so he couldn’t be disappointed – offering an arm for them to hold, like a gentleman. Vyx took his arm, letting him lead as they picked their way around the boxes under their feet.

“Before we go out there,” Al said, pausing in the hallway, happy to be surefooted and not in a pile of random cleaning supplies. Vyx paused with him, taking the moment to brush the dust from their skirts. It hadn’t been a well-used room, after all. “Can I ask why you threw that ice cube? Was that a Malk thing, like… Elnora needed to not be in the room or something?” Al asked, fumbling the example a little. He wasn’t a Malkavian and he hadn’t really ever indulged in the blood, so he wasn’t entirely sure how to spitball a Malkavian’s vision. Vyx shook their head, taking Al’s hands in both of their own, something sweet about the gesture.

“You laughed.” Vyx said, simply, watching Al’s face with an expression that was hopeful, and sweet, and loving, and kind, and almost hurt Al to witness. He’d pushed them away without giving them even a chance, and yet, they were still right there, trying to make him laugh just because they could. “You haven’t laughed since Vince died. I can just… I can tell. And I’ve done a lot of learning over the past couple of years. I’ve learned I don’t like having total control over things, but I don’t like being helpless either, and I don’t like assholes who are actually bad people, but I do like making people I date happy and I do like seeing people smile and you were due a giggle, I think.” They swung their hands back and forth, and Al couldn’t help but smile. He was lucky, they were good at what they did.

“Well, then, Vyxen Riveria, can I get you a drink? I think I’d like to start this meeting over.” Al asked, offering his arm again but this time in a show of affection, like he was asking them out properly, and Vyx grabbed his arm, laughing at the over the top display.

That was the Al they missed.

“Let’s start with that drink. Oh, and Donnie. You need to meet Donnie.”

~*~

Donnie was over at Sven first, but that was only because he’d only gone a few steps away, and he returned, beaming, holding his phone out like if he put it away, he’d find the number had vanished when he wasn’t looking. It was almost surreal, and he was still reeling from the moment. Sven didn’t say anything, giving him a clap on the back that was congratulatory, mostly because he could see the others returning through the crowd and he knew whatever conversation he was about to start, he wouldn’t get to finish it. Instead, he raised a hand, and Donnie could see Vyx’s small hand appear above the crowd in a returned wave. At least they were alive. He was a bit concerned, for a moment.

“I see you both have had success in your endeavors!” Sven said, once Vyx got close enough to hear him, and they approached with Al, his arm slung over their shoulder and a new drink in hand. Donnie found himself drug out of his brief moment of pure bliss by the fact that Vyx was clearly… rumpled, though it wasn’t so noticeable that anyone else would have clocked it. Their dress was wrinkled, dusty, and they’d clearly attempted to smooth it down; their hair was a mess, and they looked a little flushed, which he knew would only have happened had they really been in the moment. Donnie wasn’t entirely sure what happened – well, he kind of knew, but not to what degree - but he could tell something did, and while he briefly had to wrestle with the image in his head and prevent any negative feelings, he got away from the moment feeling happy for them. He knew from the start that he wouldn’t be their one and only, and while he had to take a second to process his first attempt at sharing, he made it out the other side intact.

“Oh yeah, we definitely didn’t get almost murdered by an angry Tremere, total success.” Vyx cackled, detangling themselves from Al’s arm so they could drink from their own drink, even though it had a straw. “But I think I need to stay out of London for a while.”

“Vyx, what did you do?” Donnie asked, and they gave him a sheepish smile, like they knew the answer was going to get them in more trouble – or at least, it should. Donnie simply wasn’t the kind to enforce rules; this was why Brujah were valuable bodyguards as much as boyfriends.

“Do you mean before or after they threw an ice cube down the back of Elnora Winston’s shirt?” Al replied with a laugh – and while Donnie didn’t know who that was enough to care, Sven sure as shit looked like they’d just threatened a world power with a nuclear bomb - stepping forward, now that he’d been freed, and extending a hand. “Alphonse Renato. I married Vince, back in the day. Maybe made a mess of everything after. I hope this one has told you about me?” He paused, this one referencing Vyx, like he was waiting for Donnie to tell him no and ruin the high he was clearly riding. Donnie nodded – much to Al’s relief – and reached out to shake hands; for a moment, they were equals, and there was an understanding. It didn’t matter if Donnie had only heard the bad parts, or if Al really was an asshole, or anything else they did, they were equal partners in love and that meant that, no matter what else, they weren’t going to kill each other. It was a promise they’d yet to put into practice, but it was, at least, a promise. Donnie was still wary of the man – he had hurt Vyx fairly badly, and that wasn’t easily forgiven.  

“Donnie Lawrence. Vyx found me up in New York. They said they had an ex who had pushed them away; I figure that’s behind us now?” He gestured to the two of them, and Vyx nodded, reaching for Al’s hand and swinging it.

“We’re in the process. He owes me dinner.” Vyx said, inclining their head over to Al, who shrugged. He was easy enough with it, though it was clear the dinner bit hadn’t yet been discussed. “But, enough about me, Sven said you also had success? Did you kiss her?” They asked, and Donnie found himself trying not to turn red anyway; the blood really did fight back, sometimes. “You have lipstick on your cheek.” They added, nodding, like that explained how they just knew. Donnie reached up, a hand on his cheek like he wasn’t sure if he should wipe the lipstick off of just leave it, like if he removed it he’d remove her affections from him, but Sven only put a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“You are unmarked, Donnie.” He said, referencing the fact that apparently, the lipstick was only in Vyx’s eyes. That made him feel at least a little better.

“She kissed me, on the cheek. But I got her number.” Donnie said, holding up his phone, the proof of the words in the fact that her number was saved. Al gave Donnie a thumb’s up; clearly, the man was a little more drunk now that they’d reconnected, having clearly downed a drink between their escapades and returning, but not in a way that was depressed and more in a way that was celebrating. There was, as far as Donnie could tell, something about Al’s persona that was off putting; it was easy to see how people just didn’t find themselves attached to Al in any way, because even with the congratulations, it felt almost shitty. Donnie knew it was a persona, but it still rubbed him the wrong way, even if he was trying to make it not.

“Lemme guess, she put it in your phone for you?” Al asked, and Donnie squinted at him, like he wasn’t sure how Al knew that but he didn’t like it. Al raised both hands, a clear sign that he wanted no punches, affectionate or otherwise. “She’s a hacker, I’m a hacker; hacking someone’s phone is the number one way to tell someone you’re into them. It’s what I would have done. And Sven can probably attest, it’s what Damon would have done.” He shrugged, and Vyx shook their head, stepping over to Donnie and putting both of their hands on his cheeks. It was a weird angle, as they were shorter than he was, but he didn’t mind.

“Hear that, Q.B.?” They asked, only sort of pressing on his cheeks, clearly an affectionate thing rather than anything else. “Someone else thinks you’re important. I told you.” They grinned, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips, wrapping their arms around his neck after, and Donnie was able to see Al’s face beyond their shoulder and confirm that they, in fact, weren’t going to kill each other. It was one thing to make the promise, but Donnie could see in Al’s easy shoulders and relaxed demeanor that he had absolutely no problem with Vyx doling out their affection elsewhere. Donnie relaxed; he wasn’t going to get clawed in the back later. Vyx didn’t notice – or if they did, they didn’t acknowledge it – pulling away from Donnie and turning to Sven with their arms wide open. “And of course, I gotta hug my favorite Gangrel!”

“Hey now.” Al jokingly tried to chide them for the comment, even as Sven accepted the hug and wrapped them up tightly. He was so much taller than they were that his commitment to the hug meant they were lifted in the air, feet off the ground and arms around his neck. “Am I not your favorite Gangrel? Damn.”

“Al, you know as well as I do that you’re not a Gangrel anymore.” Vyx said, as Sven put them back down. They turned to Al with this hands on their hips, elbows out in a parental kind of stance. “Just ‘cause you haven’t told me who sired you, yet, doesn’t mean I know you’ve been sired and I can tell it’s not Gangrel. You don’t smell faintly like wet dog anymore.” They inclined their head, like that was proof of the matter. Sven frowned, concerned.

“Do I smell like wet dog?” He asked, concerned, and it was Al that jumped in to help ease his fears.

“No, that was just me. It was a Pip thing. He might have used Gangrel blood to ghoul me, but I guess you can’t scrub the Nosferatu entirely out.” He shrugged, giving Sven a reassuring smile. “Trust me, Big Guy, Damon would not have married you if you smelled like wet dog. He’s way too specific about looking and smelling nice.”

“Speaking of,” Vyx jumped in, turning back to Sven with something like an apology on their face. “I am sorry I yelled at Damon. And also threw a bottle. Did he deserve it? Kinda yeah. But there’s enough of me that’s still Vince and that part of me feels kinda bad.” They said, crossing their arms. Donnie instinctively put his arm around their shoulders, and he watched Al do the calculations, figuring out where he fit in the equation between bodyguard and partner. But the conversation was too distracting, and Al mentally abandoned the numbers when he’d processed Vyx’s words, knowing that the answer to his calculations were all pointing to not getting between them anyway.

“Wait, threw a bottle? What the fuck did Damon do?” He asked, looking first to Vyx and then to Sven, like he expected one of them to explain. Sven frowned, debated the conversation, saw that Vyx was gearing up to say something anyway – and the accuracy of their words might have been on point, but the intensity not so much, and Sven was still trying to save some face – and decided it was best if he just told it.

“I imagine you are aware of Damon’s roll in restoring part of Vince’s memory, should he have lacked any.” Sven started, making sure Al knew the context; as far as he knew, Al was there, so he should have known. Al nodded, clearly ready to hear what the fuck that had to do with anything. “Damon admitted to having altered a few of the memories in question in order to improve his image in Vince’s mind.” He stated, plainly. Al balked, shook his head like that had to be a joke, took a drink from a passing plate and drained half of it, before turning back to Sven and finding that the whole thing wasn’t just a joke he’d misunderstood. The shock returned tenfold at the realization. “Notably, a memory where he was very angry at Vince for not turning you in to the party before you’d betrayed them. Vince had, as far as I understood, realized you weren’t entirely honest with us, but hadn’t mentioned it for fear of being wrong. Kana and Damon saw that he could have prevented your betrayal and were angry he hadn’t.” Sven added, as though to make it real, and Al laughed, only for the laughter to die when he realized it really wasn’t a joke and he was the only one trying to make it one.

“Wait, he really did that?” Al asked, looking between Vyx and Sven, both of him looked dour enough to say it was right. “Is that why he’s not here?” He asked, turning to Sven, who sighed.

“Damon and I had a… long conversation. After, I believed it was best that I take some time to my own and reassess my place in things.” Sven said, and it was a diplomatic way of saying that Damon was very much in the dog house – which would have been hilarious, considering Sven was a Gangrel but his husband was the one in the dog house, had it not been terrible – and Al finished the drink, shaking off the alcohol bite in a way that still screamed Gangrel just as much.

“I yelled at him for it. Threw a bottle, though not at him, and it was empty. Also it was my bottle and my bar.” Vyx shrugged, leaning back into Donnie’s protective arm like they could fend off the bad memories if they were just close enough. “Like, I don’t… it’s not my memories, right? I just happen to have noticed the bait and switch because I already have memories of the conversation, and I’m not entirely sure Vince will be missing that bit in the first place, so it may not even matter.”

“It’s still a shitty thing to do to a person, and that’s coming from me. King of Being Shitty to People.” Al sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Of course Damon would be so self-serving as to try and make himself a hero after the fact, the asshole. Not to mention, it’s not just a shitty thing to do, it’s a shitty thing to do to Vince. I’m not gonna say he was the best of us all or something hokey like that, but the man rarely deserved all the shit he got, and the few times he did he got more than his fair share in return.” Al sighed, pulling out his vape and taking a quick hit off of it, like he was trying to process a thought that almost everyone else was also feeling. “God, I miss that idiot.” He chuckled. “Donnie, you’d have liked him.” He added, and Donnie tried not to frown, because it felt like a weird statement coming from Al, like he was insinuating that Donnie was Vince’s replacement. He was sure Al didn’t mean it like that, but he was just too hard to read.

“Vince would have forgiven Damon immediately, which is the stupidest part. I’m trying to figure out where he got the monk like patience. Something about a weird sound behind a thousand different doors?” Vyx shook their head, clearly having tried to search through Vince’s memories and come up empty. “Nope, no idea. Trying to root through his memories is like trying to sort out someone else’s storage unit and he didn’t label the shoeboxes.” They sighed. “But I know he wouldn’t be mad. He’d be disappointed, but only in the idea that Damon would think the memory would matter in how Vince saw their friendship.”

“He was, in fact, the best of us all.” Sven said, softly, and for a moment, it was quiet. It was quiet, like the whole group had realized, all at once, they missed Vince. That the heartbreak of having someone ripped away from them unceremoniously was just, briefly, too much for one person to bear, and so they were all sharing the load. Even Donnie, who hadn’t ever met Vince, missed him; he missed the opportunities he hadn’t gotten to have with Vince, the potential moments just as precious as the ones that had, already, happened, because he could feel the hurt, palpably. Losing vampires wasn’t an uncommon thing; people died in horrible, awful ways, as Kindred. Being eaten by their own childer, being eaten by their own sires, getting caught up in a scuffle between people more powerful than they could have hoped; not to mention Hunters or Werewolves or the Fae. Being Kindred was difficult, and for a group that was more immortal than most, keeping themselves alive was just hard.

Vyx pulled themselves from Donnie’s arm, snagging a glass from a tray and finding a nearby table, pulling themselves up onto the top. Luckily, no one was sitting at the table, though it was set as though it should have been. They wobbled, just a little – it wasn’t a great table and clearly unbalanced – before holding the glass up and, in lieu of a knife, tapping a sharpened finger against the glass. It was effective, as the conversation around them stilled, all eyes turning to Vyx. Vyx, the analog for the man that wasn’t there, the not quite right specter of his loss. They cleared their throat.

“I know Molly holds these parties for those of us who made it through to the other side of the war. I know this is meant to celebrate the people who stuck with us, through it all, across continents and state lines; the people who could put aside differences, like Clan disputes or political affiliations, just to make sure the world didn’t end. But I want to take a moment, just a moment, and think about the people who didn’t make it.” They paused, looking at all of the faces around them – the ones they knew, and the ones they didn’t, and the ones they knew but who didn’t know them in return – and they inhaled, slowly, an unnecessary thing. “I might not have been there, in the flesh, myself, but I know their names. Dodge Guilford. Lady Celia. Buck. Indesha. Bella. Glamis. Duncan. Vince.” They paused, feeling themselves choking on their words even though they were fairly sure crying was a voluntary action. “The people who make the biggest impact on us are the ones that burn themselves out just as fast. So, if… if we can, I’d like to have just… one moment of silence. For them. And for everyone else who can’t be here.”

They paused, and the room didn’t return to conversation. Everyone there understood what Vyx was talking about, and there was no disagreement. They’d lost, and lost, and lost, and while it was good to reconnect with old friends and see faces they hadn’t seen in years, there were people that wouldn’t ever get that chance, and those people deserved to be recognized. Vyx hadn’t even touched the breadth of the list, not really, but they didn’t need to. For a moment, the room was dead silent, not even a breath, the kind of quiet one would find in a grave, and for a moment, all thoughts turned to the dead. To the dead Sheriffs and the sires and the friends; to the ones who died as people and the ones who died as Kindred and the ones who hadn’t so much died as been lost to the hells of time itself.

They nearly jumped when Al climbed onto a chair next to the table, not quite as tall as they were but tall enough, lifting a new glass of blood wine into the air like he was calling for a toast and wrapping one hand around Vyx’s waist, mostly to steady himself. All eyes turned to him, as his movement had been loud in the silence, but he didn’t care. He was starting over, and this was his first good act. “To Vince. A man who could look at a group of blood sucking, murderous, supernatural monsters and think maybe, just maybe, we’re not all that bad.”

“To Vince!”

It was a chorus of voices, every person in attendance with the ability to speak raising a glass in front of them and intoning his name, because Al was right – if it hadn’t been for Vince, the party wouldn’t have happened. Kana was good at being a leader, but she’d been demure to start with; Dan never cared enough to work without being pressed into it. Vince had been the only one from the beginning that had ever had the kindness and the forgiveness to do what he’d done – hell, the whole thing honestly started due to one act of sheer kindness towards a random homeless woman he’d seen one time. And it had been that kindness that had Tremere not fighting with Salubri; it had been that kindness that had roused allies from London, and Paris, and the States. It had been that kindness that had heard someone call Kindred a net bad and had put its foot down to say no dice. Without it, and without him, Kindred wouldn’t have made it.

And somewhere, deep in Vyx’s guts, they felt something stir.

It wouldn’t be long, now.

[nosnet]

Crash & Burn

by J. D. Dennis

Time Period: New York, 2024

Perspective: Vyxen Rivera

Rating: PG-13

Content Warnings: Detailed description of a motorcycle wreck (but they’re a vampire so its cool), innuendos

Word Count: 16,478

Comments: Donnie was an old PC of C. Todd who’s campaign got kind of canned, but as he’s way too neat to just leave behind, we shoehorned him into the current timeline and now Vyx’s paramour count is…  five. :D

New York was definitely not their idea of a great city to drive in, honestly. 

To be fair to the city, of course, this wasn’t unexpected. New York was not exactly a city built to withstand the amount of vehicles that trundled through it’s tiny streets; it was, in fact, built before the time of cars, and while carts and horses weren’t small things, they didn’t often drive down the streets side by side, let alone five cars strong. It didn’t help that the nightlife didn’t taper off like in most other cities, the roads still jammed tighter than an aging ballerina trying to fit into their old leotard - in a way where no one was quite sure how it was managed and everyone feared the moment something failed - even though it was three or four in the morning. Honestly, if that had been the only issue, Vyx wouldn’t have minded much - avoiding gridlocked traffic was fairly easy, especially considering their vampiric powers meant people got the fuck out of the way, even if they had no idea why - but that wasn’t the problem. No, the problem was the inconsistency, the way some streets would suddenly open up and the traffic would flood out at speed until suddenly, something dropped them back to a standstill. It meant Vyx would take a turn to avoid one backed up pile of nonsense, get going, and then be forced to a different stop on a different street with no other egress. It was frustrating, and they honestly wouldn’t have chosen to drive in it all - but they hadn’t been given that privilege, as it was either land at JFK and face the bullshit traffic, or land at the Piedmont-Triad International airport, right outside of their old stomping grounds, and risk running into a face they hadn’t seen in years. And considering the faces they knew, there was enough precedent for them getting punched in the face as much as anything else. 

The traffic was preferred. Even if it was pouring freezing rain. 

They’d found a street moving at a steady pace, however - still under the speed limit, but how well other people obeyed laws never meant much to them anyway - and that got them away from the airport without much issue, speeding along between the steady cars on their bike. That was, unfortunately, the other reason they had to travel into JFK - they’d left from JFK earlier, and their bike was the one possession they even owned and they weren’t about to leave it to be impounded by some towing company chucklefuck desperate to make a buck. Besides, the bike was what actually made the travel easy; it was small enough to take gaps between cars in ways even a compact car couldn’t take, and that meant that, even in bumper to bumper traffic, they could maneuver their way through to the other side. Their vampiric powers helped, of course - they could make themselves and their bike simply invisible, and people just… got out of the way. They had no idea how it worked, but there was little value in asking questions even older Kindred didn’t really understand. It didn’t change facts, anyway - using the power meant that even the most ornery taxi paused or cut to the side to let them through, and that they could maintain a decent speed, even through a sea of brake lights and angry horns. The icy conditions didn’t bother them, any, and with their ability to ignore the rest of the traffic - which were in fact horrible bothered by the rain, and the ice, and the cold - had a hope blossoming in their chest; something that said they could possibly escape the city and hit the Lincoln Tunnel with time to stop on the other side of the Hudson for a snack before dawn. 

A tire squealed on the slick pavement, and Vyx felt time slowing down. It wasn’t that they actually had the ability to slow time - that wasn’t simply their purview, though they’d fucked a guy back in the day who was legitimately very good at manipulating time, including to make their personal activities last as long as they desired - but that their vampiric perceptions were beyond understanding, and they simply perceived it as though time moved slower. Sure, for many people, there was little practical difference between slowing time and a slower perception of time, but for vampires, there was a true difference, and Vyx simply couldn’t claim the former power as anything they had access to. That did mean, however, that all Vyx could do was watch, initially, as one of the taxis in front of them twisted off to the right, their tire having caught a wet patch that was probably just half-frozen black ice, before slamming hard into the trunk of another car in front of them with a loud thunk. The ripple that followed moved fast though the other cars - like a wave, cars twisted their front ends off to the side, picking left or right arbitrarily, trying not to slam into anyone else, and while some failed, others didn’t, sliding into free spaces or gaps between cars with loud brakes and louder horns. Vyx snapped their handlebars to the right in reaction, hopping their invisible bike up onto the sidewalk to avoid slamming themselves into the taxi directly in front of them, their speed so much faster than the flow of traffic that stopping on an icy street wasn’t really possible. They were lucky they could almost anticipate the ripple effect, as they had much less stopping space going so fast, and running full speed into the back of a car was a bad way to start their latest foray into America.

They hopped the curb - brushing past a very concerned pedestrian who didn’t so much see them as simply ragdoll from an inexplicable wind - prepared to run the crosswalk at speed and rejoin the flow of traffic on the other side of the intersection where the whole thing happened, skipping the multi-car pile up that was occurring and the subsequent traffic jam that would inevitably follow. However, the next instant moved too quickly for their bike to react, as while they perceived time much faster, the materials they worked with weren’t actually faster, and they couldn’t force their bike to keep up with them. A taxi at the edge of the intersection, to avoid more collisions, also hopped the curb at the exact same instant, almost as though they were planning on cutting the corner off the sidewalk in their attempt to make a hard right turn. Vyx couldn’t react fast enough, only half a car length from the offending vehicle when it suddenly appeared in their path and moving twice the rated speed for the road in the first place; there was simply no time left between the breaths for them to do anything but brace themselves. 

The bike slammed hard into the hood of the taxi. The speed had it almost made airborne, bouncing off the yellow metal, before flipping over itself like Vyx had just tried a Dave Mirra trick and failed spectacularly at it. Vyx couldn’t do anything but curl up on themselves as they were immediately unseated, thrown forward as though from a slingshot, and they felt the ground come back at them hard. They hit the ground on the other side of the taxi and bounced, all but skipping through the crosswalk and over the curb like a rock on a still lake, rolling and flailing all the way, before coming to a halt several hundred feet down the street, slamming gut first into a battered trash can. The trash can rocked, but remained standing, if heavily dented by the impact, having been bolted into the sidewalk by the cops in order to keep the homeless people from stealing it. There was no shortage of irony at the idea that, once again, Vyx had been fucked over by anti-homeless architecture, but they were simply in far too much pain to appreciate it. The bike skidded to a stop further down the street, a mangled mess of twisted metal and a ticking, cooling engine, one tire still spinning. 

Vyx groaned. They were obscenely lucky, all things considered, and they knew it; for one, the rest of the crash in the intersection meant that, while there were a couple sad souls out in the bullshit weather that night, very few actually paid mind to the invisible biker that had suddenly appeared in mid air and all but flown themselves across the street. It meant that there was no crowd around Vyx’s fallen form, nor their bike, nor anyone pointing, gawking, or crying over what looked, for all intents and purposes, like a dead girl curled against a trash can. This was good, as Vyx didn’t need an audience. For two, their vampiric abilities meant that, while they were in a world of pain, they weren’t dead. They could feel that just about every organ in their stomach had all but split, and their guts were a bag of loose blood contained by a layer of cold, dead skin and nothing else, and that would have been death for anyone who actually used the damn things. They were lucky that most of their internal organs were accessories at best, and only really necessary for the constant commitment to the bit that was eating. Not to mention, their blood was leaking onto the sidewalk from the rest of their body, slow and languid though it was, and it wasn’t going to stop on its own, which would have been a death sentence for anyone else; they had a leather jacket on, sure, and the thing had definitely taken a beating in the crash, torn over the sleeves and back, but they hadn’t elected to wear anything on their legs, and what was left of them were mostly blood and patches of black where the tar had come with them. Anyone else would have been looking at a severely changed life - Vyx was mostly looking at a week of annoyances and a whole lot of blood. 

Ultimately, though, they knew one thing for certain: they had to leave. Right then. No questions. This was because, unfortunately, it wouldn’t be long before someone noticed the small, feminine form curled bodily around a trash can that looked like someone had taken a sledgehammer to the sides, and grew concerned with their condition. Their lack of audience was temporary, and only as long as they maintained a level of subtlety and stealth, which would quickly vanish now that they weren’t entirely invisible. And any civilian involvement was a problem, because that would mean EMTs, and that meant heart rate monitors, and Vyx still wasn’t sure how to go about dealing with failing a test that no real, living being could fail. But it meant thinking about anything that wasn’t just pain, which was the hard part. There were parts of their body they weren’t even aware could feel that hurt, and that wasn’t counting the amount of pain coming from the bits they were aware of. But they didn’t have a choice - so they took a deep breath and rolled onto their back, away from the can, and let their broken form settle into something a little less tense. 

The first step was to staunch the bleeding, and that, at least, could be done by force of will. The vampiric body was well adapted to getting involved in painful things, and better adapted to walking away from them, so self-healing wasn’t entirely off the table. All it took was a little mental wish - fix that, please - and their body would oblige, the blood working to knit closed the gashes and scrapes like mortal medicine on overdrive. With enough time, Vyx could have healed everything wrong with them and then some, but it would have taken both time they didn’t have and a store of blood they didn’t have, either. Everything needed blood - that was the price of being immortal, needing to feed oneself constantly and with vigor - and Vyx, unfortunately, found that most of theirs had vacated into the hollow of their belly and wasn’t usable anymore, which meant that patching the worst of the bleeding was all they could do. But that, at least, meant they could stand without their being spilling out of their insides like a fucked up waterfall, and they pushed themselves to their feet, wobbling a little as they did so. 

It was funny, looking at a trash can with a Vyx shaped dent, and they even managed a weak chuckle, clutching their belly like if they didn’t hold it the blood would slosh out of them and onto the street; that was, of course, until they saw the mess that had been their bike in a crumple a couple yards away. They sighed, taking one step and then another, testing the strength of their shins to be sure they didn’t need to patch a broken bone just to walk. Luckily, while they could tell there was, in fact, some kind of fracture down there, it wasn’t so bad they couldn’t put weight on it for the moment. Sure, it hurt, but everything hurt, so adding a drop to the proverbial bucket wasn’t really going to hurt. It did mean, however, that their shuffle to their bike was slow, half limping and pained, but they managed. It wasn’t like they hadn’t been in pain before - the man they’d been, the man who’s memories they had all but stolen, was the right kind of schmuck to get himself hurt fairly badly and still feel bad about inflicting that on other people in the process. And his pain was still Vyx’s memory, new ship or not. 

The only real question that they had to answer, however, was where they could go. New York was a Kindred town - not every town was, but most major cities were, at least - and Vyx was at least passingly familiar with the royalty in charge; the hands that had brought them back from the dead, albeit unintentionally, belonged to the woman who all but ran the town and they knew that gave them a leg up against otherwise unfamiliar surroundings. Connections were as important as the blood, to Kindred; it wasn’t like much else survived millenia, after all. And they knew that, no matter what else, they had to find somewhere that catered to Kindred sensibilities in order to get actual assistance - they needed blood, and not through a transfusion. Anything that required a blood pressure cuff was out of the question. But they could already hear the sirens - they didn’t have time to go searching.

Luckily, Vyx had been Vince at one point in time - whether or not they still were Vince was kind of up in the air, and honestly, they were still determining how much of themselves was even Vince - and they had his memories, albeit partially fabricated from the hands of some of his friends, and Vince had, unfortunately for him but fortunately for Vyx, been homeless. The homeless populations, as Vince had learned, used codes and signs to designate certain places as being helpful, or hurtful, or full of cops - and when he’d been sired, he’d learned quickly that Kindred had adopted the practice for their own means. It wasn’t like there was a better way for a new Kindred to roll into a town and find the closest Elysium without exposing Kine to the secrets they were required to keep - and it meant that, when Vyx saw an Ankh symbol down an alley, tucked neatly behind a trash can and next to a filled in droplet, they had found somewhere that could at least offer them something. And, even better, something quickly. 

The shop that made up one half of the alley was a gym, which was kind of a new one for Vyx, but they weren’t really there to ask questions. It had Swinging Bimbos splashed across the front entrance, and it looked like the building had been built sometime in the early twenties and simply never updated. A lot of buildings in the city felt old, sure, but there was something intentionally Art Deco about the whole design. It had no front windows - if the code hadn’t been stamped on the side, the lack of front windows in a gym was a dead giveaway, honestly - and it looked relatively well cared for, save for the distressed smattering of posters that people had slapped on the blank canvas out front. Some had been torn down, though many remained, and curiously, the bulk of the ones that had been removed were all advertisements for baseball, if Vyx had read the remains right. Something about the stadium having events, they couldn’t really tell - and then it hit them. The head bitch in charge, Molly, had a bodyguard, and that bodyguard was not a man who enjoyed certain baseball teams. Unfortunately, the team in question was also the one they had named the stadium after, and the fact that there were no posters about the Yankees told Vyx more than enough about who’s gym they’d found. 

But they hadn’t died and been brought back to be a fucking coward, after all. 

Instead, and with no hesitation, they grabbed their mangled bike by one of the handles, which still stuck from the mass of metal like a convenient leash, dragging it to the side door by the code symbols and giving the door a good hammering, an urgency to their knocking that belayed their otherwise confident stance. While they probably could have used the front door, the quicker they got out of the street, the better it would be, as they didn’t want anyone noticing their fucked up body or worse off bike and assuming they needed assistance. The door swung open - and it didn’t squeak or flake any rust, which told Vyx it was new and probably due to the last one being decimated from someone’s rage - to reveal… a football player? Or, at least, that’s what Vyx saw - a young man in a full jersey, navy top with orange lettering and orange pants, with a crown of thorns wrapped around his head, and a hole in his chest where his heart should have been. Immediately, of course, they noted two things: one, this poor man had not had a great life, if the missing parts or the pointy symbolism meant anything - it always did - but two, they still had a great view of his face and beyond the perpetually tired expression, the man was handsome. And Vyx hadn’t had anyone to curl up next to since they’d left Paris. 

“You happen to know a guy who can un-crumple a bike?” They asked, before any variant of how can I help you could leave the man’s lips. “Preferably quickly?” They added, a quick glance over the shoulder enough to tell them the cops had started arriving at the scene. They really didn’t have time to wait for pleasantries, considering they were a bloody mess holding a pile of metal that had, at one point, probably been a motor-bike. And they really did look a mess, after all. Beyond the fact that they hadn’t worn any kind of pants, so their legs were two bloody sticks full of gravel and tar, and beyond the fact that their black jacket had gone through so much that it almost looked gray and definitely had holes rubbed in them from the slide, they had no way to tell how well they’d faired, considering they couldn’t see themselves from the outside, and the answer was not great. Their helmet, clutched in the same hand that held the bike, was missing a cat ear - better than them missing part of their face, honestly, but annoying all the same - and while their face hadn’t been dragged across the sidewalk like sandpaper, they had slammed into their helmet hard enough to give them a bloody lip and a bleeding nose. It meant their pert lips were blood red, and their hair - pink, braided for protection, and under a beanie - had gotten stained red in the process. And that was the visible damage -  they could tell their stomach was going to be a very interesting shade of purple as soon as they were undressed. Being short, skinny as a rail, and sporting mostly feminine features, it meant they looked like a hot mess and they knew it. But pity never dried as fast as the blood did. 

“Are you sure the bike is the problem here?” The man asked, taking in the situation and finding that answers did not seem to come willingly, if at all, from the visuals alone. He’d heard the crash, of course - it was hard not to hear squealing rubber and crunching steel - but he’d assumed it was like any other crash and not any problem of his. There was never much worth doing that wouldn’t already be done by the Kine involved. And sure, they were right, the bike was, in fact, a massive issue - it had crumpled in on itself, twisting sideways and tangling its parts with other parts that shouldn’t have ever touched, and the man could tell from just looking at it that even with his vampiric strength - Vyx hadn’t been wrong, the gym was in fact a Kindred gym - he would need a decent socket wrench and several hours just to make the bike look like a bike again. He’d probably need a couple beers to make it work. But the body in front of him was bloody, and messy, and smelled so strongly of death he couldn’t reasonably assume they weren’t Kindred, and it was both kind of foul and also kind of attractive. He worked in a gym - he was no stranger to black eyes or broken noses, and those things weren’t turn offs, either. Neither fact helped him parse how a vampire got to his side door looking like that without the descent of the police, however, but he had the capacity to think multiple things at once.  

“The bike is the only problem I can’t fix on my own, probably.” Vyx shrugged, but it was a roll of their shoulders that only used one arm, the other weighed down by the bike in their hand. “If you could spare a shower, that would also help. As long as I get out of the sleet like, anyway.” They shrugged again, sticking out their free hand and feeling their belly slosh awkwardly at the movement, the discomfort registering on their face. “Vyx. Just came in through JFK and I forgot how much of a bitch traffic is. You have a name there, Q-B?” 

“...QB?” The man parroted, full of confusion but also not saying no, stepping aside instead and letting Vyx drag the bike to the door. “I usually go by Donnie.” He added, watching Vyx stand at the door with the bike for a long second, doing math that just wasn’t working. Unfortunately, the bike wouldn’t go through the door without some tending, but it was, at least, tucked against the wall in a way where it wouldn’t be mistaken for trash. It wouldn’t get seen, and they could handle that part of the problem later, so he didn’t address it further. Vyx didn’t think on it too long, either, assured that the bike was officially someone else’s problem, stepping into the gym and finding it empty - that wasn’t a surprise, it was one in the morning on a Tuesday with sleet outside - and also warm. They didn’t register cold, but the change in temperature was definitely a sensation, and they shivered as they did. 

“Y’know, QB? Quarterback?” Vyx turned, giving the man a single up and down scan with their eyes. “Unless you weren’t somebody’s star quarterback and I’m misinterpreting this read like nobody’s business.” They shrugged - it was a fairly common gesture for them, honestly - finally giving themselves a second to exist and self assess. Face? Bad. Not the worst pain ever, but they could feel the slick blood against their upper lip and the pressure in their nose all the same. Legs? That was going to take some doing. They couldn’t just heal the abrasions without giving the whole thing an aggressive clean, unfortunately, unless they wanted to cart around half a block of gravel in their shins. Not to mention, they could feel their right calf try to rip itself apart with pain in every step. They quickly decided to stop leaning on it - the shock of impact had started to wear off, replaced by the screaming ache of the aftermath, and they were discovering quickly that some wounds were actually much worse now that they were actually registering properly. 

“Oh.” The realization rolled over Donnie in a wave, and it was an expression Vyx had gotten used to over their existence. Considering it was only four years - for all they were Vince, they weren’t him, and that meant they were really only four years old, and everything was new and weird still - the fact that it happened often told Vyx more than anyone had actually spared willingly about their clan. Molly had tried, when they’d woken up, but their intricacies were not easy to put into words, and she was still probably the most telling. Everyone else, their own clan included, was simply too cagey or cryptic. Vyx wasn’t good at interpreting other Malkavains, yet - that was a whole skill in and unto itself. “Malkavian, right.” Donnie shrugged - he had nothing against the clan, though they were in fact a bunch of weirdos and made very little sense - quickly locking the door behind them. He still wasn’t sure what the hell happened, but he was used to Malkavians in the city pissing off the cops. “So, did you…?” He didn’t finish the sentence, gesturing to the street side wall, where windows would have been, to indicate whatever the hell happened out there instead. It wasn’t like he could honestly put words to what happened, as he hadn’t seen it happen nor had he checked after the fact, either. 

“Cause that? Nah, not me. Taxi beefed it on the ice right in the middle. I wasn’t even on the road.” Vyx said, hobbling over to a bench and sliding to sit down on it. They pressed their hands against the leather, lowering themselves slowly, finding their arms were, surprisingly, okay, if probably purple with bruises. It helped that they'd untucked their arms before they ran into the trash can. “No, some jackass cut the curb going right instead of stopping and winged me. Not really his fault, considering I was super not visible, but unfortunately, even I am not immune to physics and stopping very suddenly from straight up sixty miles per hour doesn’t end great for anyone.” They sighed, leaning their head back against the wall. Somehow, even dead, that still felt good. “Needed a quick exit, so thanks. Even if this is all I get, the Masquerade thanks for you not having me end up in the back of an ambulance. I would have had to punch someone in the dick and that also historically goes poorly.” 

“You’ll still want medical attention.” Donnie said, and there was concern to his voice, which would have been more amusing had Vyx not been in so much pain. “Blood will work in the long term, but you’ll want something to hold you together until it can.” He stepped forward, holding out a hand in a silent offer, and Vyx took it, pulling themselves to their feet again. There was a print where they’d sat, their thighs immortalized in shining red, and they found they had the blood left to look flushed in proper - flirty - embarrassment. 

“You kicking me out, here, QB? I know I’m a mess, but I can make it worth your while.” Vyx tried to purr the words out, but the lack of blood, the beginning stages of dizziness, and standing suddenly had them wavering, almost falling back to the floor. Donnie’s grip on their hand was the only thing that kept them upright long enough for them to find their footing. “Ha, maybe I should sit back down.” They chuckled, batting their eyes all the same. Donnie was a hard read - it didn’t help his eyes were two glowing pinpricks of light instead of actual eyes, and pinpricks always under represented expressions - but he smiled, and that alone had Vyx feeling better about the situation. 

“No, I’m not kicking you out - but all our medical supplies are in the back.” Donnie gestured to a set of doors that led from the exercise hall, as it were, to the back rooms and offices required to make a gym go with a sly smile on his face. “Your bike is probably going to be our evening, and I don’t want you torporing in my gym while I work. Don’t worry about owing me anything, though - it’s not like I’m doing anything else. C’mon, let’s just get you patched up and then we’ll see what I can do with that bike.” He pulled their hand, surprisingly gentle for someone that could have probably picked up Vyx with one hand. They could tell he had muscle under his uniform, not just vampiric muscle but the real stuff, too, and they stumbled after him, reaching out with one arm to balance on his shoulders before they fell. He let them settle against his shoulder, instinctively wrapping his arm around the small of their back to keep them upright. If the strange sensation of Vyx’s stomach registered, squishy with blood, he didn’t show it on his face, but he did look away from theirs and to the door with a purpose all the same, like he’d just understood, intrinsically, how much he had to do. 

“I hope the bike isn’t our whole evening. Even if it’s not just ‘cause repayment.” Vyx’s tone was flirty, if also a little pouty, and they watched the words flicker across Donnie’s face; a smile followed them, quickly stamped out for something more serious. Clearly, this wasn’t a one sided desire, but there were more important things to do, like patch Vyx up. It was, however, something they could work with. “If it helps, I don’t really have anywhere to be.” They tried to shrug and failed, as they weren’t nearly as tall as Donnie, and having their shoulders at such an angle meant shrugging simply didn’t work. “I’m, uh. Not on anyone’s schedule but mine, I guess.” They paused, a sudden surge of sadness taking them. It was hard, being alone. They didn’t like the way their brain clutched at the insides of the skull when they were alone. But it was harder, still, to not be alone when they had no home to go to. 

Donnie pushed through a swinging door, leading them back to what looked like a nurse’s office. It wasn’t particularly big, but it was large enough to hold a plain cot, a desk, and a computer that looked a lot newer than anything else in the building. There was also a large cabinet chock full of medical supplies, and Donnie quickly turned to it once he was sure Vyx was stable. They let him dig through the cabinet, instead working on the other part of the equation of fixing them - getting to the wounds. Their jacket unzipped without trouble, but they found that twisting to take it off hurt, their shoulders sore from the impact, and they hissed as they pulled it off one arm. “You alright?” Donnie asked, turning back, finding Vyx holding their jacket in one hand and their stomach in the other, their shirt - printed with I am 104% Tired - red with their blood. They weren’t actively bleeding anymore, but they clearly had been, and the scrapes were still red under their shirt, not to mention the patches of purple where the bruising had taken over. 

“Yeah, yeah. Just. Ah.” They made a noise that said pain, letting their jacket drop to the floor before starting on their shirt. “Eck, I liked this one.” They mumbled, peeling the bottom of their shirt off their stomach. Underneath, their skin was brown, but ashy from a lack of conscious effort, and even under the jacket, their stomach was scraped and scratched and splotched with purple and red. They carefully pulled one arm from the t-shirt, and while they did their best not to make a face at it, it clearly hurt like shit to do. They paused, the shirt over one arm and their neck, letting out a low whine that said they needed a second due to the pain, and Donnie sighed, setting the bandages down on the cot and stepping over to them. He was gentle, nimble fingers pulling the shirt away from Vyx’s head, letting them duck out of the bloody fabric and then sliding it off their arm. It left them standing close, Vyx half naked - they weren’t ever the bra kind of person - and only inches from Donnie, their head angled up in such a way where he could just lean down, because they were right there, almost close enough that he could feel the peach fuzz on their jaw. 

Vyx watched him consider it, and they could tell, even behind those little pinpricks, that if they’d stayed right there just long enough, he would have probably figured out what Vyx was asking for. And at minimum, he wouldn’t have been upset had they closed the gap themselves. But they were nothing if not a tease, and they smiled, pulling back and moving to sit on the cot instead, as the other reason was the excessive dizziness that had overwhelmed them in the moment. 

“You’ll need to take your skirt off.” Donnie said, still smiling, turning back to the cabinet and grabbing the last of his supplies. Vampires didn’t need most medical supplies, so there wasn’t much to grab. There was no need for ointments or creams, as Kindred only found help in blood based remedies. But bandages or splints were never amiss, and he had plenty - as an employee of a gym, he was more than used to patching people up from nearly dismembered. Especially considering his grandsire made a sport of taking people apart. “For medical reasons, of course, but if I’m reading the room correctly, I don’t think you’d mind if it wasn’t.” Donnie paused, bandages in his arms, peering over his shoulder for just a moment, and the grin on Vyx’s face said he wasn’t wrong. 

“Usually I get paid for stuff like this.” Vyx chuckled, shimmying out of their skirt and ignoring the pain as they did. Luckily, it wasn’t a long skirt, and they quickly shucked it to the floor, sitting in their underwear - they didn’t go commando on a bike, they weren’t completely out of their mind - and boots on the cot. Skirtless, the extent of the burns up their legs was more apparent, and Donnie quickly turned back to the cabinet to grab another roll of bandages, just in case. “I mean, not that it’s the job, just that sometimes you gotta make a quick buck here and there, y’know.” Vyx shrugged, not necessarily embarrassed, but still wanting to make sure Donnie had the right idea; it was almost as though they realized they’d implied they were trying to solicit cash from him and not actually interested and needed to clarify. 

“I get it.” Donnie shrugged. It wasn’t really his bag, but he understood; even if they themselves only ever needed blood, the world still ran on money, and many things - clothes, houses, cars, gas, ghouls - needed to be paid for. And anything that brought in a buck was worth it, especially considering Kindred had much less risk at most jobs. He didn’t add anything else, kneeling down in front of Vyx and starting on one of their boots. He could tell they couldn’t bend over, not well, not like they were, and while they seemed startled, there was something to their face that said they hadn’t been treated that kindly very often. Pulling their boot off, and their sock, he could see the extent of the burns, and gingerly, he started cleaning them. He used an antiseptic spray, first, but only because it was wet and slick and loosened the gravel, before following it with a soft rag, pulling the debris from the wound. It hurt like fuck - Vyx gripped the edge of the cot so hard they swore they heard the metal crack - but they kept their leg still, letting Donnie work his way up to their knee and then past it. 

“You know, if this didn’t hurt so fucking much, this would almost be romantic.” Vyx bit out, the words cut by the pain racing up their leg from the burns. Donnie chuckled, and it was clear the chuckle was an attempt at staving off awkwardness - he was clearly kind of into the idea, but unwilling to act on it immediately, and had been using his silence to stake the thought so he could get on with his job. By addressing it, Vyx had freed his tormentor, and they chuckled. “Sorry. If it helps, I’m definitely into it. Not the pain part, though I could be. Never really tried it.” 

“We’re treating your wounds first, and then we’re getting you a drink.” Donnie insisted, the boundary fair - though Vyx pouted, clearly cute and silly, all the same. “Then I want to get a look at your bike. We might need to take it back to my place. I have a garage space I can bring it to, work on it there.” He paused, reaching up to finish Vyx’s leg, before reaching for a bandage and starting to wrap their leg back down again. He paused, cutting it into pieces so Vyx had the ability to move with it on. “I’m not dragging you to my apartment because you got too excited and used too much blood.” 

“Fair. But you’re considering it?” Vyx asked, with a chuckle. It was weird, having someone touching them so thoroughly and yet so platonically, and it honestly made Vyx’s chest flutter. They hadn’t ever really met Flidais, back in Vince’s day, and their interactions with Al had been… less than stellar, but the feeling of protective comfort was almost overwhelming. Donnie didn’t answer, tying off the last bandage with practiced ease, before moving onto the other leg. Vyx was lucky that boners were voluntary for vampires, or the pain would have killed theirs quickly. They let him work in silence, the movements too painful for them to really speak, until he paused, getting up to clean the cloth off in the office’s tiny sink. “Forreal, though. If I’m overstepping, you gotta tell me. I am not  the Malk you trust to read the room, y’know? I’m not seeing the same wallpaper.” 

“Let me see the bike. I want to know how bad it is before I commit to anything.” Donnie replied, settling back at their knees. But his hands were gentle, more so than before, though it really didn’t too much to make it less painful. “But I’m a Brujah. We don’t just let people overstep.” He looked up, giving Vyx a look that reminded them he hadn’t ever said no. Vyx didn’t reply, as he started back quickly, but he’d grown more practiced by the second leg, and finished cleaning it quickly. Wrapping it was also quick, and much less painful. 

“Point, though I’m also kind of… learning, still. It’s really complicated, but I’ve only been like this for a couple years, so while I have a decent amount stored in the ol’ noggin, I’m still getting fresh first hand experiences. Y’know.” They shrugged, kicking their legs out after he finished, testing the wrapping. It was strong, but they still felt stiff legged. “You might actually have to carry me, I don’t know if I can walk like this.” 

“Let me finish the bandages.” Donnie sat down next to Vyx, the cot sinking low as he did so - it wasn’t really made for two - leaning in to press the cloth to their stomach, trying to clear the gravel from the wounds there, too. His hands were gentle, but the softness of their abdomen made everything that much weirder, and weirder quickly turned to pain. Vyx pushed out, but half heartedly, a show of displeasure rather than an actual attempt to push Donnie away. “Vyx.” Their name got their attention, as well as the hand on their wrist, and they settled, especially as they realized the hard part was over. Donnie’s grip wasn’t hard, but it was firm. 

“Sorry, that. That was reflexive.” Vyx chuckled, taking their arm back and holding their elbows up so he could wrap the bandages around their waist. “I imagine you’re no rookie at taking a smack, though.”

“That’s one way to put it.” Donnie chuckled, tying off the bandages and finding himself, again, spaced just so from Vyx’s face. This time, however, Vyx didn’t pull away, and Donnie didn’t either, lingering there a breath from each other’s lips, the moment in time paused between decisions, hanging there, waiting. 

“Neither am I, so don’t be afraid to tell me I’m overstepping.” Vyx replied, before leaning forward and pressing their lips to Donnie’s. It was a quick kiss, chaste, but long enough that Donnie found his hands ghosting Vyx’s jaw and Vyx’s hands found their way to his upper arms, their touch light and fleeting. They tasted like tobacco and their own blood, which registered to Donnie as spicy even as the flavor said mint, and then the taste was gone even as spots lingered in Donnie’s eyes, lids closed. Vyx lingered in the space near his face, watching the pinpricks as they darted back and forth, reeling from the moment and processing. But Donnie didn’t punch them, or even pull away, instead just opening his eyes and pushing up from the cot. 

“I’m getting you a shirt.” He said, instead, but there was a smile that said he was okay with that having happened. He pulled away, stepping to the desk and pulling out a bottom drawer. Inside, there were shirts, mostly plain white ones; Donnie’s boss and grandsire, Ray, tore through shirts on the daily, so his boss had stocked their back room with spares, just in case. It wasn’t that he couldn’t be shirtless, but there were times when he certainly needed to have one and it was easier if they were on hand. That meant, however, that the shirt was huge on Vyx, but they took it all the same, squirming into it and letting it fall down to their lap and thighs easily. “Now, bike, and then we’ll see where things go from there?”

“Yeah, I don’t think the cot would support us both like that, anyway.” Vyx chuckled, pushing themselves to the end of the bed. Standing was complicated, as they had bandages and splints in various places, but they managed to push themselves up, though they had to lean heavily on Donnie’s arm to not overbalance. The shirt dropped to Vyx’s thighs, covering most of their ass but stopping just short of being a practical dress. Donnie stayed still and let Vyx lean on him until they found their feet, before leading them out of the nurse’s office and back to the door where the bike was. There, they leaned on the doorway, watching Donnie as he inspected the bike just outside, the sleet sticking in his hair a little before melting; Vyx knew that, eventually, it wouldn’t even melt, because they weren’t warm, and there was something funny about the thought. Donnie peered around the mangled mess of metal and his sigh came after only a few seconds, because clearly, this was not a job done quickly. 

“Yeah, I’m gonna need my tools. Maybe a wizard.” He made a face, the prognosis kind of grim. “It might honestly be easier to fit this into the van as is.” He paused, making a face. “Alright, here’s the deal. This thing is going to need a miracle, and I can’t do that here. There’s a van through the back - do you think you can walk enough to get there? I have to carry this thing around to the garage door, and I figure you don’t want to walk in the rain with a fresh shirt.” 

“I think I can, yeah.” Vyx said, pushing off from the door and taking an experimental step. “I’m not gonna move fast, but I wasn’t ever a speedy bitch anyway.” They shrugged. 

“Alright. I’ll meet you at the van, and we’ll take that back to my garage. Once we get there, we’ll get you a drink.” He sighed, looking back at the bike at his feet. It almost hurt to look at the poor thing, honestly, and he could tell from just looking that this was not going to be a one night stand. “This is going to take a few days. You’ve really turned this thing into a pretzel.” 

“Good thing for you, I’m not the type to hit it and quit it.” They chuckled, pushing back from the wall again and back into the gym. “I’ll meet you at the van, but don’t rush on my part. This will take me a minute. Oh, can you grab my bag if you can get it? There’s a little drawstring… somewhere in that thing.” They shook their head, walking, stiff legged, back into the depths of the gym, and Donnie sighed. Had he been expecting a whirlwind that night? No. But he had a shortage of company, not in the same way, but solved similarly enough, and while the bike was going to be a nightmare, a challenge was not something he was against. 

Red and blue lights flickered against the alley wall, but Donnie ignored them, lifting the bike up and half rolling, half carrying it away from the lights and the Kine using them. This wasn’t their business, and never would be. 

~*~

Donnie’s apartment was a new kind of apartment, though the newness wasn’t really so much of a difference as to be really noticeable. It was a quick jaunt down the street, away from the police, the streets empty due to the crash behind them, before Donnie turned into a parking garage entrance. The ramp sloped down, however, and as they exited onto the first lower level, Vyx could see what had been added. Where there were apartments above, there were personal garages below, arranged like a storage facility but sized for cars and housed entirely underground. Donnie drove down one lane, taking a turn and pulling off to the side, hopping out and raising the door. There weren’t any remotes, and Vyx could see why - a universal garage opener would cause havoc, as while there was a range left or right, there wasn’t as much of one up or down. Not to mention how easy they were to program. Once opened, Vyx could see the garage was fairly spacious, with an assortment of tools and just enough space for two bikes and the van. It would be cramped, but they’d fit.

It was quick work to back the van into the spot, Donnie clearly a practiced hand at maneuvering the van in such a space, but once it was in, Donnie simply hopped out and headed for the passenger door, ignoring the trunk. He let Vyx out, making no motion to head to the back of the van, instead leading Vyx to the elevator next to his bay. “We’re just going to leave them there?” They asked, turning to the van as Donnie beeped the fob twice, sure now it was entirely locked, before slamming the door back down and closing off the garage entirely. 

“Would you rather a drink, or for me to fix your bike right now?” Donnie asked, in return and over his shoulder, and Vyx put their arms up just a little, as though to say asked and answered. Donnie shook his head, leading Vyx into the little metal elevator and pressing a button for his floor, skipping the lobby entirely. It seemed convenient, being able to just miss the front doors, and very much like a vampire built the space. “I’ll get them out when I actually get started. They won’t need the van until next weekend - the Big Guy won’t be back in the state until Friday, and we only really use it to get replacement machines when he breaks them.” Donnie shrugged, watching the numbers over their head ding a few times, before they arrived at his floor. 

The hallways looked like most apartments, so Vyx had no concept of what to expect; the slightly gray walls and darker gray floor didn’t give much insight as to the builder or decorator, though Vyx noted a distinct lack of windows at either end. If it had been a hotel, that would have told them something - they’d been in enough, over the years, to have noticed a few things about their respective styles. Donnie didn’t pay much mind to the outside, tapping his phone against a dark box at the top of the handle, and Vyx heard the mechanism inside whirr lightly as it accepted the code and unlocked. They weren’t very familiar with keyless entry - the only home they’d really known in the last decade had been an apartment with a key, and after that, briefly, a sewer - so there seemed a little magic to it, almost, but they only had a moment to think on it, as Donnie quickly ushered them inside. 

Vyx had definitely been in their fair share of apartments, yet somehow, they always managed to find themselves in awe all the same. It wasn’t the fact that the apartment was special - and it wasn’t, not really, classic NYC brick walls and big windows and compact alignment - but that how someone arranged their house said more about them as a person than anything else they did, and that was something Vyx never took for granted. The kitchen appeared, immediately to their left, and they could see a fully stocked bar separating the cooking space from the rest of the apartment, the actual kitchen just as well stocked and ready to use. Past the bar, stairs led up to a loft they couldn’t quite see, one of those L shaped sofas just beyond, and while it was lived in, it wasn’t messy. Vyx paused, staring for a moment at a Rocky poster framed nicely on one wall. It tracked. 

“Do you, like… eat food?” They asked, thumbing over their shoulder into the kitchen as they passed it, heading out into the main room at large. The apartment was honestly bigger than they’d expected, though they’d seen places in the city that were hardly a shoebox for the price of a Tesla, so nothing was really surprising about it all. Once in the main room, they could see up into the loft; there was a larger bed, though size escaped them at that angle, with some end tables and a crowbar framed over the top. It was definitely the most telling frame in the whole house, but Vyx was still learning the language that was Donnie and couldn’t quite figure out why it mattered so much. They could also see the edge of a desk and what looked like a fairly nice computer, but the angle of the loft made peering into it difficult. 

“Sometimes.” Donnie replied, stepping into the kitchen and futzing around with the bottles. He produced several, uncorking one and unscrewing others, though Vyx could tell he had one eye on them as he worked. The bottle he uncorked smelled strongly of blood, and Vyx had to fight the urge in their very veins to smash the entire bottle into their face in a desperate attempt to get all of that inside them. They were starving. “Do you?” Donnie asked, pouring a mix of alcohol and blood wine into a set of rocks glasses, before heading around the bar. Vyx took one glass in a hand that had more of a shake to it than they realized, though it was likely the blood being so close had their entire body buzzing. Hunger was a devil they chased all the time, and it wasn’t one that gave up quickly. 

“When I can, though I find that most places I crash these days don’t have full kitchens.” Vyx shrugged, taking a sip of the mixture in front of them like they had the self control to pace themselves; however, the second the blood touched their lips, the illusion of propriety fled the building and they immediately knocked the whole glass back, letting out a satisfied sigh like they hadn’t eaten in millenia. “Sorry, I… It isn’t just cooking that gets hard, y’know. Hard to tell if a town is full of Camis when they don’t speak English and you don’t speak anything but barely passable Spanish.” They chuckled, embarrassed, but Donnie didn’t even flinch - instead, he set his own glass down next to the sofa and went back to the bar, grabbing the open bottles from the bar top and heading back. He quickly poured Vyx a glass of just blood, before setting both bottles down on an end table, a sign that Vyx could, actually, settle in. 

They skulled the second glass just as fast, regardless. They needed to start stitching up their wounds. 

“You said you’d flown into JFK. Was Europe a business venture?” Donnie asked, curious but also reserved in his question. It was a polite way to gauge where Vyx was on the social hierarchy of vampires, which was a complicated and messy business just within the States. International politics only made it worse. Vyx chuckled, grabbing the wine bottle and pouring themselves a generous third glass - though they gave Donnie eyes asking if it was okay - with a top off of the whiskey, before settling in on the other half of the L, just far enough away from Donnie that it wasn’t cuddling yet, but close enough to feel intimate. 

“No, no. I… I needed some time to figure some stuff out? You know how that goes, right?” They chuckled, a sad little thing, the pain in their body ebbing as the blood did its work. They could feel their skin on their legs start to patch over, the creeping sensation of ants but more stinging and hot; they figured it was better to start on the outside, so they didn’t leave blood all over Donnie’s apartment - at least from places he didn’t consent to, anyway. “So I popped over the pond to see who was still around. Tried to find an old fling in London, but that didn’t pan, though I did get to talk to the Prince out there. He was pretty cool. Visited an old friend in Paris; she’s kinda going through it, unfortunately, but that seems pretty much everyone right now, right?” Vyx finally sipped their drink, just satiated enough that they didn’t go apeshit over the smell of blood. They were using it as they drank it, sure, but they knew how to keep themselves feeling satisfied while they did. It meant the healing was slow and methodical, but they had time. “Oh, and I dropped in on an old contact out in Eastern Europe. Cool dude, kinda weird. Think he honestly just likes having company.” 

“Can I ask who?” Donnie tried, curious but also definitely easy about it. Sometimes, Kindred relationships were fair game; other times, they were secret, quiet things, things that needed to stay in the darkest corners. Not every Kindred was a good person, and many were often objectively awful people. Almost all of them had at least one notch on their body count, if not more, and while innocent was not a term often applied to Kindred, guilty was not the best description of the dead, either. Telling someone you actively associated with an asshole was not always the best idea. Vyx paused, like they were realizing that Donnie had asked, which was not expected, but not in a way that said they hated telling him. Hell, the smile that graced their face said he probably wouldn’t believe them. 

“Vlad Dracul. Legitimately decent dude. Definitely had to do research on the decorum of the time, ‘cause he’s sort of a stickler about doing things by the book. Like, the letters I had to send first were absurd. Also in German. Good thing I knew a guy who spoke it, but it was a mess regardless. But once I was there he was a total dream host. Honest to Cain I think he’s just super lonely. Nobody lives out that way anymore, y’know? Kindred have moved West and he’s sort of stuck with his castle and his guys and horses and stuff.” 

“You’re kidding.” Donnie chuckled, like he honestly thought they were joking, but they didn’t reply, simply sipping their drink with a smirk that said this was the reaction they expected. “You really just know Dracula?” 

“Yeah, though not like, well. But a bunch of us are - were? Fuck if I know - on decent terms with one of Vlad’s childer so when shit hit the fan a couple years ago, we were like maybe we can ask him for help? And honestly he was the easiest to convince; all we had to do was say hey by the way there’s fighting you wanna join and he was like totally yeah absolutely no questions. Sure, was staging like six hundred horses a rough task? Yeah, but it wasn’t my rough task, so.” They giggled, finishing their third drink - the second with any alcohol, and only a small amount - before pouring themselves another, this time a heavy mix of both. “Also, hey, uh. Sorry if this is weird.” They said, before reaching, casually, to their leg and shoving their entire hand into the flesh, past the bandages Donnie had wrapped. Their fingers slipped through the first layer of skin like they were molding slime before going further than Donnie could see, and there was a slight crunch as their leg shifted. “Had to push the bone back into place before I healed anymore. The fracture was slipping.” 

“You do that flesh melding stuff?” Donnie asked, and he asked in a way that said that was a pretty neat trick that he had basically no experience with, which was true. He knew Konrad did that, sometimes, and that Konrad’s clan did that often, but he had no experience with any concept about it being something secret that only Konrad should have been able to do. Vyx considered the question as they fished their fingers from their leg, leaving behind nothing but blood on their hands from the initial wounds. There wasn’t even a scar left behind, a perfect wall of flesh where their hand had been before. 

“Yeah, picked it up from a Tzimisce, far as I know she only went by Eldest, back in… well, I think it was technically Statesville, but the technicalities are weird. She was pretty, though. Wouldn’t have called her a friend on my life, but hey, when they’re that old, altruism feels a lot like friendship, right?” They chuckled, wiping the blood off their fingers and onto their leg bandages, which were already stained from the slow healing. “Probably one of the weirder Kindred I can stake a claim to knowing, pun entirely intended, but that’s everyone, right? Kindred circles are small, and big wigs take up a lot of space. I bet you’re on the up and up with somebody, right? So it’s not that weird.” 

“I don’t know if you’d say that.” Donnie shook his head, the curiosity in human form in front of him both incredibly confusing but also just as interesting. They way they were so cavalier with their knowledge, or the ease with which they just spoke about shooting the shit with mother fucking Dracula - or this other Kindred, Eldest, whom he didn’t recognize but who’s name still made his mouth taste like ash and his skin prickle all the same - wasn’t something Donnie was really used to. Most Kindred played verbal chess, kept their hands hidden and didn’t spill what they didn’t need to spill, meanwhile Vyx was hanging out in his house chatting plainly about being better friends with one of the progenitors of vampire culture than most. They had no concept of a filter, let alone privacy. 

“Who do you work for, then?” Vyx asked, like they were trying to prove their earlier point, that Donnie knew somebody important, and there was something in it that seemed more desperate than anything else, like Vyx was trying to prove that they weren’t the weird ones in the room for knowing a couple of Methuselahs. Sure, they were definitely the weird one in the room, but they wanted the blood to earn that, not their circumstances. It wasn’t like they’d chosen to hang out with most of the people they knew - they’d been thrust, violently and without warning, into meeting a lot more people than they had ever thought they would, just because the world almost ended. 

“Well, my boss is Molly de l’Argonne, mostly.” Donnie replied, finishing his drink and pouring another. He wasn’t drunk enough for this conversation. “She’s powerful, if nothing else. But I’m the bottom of the ladder, so technically I work for this guy, Ryan, who sort of works for his husband, Ray, who works for Molly as her bodyguard. I might work for her, but I wouldn’t say I know her. I just work at the gym and do what I’m told.” Donnie shrugged, but Molly’s name seemed to be the thing that brought the most pleasure to Vyx’s face, which seemed like it would have been flushed with alcohol if they had the extra blood to send there. 

“Oh, yeah, her. I know her. She’s hella powerful, dude. You’re more on the up and up than you probably know.” Vyx chuckled, but the fact that they knew Molly was a strange one, and Donnie shifted forward. He knew Molly was a powerful Kindred, sure - she was Prima of the city, daughter of one of the proudest families in her clan, and she had holdings all over the East Coast. She was beautiful, she was a skilled Necromancer, and she surrounded herself with people who were just as powerful as she was and who would bend for her if she asked. And not only that, she’d married one of the most powerful Sabbat players in the US and shared his holdings. Donnie knew she was a lot, but he didn’t really know her, and it felt weird that he was getting credit for the idea when it wasn’t really true. 

“How do you know her?” Donnie asked, trying to push the conversation from their misunderstanding, because that’s what it had to be, and to something more comfortable. If Vyx noticed his intentions, they didn’t mention it, clearly focused on other things. 

“Uh, it’s a long one, but the short bit is she was the one that raised me from the dead and stuff.” Vyx said, and they said it like they were talking about meeting her at Zumba classes on a Tuesday and not how she raised them from death. Especially as they weren’t a Giovanni, but Molly was, raising them from the dead didn’t actually mean being sired. “Here, lemme run this like this: how familiar are you with the bullshit that happened in 2018? Down in North Carolina, mostly?” 

“I know something happened, but I wasn’t Kindred until the 2020s.” Donnie explained. He was aware stuff had gone down, sure. But he was aware of it like he was aware of the Week of Nightmares - a thing that happened to other people, before his time, and that probably wouldn’t happen again. Something about Molly being dominated to work for a Nosferatu that had subsequently dusted, and a lot of people calling it the almost end of the world, though it hardly sounded anything but facetious. He wasn’t sure what the crime was, but he could tell from the way everyone was touchy about it that there was a big crime committed, and Molly was paying out the ass to apologize for it. 

“So, in short, this guy named Pip tried to kill every vampire, retroactively, ‘cause he thought Kindred as a whole were a net bad. Man had some trauma to work through and kinda picked the worst way to do it, y’know? He dominated Molly to work for him when she realized what he was doing, if I recall correctly. And for a long time, he was… a friend of ours. Until he wasn’t.” Vyx sighed, pouring themselves another hefty glass of alcohol and blood. “It’s fuckin’ wild how the people you pull closest to you are the ones most likely to nail your ass to the wall for their shitty fuckin’ games.” They shook their head. “Regardless, there was this whole… thing. Big ass war. Multiple states and continents involved. We managed to convince a bunch of assholes that hated each other to not hate each other long enough to push Pip’s shit into the ground, though. Like, a couple Tremere from London, and a Trujah, also from London, some Kindred who were also faeries from Ireland, and then some Giovanni from Paris. And then Vlad. Molly’s guy, Konrad? He’s the German I mentioned earlier. My, uh… I think technically she’s my ex-girlfriend right now ‘cause she doesn’t know I’m alive, but she ripped his throat out with her teeth and ate him, so then they were the same person for all of this and so when we went recruiting Konrad was like I can totally ask my grandsire and sent Vlad a letter, even though he doesn’t really like the dude all that much but I think it’s more embarrassed teen than anything else ‘cause Vlad’s cool as shit.” Vyx chuckled. 

“Regardless, whole big battle happened in September. Forty-something Kindred, all big power players, plus hundreds of horses and knights and shit, versus an army of szlachta, zombies, and two vozhd, plus Molly, Ray, and a bunch of other powerful people Pip had gotten on his side for one reason or another. Including a Baali, for the record - Illya Illustra, figure you probably don’t know him. Though, he was on his own side, ‘cause he helped us take Pip out back and ruin him but he also wanted to do what Pip was doing ‘cause he knew it would end the world. Y’know, usual Baali shit.” 

“How did a Baali help you win?” Donnie asked, enraptured. It was a story so unbelievable, it couldn’t be real, yet Donnie knew his bosses had a high opinion of Malkavians and their truthfulness, not to mention what he knew tracked. Ending the world was kind of a terrible crime to be accused of, and he’d heard stories of trips out to North Carolina. Of long talks with a Nosferatu in a plague doctor mask. Hell, he knew it in the way he’d seen Molly’s right hand, Claire, flinch a little when she talked about getting coerced back down there in a colloquial way. Even referencing the concept as a joke had her on edge, so he could tell that things were big.  

“He taught our resident wizard how to do a cool wizard thing that meant Pip went from being next in line to kiss Caine’s taint right back down to being his like… great-great-great-great-great-great grandkid. And that meant that he couldn’t handle a rocket launcher directly to the face quite as well as he used to.” Vyx shrugged. “To be fair here, nobody was Illya’s fan - we’re all pretty much against the end of the world ‘cause we like this unlife thing, right? - but we weren’t looking a gift horse in the mouth, y’know? Besides, there’s something comforting to knowing a guy’s entire purpose is to fuck you over, even if he’s being nice.” They shifted, settling back into the sofa, the alcohol starting to hit. “When Pip died, of course he then tried to end the world anyway. I don’t… I know we won. But I didn’t go with them. I couldn’t, I was a liability, I was blood bonded to the wrong chick and couldn’t risk it.” They paused again, staring at their glass. “I… I moved Molly out of the rain, I think. That part’s fuzzy. And then someone shot me. Which, dying was its own whole thing and then I was here ‘cause Molly had been asked to bring me back. Which is more complicated than that even sounds, but if I kept going on here, I’d never stop.” They chuckled, but they left the moment in quiet, letting Donnie process the whole thing. It was, in fact, a lot to go through, and it was made more overwhelming for the fact that apparently, that wasn’t the whole story. 

“If you were killed in the war, wouldn’t your friends want to see you?” He asked, instead. Processing the end of the world - especially one he wasn’t there for - was going to be something he did over days, not minutes, so he quietly took the box of information and shoved it under his mental seat to unpack later. He had, at least, the gist of it - some uppity Nosferatu wanted to kill all Kindred out of some self-hatred complex, Molly got involved on the wrong side, the good guys won, and the biggest losses seemed to hit after the fact - and that was all he needed right then. Whether or not Molly had fought Vlad Dracul was a question for another day. But the question he asked - meant to be something light, something he’d asked thinking he’d get a story about a cool, multi-continent reunion - only brought sadness to Vyx’s face. 

“Ha, yeah. That’s. That’s kinda the problem here, QB.” Vyx shifted, squirming in their seat, before they pushed themselves up on their legs. They wobbled, but having refit the bone, they didn’t fall back down, and while the alcohol gave them a bit of a sway, they were steady enough. “I need a cigarette.” They paused, looking down at the space where pockets probably should have been and realizing they didn’t have any anymore. “Ugh, they’re in my bag.” 

“Sorry I didn’t get a chance to fish that out, yet.” Donnie said, standing to join them and producing a pack of blue American Spirits, flipping the pack open with one finger and shaking one to the front with a flick of the wrist. Vyx slipped the cigarette out with a delicate touch that said they’d done this before. “It might be easier once I start on the bike.” He paused, heading over to one of his windows and cracking it open, giving them a breath of fresh air to push the smoke into - it wasn’t like he needed to breathe, of course, but it wouldn’t do for his house to smell like a smoker’s den. 

“Eh, fair. Not like I need my phone or much right now. Nobody’s looking for me.” Vyx sighed, following Donnie to the window while absently patting around for a lighter in their pockets and again finding that they had neither pockets nor anything in them. Donnie didn’t pause for them to check, pulling out his own lighter and lighting a cigarette for himself; he exhaled out the open window, though there was little reason to do so as he didn’t breathe, holding up the Zippo lighter in the same hand as the cigarette as an indication that he could light it for them. Seeing the motion, they grinned - a sly thing, considering - leaning in with the cigarette to their lips, clear in their intentions. If they hadn’t checked in repeatedly, Donnie would have been more put off, but instead, he leaned in, pressing the lit end of his cigarette to theirs to light it. It was an intimate gesture, their lips only separated by the length of two cigarettes, but it wasn’t like they hadn’t already kissed. They were both lucky that they were smokers, as the fire from the Zippo hardly registered. “But yeah, no one really… wanted me back, once I got back.” Vyx supplied the answer they’d left waiting, exhaling the smoke as they did, leaning on the window sill as though they were on a balcony.

“If you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to.” Donnie said, softly. He knew relationships were complicated, even before adding in being a vampire, and that eternity only made them more complex, not less. He hadn’t even been a vampire for many years, but he could tell that having to exist next to the same people for the kind of time one simply couldn’t count would make anyone’s feelings just that much more intense. And this was without having to factor in the fact that a war absolutely meant a lot of hurt feelings. 

“I dunno, I probably should tell someone.’ Vyx said, softly, staring out at the New York city streets below them like they were watching ants at a picnic. Donnie’s apartment wasn’t particularly high, so it meant less skyline and more street view, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t interesting. Vyx inhaled, slowly, taking a long drag off the cigarette before exhaling it out into the chilly New York evening air. “It’s… complicated, but I think keeping it to myself has only made it worse, y’know? The issue is that I’m… not really the guy who died.” The paused, looking up at Donnie like they’d just dropped the worst news they possibly could, though they didn’t react to the fact that Donnie didn’t seem to notice the gravity - it tracked, considering he hadn’t met the man they’d been before and wouldn’t have known the difference regardless. Being a third party honestly made it better, not worse, however, as they knew he wouldn’t judge. “The guy I was before was this guy named Vince. I remember everything he did - it’s like sorting through someone else’s diary, though it’s all there - but I’m… not him. Molly even confirmed it. He’s in here, somewhere, and I’m just reading his memories and the context they added for me together when I know things, but I’m not… I wasn’t real until he died, y’know? I existed for all of like five days before the clump of cells that was me just wasn’t anymore. And if you think nurture is the only thing that matters when you’re raising a kid, we’re the same person, ‘cause I have his childhood and upbringing and lack of college education. But I know Kindred think of us as more a nature thing, and my nature is that I’m not Vince. I was a ride along for most of his life, but I’m distinct and separate from him in every way - except I’m also kinda… not? Cause I remember dating people and intimate evenings and all that shit, so I feel like I’ve still lived that life, even if it wasn’t me. It was my life as much as it was his, even if it wasn’t. And my husband? Well, our and ex-husband, kinda. Vince married him, but it feels weird not to claim him, y’know? I think he’s technically a widower until Sleeping Beauty in here wakes up, but he wasn’t happy that I was the one that came back. And I don’t blame him! Like, if I dated you for a bit and then you died and came back as Dana - and not as a transition thing, as in she was totally not you - I’d also probably need time to adjust. But he didn’t want to take that time, so I… did what he asked. I left.” 

“I wouldn’t have kicked you out.” Donnie said, softly, the only thing he could think to say. It wasn’t much, but it was something, and he wasn’t the kind of guy to not try if he could. It was hard, though, trying to vicariously figure out Vyx’s life with them, especially when he didn’t know the players and only kind of understood the game. What they’d lived through seemed like a once in a lifetime thing, but over and over again, a series of unusual and unfortunate happenstances that would leave anyone reeling from one, let alone more than one. But he knew, at least, he could give them a little comfort that not everyone was an asshole. That some people cared, even a little bit. “He could have given you a chance.” 

“Yeah, I… I’m trying not to be mad at him, honestly.” Vyx said, staring at the brick facade across from them like it had the secrets to the universe tattooed on the backside and they could see it if they looked hard enough. There was something incredibly sad to their voice, like if they had the capacity for tears, they’d be crying. “Like, I should be, right? I should be pissed. I’m like, pretty sure he’s the one who shot me, but if I didn’t account for being surrounded by manipulative bitches, I’d be stupid, so I don’t know for sure. But I was the only person he had on his side, both during the war and right after. Everyone else ranged from generally apathetic to his existence to actually gunning to kill him, and most of them were pretty justified, even if it wasn’t the best choice. It’s not anyone’s fault their threshold for betrayal is once. But my friends wanted him dead, no exceptions. People he thought were his friends wanted him dead. And he was, technically, on the other side of the war before we saved him, so a bunch of people that know him also definitely want him dead now. Imagine living for this long and then suddenly, wham, no friends. If I was mad at him, too, then he wouldn’t have anyone at all.” They took another long drag, flicking the cigarette filter with their thumb to displace the ash as they exhaled. “He’s been through a lot. I’m trying to give him grace while we both take a minute to figure ourselves out.” 

“He’s lucky to have you.” Donnie added, giving them a knowing look. “If I were on the side of a war where all of my friends hated me and wanted me dead, I’d cherish anyone left still fighting for me, not chase them away.” He took a drag from the cigarette. “He sounds like he makes poor decisions.” 

“Oh, he does. Like most of the time.” Vyx laughed, a real thing, like talking about the issues of their old partner, but with a sense of it being gossip and venting and not whatever the hell they’d just been doing, suddenly made things better again. It didn’t, but it was nice to hide behind it. Sadness was never something easy to chase off, even for Kindred; it lingered in the back corners, waiting for the night to wane to first morning’s light to bring those thoughts back. But a laugh was good enough, for the moment. “He’s still a ghoul and he eats like, maybe once a day at most if someone doesn’t bother him about it. I literally started dating him ‘cause my girlfriend had fucked off - this was right after she consumed Konrad’s soul so like, they were in the trenches, y’know - and he did not do self care so I moved in to make him dinner sometimes and next thing I know he’s thinking I’m his old hubby from way back when and then wham it just... Kind of happened. But he’s a good guy. He’s got a persona of an asshole and I think some people just can’t see past that, and hey, that means the persona worked, right? But he’s not a bad dude. He just can’t ask for help on his own, including for feeding himself. So I had to take that one on myself.” They shook their head. “Oh, like one time? We were fucking around in the Richmond area and he was around doing fuck knows what, and we ended up breaking into a meeting for the KKK and after we killed everyone in the building I stole their party sized Mac ‘n Cheese for him. He was appreciative.” 

“You stole mac ‘n cheese from Klansmen?” Donnie asked, aghast, though it was hard to tell at what - he had no concept for when this was, but Vyx talked like they weren’t that old, so it had to be recent enough, and that meant there were still Klansmen around, which was a lot, but there was also the issue of the fact that they thought the mac was worth stealing. Vyx cackled at the question. 

“Oh yeah. You want good food, you raid the fridge of a Southerner. Besides, racism can’t taint Mac ‘n cheese, and in return for the gift, we killed them all and ruined their lives, so it wasn’t like we paid for it. They did.” Vyx shook their head. “We also murdered like, most of Richmond, so. One of my best plans, if I may say so myself.” They pushed off from the window, turning around to lean back against it with their elbows, their cigarette dangling from their teeth. It was a weird sensation for Donnie, because for a moment, just a moment, they weren’t Vyx, but someone else, someone he hadn’t met; they moved like their limbs should have been longer and the cigarette was meant to live between their teeth and like they’d been beaten down so hard by the world that the flinch was just reflexive - and then, suddenly, they were themselves again, and the moment passed. “But enough about me. I’ve got the sads for so many lifetimes. I bet you got stories, right? Most Kindred do.”

“Some, though not as many, I don’t think.” Donnie shrugged, taking a long drag from his cigarette, trying to think of something to say. It was hard, being put on the spot, especially following any of what he just heard. He was a nobody following a famous comic act, but the famous comic was sitting in the front as his biggest fan. Nothing he could say would hit just as well, but he couldn’t back down from the moment, either. Eventually, he smiled, a story coming to mind that he thought was enough. Enough what, he wasn’t really sure, but he was rolling on instinct. It felt appropriate to do, considering he was talking to a Malkavian. “I’ve only worked with these people for a few years, so there isn’t much.” He prefaced, just to be sure they knew this wouldn’t be quite as dramatic as ending the world, or quite as funny as stealing mac ‘n cheese from Klansmen. Vyx shrugged. 

“I’m game for anything, dude. I’m just getting tired of hearing myself talk, here, and I know I’m not the only one in the room who's interesting.” They gave him a grin, something slick and flirty, and he sighed. 

“So… you know who runs New York.” Donnie said, first, a question as a statement but one that was both rhetorical but also confirmed by the small smile on Vyx’s face. If nothing else, they knew he was referencing Molly as the woman in charge of the whole city, which was what mattered. If that was true or not, they didn’t know, but the details of who actually ran the city weren’t important. Donnie’s story was the truth from the moment it left his lips; to Vyx, he was spitting gospel and they were simply a disciple at his feet. “I don’t think it’s any kind of surprise that people want to try and unseat her when they can. A powerful woman, with a face as pretty as hers and the skills to back herself up? I’ve met guys before that would see her existence as a challenge, and they wouldn’t even have anything to gain from it.” He paused, taking a drag off the cigarette, looking down the street from the window like he could see the story’s center past the buildings. 

“This one guy really thought he was something, but he wasn’t worth the blood spent to sire him. I don’t remember his name, he honestly wasn’t that important, but he tried to send his guys into the city to make trouble. I don’t know if he thought he could just… unseat her by causing a little chaos in the city, but I can say for sure it didn’t go the way he planned. What was, to my knowledge, an attempt to blitz the city turned into his guys running back to their home base with me, Ray, Ryan, and a bunch of other Brujah from the gym right on their tails.” Donnie chuckled, the memory a sweet one. There wasn’t anything quite like hunting alongside others like oneself, especially against a foe that was objectively worth killing. “He had a helicopter, and none of us were fast enough to catch him before he got on it, and while Ray can jump pretty far, that’s not flying. But I thought, hey, I’m not that big, at least compared to Ray, and I’m not that important if things went to shit. So I told the big guy to make me fly.” 

“You got him to throw you?” Vyx was quick to the draw, impressed, and Donnie laughed at the fact that they were so into the story. It didn’t even feel like a great story, but they were entranced all the same, and there was something within him that seemed to just clip into place; a string between them tightened, tied down and permanent now, a connection between souls that couldn’t be broken. He didn’t know it, but he was part of their world in a way that he couldn’t change.   

“Yep. Launched me like a rocket. I don’t know how I didn’t hit the blades, but I didn’t. Of course, the pilot wasn’t exactly cool with someone entering their helicopter mid flight. Nor was this guy really cool with me ripping his heart out and throwing it into the Hudson.” Donnie shrugged, turning around to lean on the window sill, staring at the interior of his own home and feeling like he was seeing it for the first time, noticing the posters and the crowbar and the way the dishes in the sink spoke to the person he was. Being around a Malkavian was sometimes like seeing for the first time, even without tasting the blood - though the kiss earlier still had his brain dancing with colors he didn’t normally see. “I jumped out after, landed in the Hudson. Couldn’t see for shit. I don’t know what happened to the helicopter. I did find out that Ryan, my sire, thought I’d died until I called him from a payphone and asked for a ride. Apparently, I’d disappeared, and the chopper had crashed just after, so they’d thought I’d gone with it.”

“Hey, at least your sire gives a shit.” Vyx chuckled, leaning back to exhale the smoke from their lungs into the night without having to turn around. “I think mine… kinda cared, but she was a Malk, right? So trying to actually do anything constructive about that gets kinda… difficult. Her grandsire tried, but the Old Man thought giving us a sword stuffed in the fridge without any context was helping, so.”

“Who’s your sire?” Donnie asked, curiously. He was familiar with only one real line of Malkavian, and while he was aware that wasn’t a standard thing - sure, the Giovanni were particularly into the lineages, but more by actual blood than siring - he hadn’t considered the idea that Malkavians didn’t have family lines like that before. But the way Vyx talked about their sire, especially the past tense, had him thinking a little differently. 

“Her name was Bella. She died pretty early on into things.” Vyx took a long, long drag on the cigarette, the shitty fact that their sire was completely gone something that still stung. “Hell, she wasn’t even technically my sire. She only ever met Vince. But the blood is retroactive, I guess? Or, at least, enough of me was turned into a vampire by her that I’m also hers. Regardless, Pip killed her.” They shook their head. “Her sire was a guy named Glamis. Vince called him Old Man. He… god, he tried so hard, but he was walking proof that a gullible idiot is more useful than an intelligent professional any day.” They slumped against the window, their gaze more absent, the memories in their head taking precedent. “They killed him. Full on execution, trial, the whole thing. Entirely unfair and unreasonable trial, considering the guy who framed him was the dude helping proceed over the whole mess, but Vince couldn’t have done shit. He was a neonate.” 

“What did they frame him for?” Donnie asked, concerned. Vyx looked up at him, their stare something serious and also uncomfortable, like they knew he wouldn’t really like, or believe, the thing they were about to say but that it also wasn’t the weirdest thing they’d said all night. “Wouldn’t dominate make framing someone for something they didn’t do difficult?” He added, trying to think of the things he did in fact know about vampires. Vyx snorted. 

“Well… he blew up the top floor of this big ass bank finance office thing, killing a bunch of Kindred, including the original domitor of Greensboro’s current Sheriff, a guy named Duncan. Who was also, unfortunately, a fucking Archon.” Vyx took a moment to pull on their cigarette, their pointed expression of not looking at Donnie only making the words worse. It was a terrible, horrible crime to be accused of, assassinating the upper echelon of Kinred society while also blowing up a Kine building and causing massive damage to the city as a whole. Greensboro, the town Vyx mentioned, was, as far as Donnie understood, a Camarilla town through and through. And not like how Molly technically ran a Camarilla town, either. “Worst part?” Vyx added, not looking at Donnie for another long, long second. “The fucker actually did the thing. Like, he planted the bombs and set the trigger and all of this shit. He’d just been convinced by everyone’s favorite shithead of a Nosferatu that something worse was gonna happen if he didn’t. So the trial was open and shut. He did it, everyone saw him do it, his brain said he did it, the whole thing. And since his manipulator was on the jury, that was that.” They exhaled, slowly. “It was definitely a sad one. But I think he’s probably happier frolicking in whatever fucked up post-life fields he’s found, tilting at Windmills and screaming about Birnam Wood.” 

“Sorry for your loss.” Was all Donnie could think to say. He’d not met many Kindred sans sires, as most of his friends had very powerful sires that weren’t easily killed. Vyx shrugged. 

“Eh, Vince got over it, so I’m kinda over it. Though, he wasn’t really super attached to them, so it was more like the unfortunate plight of a shelter puppy on your adoption short-list than anything really sad.” They shook their head, noticing their cigarette was getting low. “I don’t even think Bella wanted to sire me, but the blood just went yeah, fuck it we ball. Like it knew it needed Vince, or me, as a Malk.” They paused, their lips splitting into a smile with a memory. “I also think she knew she was the only one who could try, y’know? ‘Cause like, it was a weird situation.” They paused, stubbing the cigarette out on the window sill and tucking the free end behind their ear, before stepping out into the room. “Picture this: a bunch of Kine sitting in the local bar in the area, which is staffed by a bunch of Kindred. We’re already in the know, right, ‘cause we’d snuck into a Kindred party and one of our friends got Predator’d by fucking Konrad himself, though admittedly looking back that guy was kind of a creep and also totally didn’t have to go over there, but I digress.” They paused, mentally arranging the scene in their head. “Regardless, we’d all also just watched Duncan get blown to shit, which sucked ass, right? And Vince had these memories that he couldn’t access, and he was like can anyone get these out of my head? And Bella said sure and dragged us down the street before basically slicing us open  in a fucking back alley.” They chuckled, shrugging. “I woke up wearing nothing but my jacket - Vince had been like hey don’t throw that away thanks and wasn’t specific like a doofus - with a note on the wall that had a die under a like no sign and the word Good twice.” They paused, giving Donnie a second to think about it. “Meant no dice, too good. I ended up walking back to the fucking bar in my jacket with a bedsheet wrapped around my waist. Luckily it was late and nobody was out, but still.” They sighed. “What about you?”

“How did I get sired?” Donnie asked, trying to be sure of the question. Talking to Vyx was like trying to swim in the open ocean - his focus was notably on keeping his head above water, so when they tried to point out landmarks to see if he’d seen them, he had to take a second to figure out what they meant. 

“Yeah. Did you wake up in a dumpster with nothing but your jacket and a note that was your sire realizing she’d been outclassed? Or was that just me?” Vyx asked, heading back to lean again on the wall, this time much closer than before. Donnie thought for a long second, putting the memory together in his head. It wasn’t something he thought about, often, because it was honestly a sad memory. Many were, for Kindred, but this one hit different. 

“It’s not as exciting.” Donnie prefaced, just in case. He knew his life was simply nothing as compared, because Vyx had lived through absurdity and death, while he’d only been putzing around for a few years. It didn’t seem to matter, as Vyx looked ready to hear it all the same. “I just… I saw this guy in an alley one night. Kind of a twink, definitely on the defensive, and this other guy was moving in on him with his shoulders down. I thought the first guy - that was Ryan - was gonna get mugged, so I grabbed the first thing I could find, which was a crowbar, and went after the second guy.” He paused, letting the memory wash over him, the smell of New York’s back alleys and the feel of metal in his hands a comfort. “I didn’t know what celerity was at the time, but next thing I knew, I was being held hostage and Ryan had a fucking MP5 submachine gun out. Don’t know why I didn’t expect him to be packing that kind of heat, but it was certainly a surprise. This second guy had something to my throat, said he would kill me if Ryan didn’t back off - knew his name and everything. I don’t know what I’d actually gotten involved in, but I was definitely over my head. And I could see Ryan weighing the odds of whether he’d hit me or not, and I don’t… I don’t know how I could tell, but something told me that letting that other guy live would be the worst choice. So I told him to just do it.” 

“You asked him to kill you.” Vyx said the words as a statement, not a question, and Donnie shrugged. It was kind of a sad line, but ultimately, it was the truth. 

“I figured, if that’s what it took to get this other asshole off the street, whatever. I’d lived a decent enough life, but I wasn’t really trying for much, so it wouldn’t be like the world would suffer without me, y’know? Not like we’d lose someone important, like a doctor or a genius.” Donnie shrugged, trying not to think too hard on it. “Ryan took the shot. Hurt like a bitch. Next thing I know I’m waking up on the ground and he’s telling me all this shit about being a vampire and how he’s sorry this went the way it did and that he was glad I was willing to do something ‘cause that guy was bad news.” 

“You’re important.” Vyx said, with all the sincerity of someone who simply knew the answers. Donnie blinked, cocking an eyebrow at the words, stubbing his cigarette out on the sill as well. “Everyone’s important. Like, I’ve been a Malk all of a couple years here, but I’ve learned one thing and that’s that every single person matters. You were important ‘cause you saw a person in trouble and went, fuck it, let’s go, and that meant Ryan lived so he could do something else he needed to do and that will ripple all the way down, y’know?” They paused, biting at their lip. “I think the most important thing here, though, is whether you have a cool scar from it.” They turned to him, pulling at the edge of their lip in a way that said they were done talking and felt much better. Donnie chuckled, raising an eyebrow. 

“It definitely left a scar.” He said, watching them move as though he could figure out exactly what they wanted from sight alone. They were honestly doing a good job of showcasing their intentions, to be fair. They stepped forward, the smirk still on their face. 

“Can I see?” They pouted, letting themselves slowly lean forward, pressing against Donnie’s chest with pursed lips. Donnie chuckled, pressing his hands to their arms gently. This was, as far as he figured, the only way the night would have gone, and he was sure of it the second Vyx had wandered into the gym. Vyx was flirty, open, and far too kind to leave in the lurch, and honestly, Donnie was cool with it. He’d take them up on the offer, and then tomorrow would happen, and they would figure out what that meant then. There wasn’t any reason to rush; they had all night. 

The bike could wait until morning, at least.

[nosnet]

Past Lives (3) – King of the Road

by J. D. Dennis

Time Period:  Early 2027

Perspective: Donnie & Vince, Flidais & Al, April & Vyx

Rating: PG-13

Content Warnings: descriptions of abusive situations, discussion of trans narratives, just general heaviness overall with dark themes

Word Count: 15,449

Comments: Stop 2 – Maine! When the engine breaks down, people get a chance to talk. You’ll notice this whole thing is just a bunch of different ways to break these idiots into small groups for one-on-one conversations and therapy.

“Flidais, I swear on Cain’s license plate, either raise the jack again or just let me do this.”

They’d gotten all the way to the coast, and the city where Vyx’s box was stored, without any issues. The safety deposit box had been well kept, tucked away neatly in a coastal bank, and the staff hadn’t seemed to care much when Vyx simply left with it. It was theirs, after all, though it was still a surprise that they’d managed to get out of the bank, into the bus, and nearly an hour from the city without anyone trying to stop them. They’d had to go back to the bus, anyway, as they’d left the key there, and Will had simply taken the initiative and left when they’d returned.

It meant that, when the engine simply stopped on a lonely, snowy highway in the middle of the Maine woods, Vyx still hadn’t opened the box.

Al hunched over the engine block of the bus, the hood propped open, his feet off the ground as he tried to reach into the cavity he’d found in an attempt to figure out what had gone wrong. He could see something, deep in there, likely a belt, that was not where it was supposed to be, but the bus was too tall for him to lean over well and Flidais wasn’t exactly helping, even as she raised the jack another step. Al took the opportunity to hop off the hood and try and slide back under the bus, which was easier with the jack a little higher. The belt – and it was, in fact, a belt, snapped in two and dangling helplessly between the pieces of the engine – was easier to reach from below, but his arms were still simply too short. He groaned, reaching until he could just grab it.

“Well, I’ve discovered the culprit.” Al said, pushing himself from below the bus and holding the belt up. His shirt was soaked – the highway was snowy, and even the black asphalt was still damp where the snow had been before – but he couldn’t feel it. It was weird, being a vampire, and he still wasn’t really used to it. Something in him wanted to shiver, but he couldn’t. “Good news, it’s fixable. Bad news, I don’t think we’re getting a new belt from the middle of nowhere.”

“We passed a truck depot a mile back.” Donnie pointed out. In lieu of assistance – he’d wanted to jump in there almost as soon as the thing conked out, but Al had gotten something up his ass about trying to be the one to fix the bus and Donnie had decided it was in everyone’s best interest to just let him – he’d spent his time leaning against the side of the bus, smoking and watching their progress. “I can walk back and grab a new timing belt. They should have ones big enough for a bus at the depot.”

“Take a buddy.” Vyx said. They still had the box under one arm, unwilling to open it without the party’s attention, their other hand holding one of Donnie’s cigarettes that they’d stolen. Their hope had been to get rolling and then open it over whatever they considered dinner, but the bus had had its moment before they’d gotten that far; now they were just waiting until they’d resolved the issue. “Claire told me these woods were rough, and if Molly can’t make traction, that’s no lie.”

“I’ll go.” Vince offered. He’d also taken up a cigarette, though one of his own, from a highly crumpled pack he’d found in his jacket. While Vyx wasn’t particular about their cigarettes, Vince apparently liked his Marlboros well enough to smoke even ones that were clearly a decade old. “I need new cigarettes, anyway. These taste like ass.” He stubbed the cigarette out on the side of the bus, leaving a mark on a flower sticker they hadn’t removed, before tucking the unfinished end behind his ear. “Want us to get anything else? Pretty sure they’ll have energy drinks, Al, if you want me to grab you a Monster – Strawberry Dreams, right? The pink one. They might have it.”

“I’m glad dying didn’t erase your memory of what brand of energy drinks I drink.” Al chuckled, throwing the belt to Donnie, who caught it deftly. “But sure, snag me one. I don’t know if caffeine actually affects me anymore, but it’ll be fine.” He shrugged, and Vince nodded, looking to the rest of the group and holding his arms out like they could throw anything at him and he’d find it.

“It’s probably wise to grab any other repair necessities we might want.” Flidais added, lowering the jack with her boot. Now that Al wasn’t under it, they could let the bus down for the moment. She’d heft it back up as soon as they got back. “Oil, brake fluid, jumper cables. There’s a cubby behind the driver’s seat, but it’s empty.” She gestured to the front of the bus, and Vince nodded, understanding.

“We’ll restock and then be right back.” Vince gave them a quick salute, before turning to the road, heading back the way they came. Donnie followed, giving them a lifted hand in a half-assed wave, leaving them behind.

The walk was as expected – cold, dark, bitter and quiet. The part of Maine they’d broken down in was heavily forested, and a thick snow had settled on the sides of the road, making the whole forest as silent as a grave. Vince would have been worried about being stalked, or hunted, but he figured they were fine – they were technically the things that went bump in the night, after all. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, a cigarette still dangling from his mouth – he didn’t need it, but the habit was hard to break and it brought him comfort. He felt the pull of the Tempest, looming in the distance, the spirit thick and heavy, and he realized the silence wasn’t doing him any favors – so he broke it.

“So. How’s it been, being the new guy in town?” He asked, of Donnie, who looked up at the words. He’d been cool to walk in silence, busy in his own thoughts – this was supposed to be his, after all, but honestly, the longer he spent in Greensboro, the less he wanted it. He would have rather stayed where all his partners were, where his friends were, than move up to fuck-all nowhere, but he also knew that saying no to Molly was like pulling a pin and eating the grenade – regrettable, considering he could have just not done that. Vince’s words pulled him from his thoughts, and he realized, looking at the man in the eyes, that the conversation wasn’t just a space filler – he wasn’t unlike Vyx, and he needed the quiet to cease.

“Well,” Donnie started, lighting a new cigarette for himself and extending the lighter like he thought Vince might need it. The man waved him off, pulling his own lighter – a flameless thing that looked like it had been through it – from his pocket and lighting the stub he’d left behind his ear, first. “It’s definitely been… interesting.” He paused, unsure if the word was right, but pressing forward, anyway. “Vyx gave me a bit of a rundown of everything when we met, but… everything you all did sounds so much like it’s a joke that it’s been hard to believe. Flidais confirmed some stuff was true, sure, but… were you really blood bonded to the Antidiluvian of clan Tzimisce?” Donnie asked, and that got a laugh from Vince in reply.

“Oh god, yeah, that. That was a thing that happened. We did do that.” Vince shook his head, the phrase we did do that bringing a smile to his face, like the memories were surprisingly joyous – which was weird, considering Donnie hadn’t ever thought of being blood bonded to one of the oldest, most powerful Kindred they knew to be a good thing. But Vince turned to Donnie, scanning his face for a sign that he wanted the story, and that he wouldn’t bore the other Kindred to death with the tale, before he started off again. “Do you want the whole rundown? For a while I couldn’t remember it, and then I could remember a little bit of it – flashes of stuff, mostly – but dying has given me a clarity that I haven’t had before, so I can relay everything fairly accurately.”

“I mean, I’m not gonna say no.” Donnie chuckled. He watched Vince suck on the cigarette thoughtfully, watched the man look up and to the sky like it was actually telling him the story instead, the cold Maine air making his smoke thick and white when he exhaled.

“So, you kinda know the gist of things, right? Vyx sort of gave you the rundown?” Vince paused, and Donnie shrugged, which was enough. “So, the stuff they probably didn’t tell you: I was technically on the run, coming up from Florida.”

“On the run? From what, the cops?” Donnie asked, and Vince shook his head, his brow furrowed. This wasn’t a particularly happy subject, and Donnie could tell.

“No, I’d gotten mixed up with people I shouldn’t have and got… kidnapped isn’t the word ‘cause it was willing, at first, and then the job changed and then I couldn’t leave and next thing I know I’m a captive with nothing left. So, when I had the opportunity, I booked it north with nothing but the clothes on my back,” Vince pulled at the jacket to indicate it, “A pack of cigarettes, and a cellphone. The intervening months of hitchhiking weren’t really notable, honestly. I ended up in Greensboro the same way I left Florida – broke and unsure about what the hell I was even doing. But there was this party, so I went to it, and this guy named Guy Gunn was hosting it, and it was alright. Free beer, some food. I hadn’t… eaten in a few days, so it was nice.”

“Isn’t Guy Gunn the one running the Paladium?” Donnie asked, thinking hard. Vyx had told him about another Malkavian in Greensboro, but just a little further west, who’d taken a shopping center and turned it into a circus. He’d apparently been the Primogen of Greensboro when Vyx wasn’t around, he had a laugh like a woodpecker, and he re-Christened one of his childer Meatpants.

“Yup. At the time, I had no idea what vampires were, let alone that he was one. I just saw a gathering of people outside with free beer and rolled up.” Vince shrugged, taking a long drag off his cigarette. “Then Guy died, or at least, we were told he died? We went to his funeral, at any rate. Me, Dan Nelson – the Jimmy John’s guy with red hair, he’s a Brujah now – Kana, this detective named Hamlet – haven’t heard from him in a while so he’s probably dead but fuck if I know, right? – a really tall mute guy named Ragnar, and then a prick named Damien Shadow, not to be confused with the other prick, Damon Wellington.” Vince listed the people, counting them off on his hand as he did. “And we met this guy. He was wearing a tunic and he was convinced Guy had been murdered and he said he’d pay us if we found out who. I don’t---he handed us these tax slips for fifty-thousand dollars, and I think he thought that was enough? Regardless, we started branching out to try and figure it out ‘cause he was a weirdo and we were intrigued.”

“Do you know who that was?” Donnie asked, and Vince chuckled, like there was a secret in that answer that he thought was funny.

“Oh yeah. Glamis, technically my grandsire. Unfortunately, the Old Man didn’t make it super long after this, but it was just Kindred politics, right?” Vince sighed; clearly, his grandsire’s death weighed heavily on him, even then. “Regardless, I was a bit of a barfly back then. That’s how I managed – I’d go sit in bars until I found people who wanted to chat, and they’d point me to people going north, and I’d go from there. So that night, I went out to downtown to find a bar to go looking in.” Vince paused, taking a long draw on his cigarette, and something about his voice changed – he went from telling Donnie a story to walking through a memory on his own, a wistfulness to his tone that said Donnie’s presence wasn’t registering much anymore.

“She was standing on the corner near the library.” He started, looking across the lonely road like he could see her standing there. “She was wrapped in a shawl, and she was… pretty. As someone who was homeless at the time, I recognized myself in her, I think. I don’t remember exactly what we said, but I offered her a cigarette and asked if she wanted to go to the bar with me. I didn’t have money for drinks, really, but I was going to figure that one out once I’d downed the liquor and they couldn’t get it back. Figured I could take the heat for her, too.” He shrugged, staring at this invisible women in front of him as they walked; Donnie reached out, pulling him more into the road so he didn’t walk off the embankment, and he hardly noticed. “I took her arm and walked her to these stairs. There was a speakeasy I’d learned about, under the courthouse. I thought, hey, a speakeasy is better than a normal bar for information, right? So I went down the stairs and she… she stopped.”

Vince stopped walking, and Donnie took a second to realize he had, pausing to watch him. Vince wasn’t looking at anything but the ground, brows furrowed as he struggled to wade out of the memory long enough to tell it. “She told me she couldn’t go down there. I didn’t understand why, at the time, but I also didn’t press. Her reasons would be hers, right? So I left her on the stairs. I… I didn’t register it at the time, but there was something almost… afraid about her face.” He shook his head, looking up, and suddenly he was back from wherever he had wandered to find the memory. “But I went down anyway – I had info to find, y’know. I didn’t realize it at the time, but everyone in that bar was a Kindred – Winston was there, the Tremere that used to be Damon’s sire, plus like a bunch of others.”

“Did you find anything out?” Donnie asked, watching Vince start walking again and falling into step with him.

“No, unfortunately. I did do a lot of drugs – like, too many drugs, ‘cause one of those fucks tried to get me to OD so he could eat me.” Vince shook his head, looking over at Donnie’s shocked face with a chuckle. “Luckily, I have the tolerance of a horse and this wasn’t my first time riding the lightning, so I didn’t die but I did pass out.” He sucked on his bottom lip a moment, before taking another long drag from the cigarette. “The next bits are… fuzzy. The backseat of a car. Feeling it invert suddenly, and then everything was loud and there was pain and then a cold table and the smell of blood. Next thing I knew, I was in this… abandoned hospital, I think, and she was there.” Vince raised his eyebrows, a way to suggest that she was the woman he’d met before. “She told me she had to give me a transfusion. And then she… walked me through the evening and I felt… all of those memories slipping from my head. And then I woke up in Statesville with that asshole’s plate number on my arm in sharpie and no memory of the incident. It took three years before I got someone to unlock those memories, and by then, we knew her as Eldest, one of our greatest enemies.” Vince shrugged, but his face said this was absolutely the problem it sounded like.

“Hot damn.” Donnie whistled. He’d been told it happened, sure, but he hadn’t really believed it happened as they’d said. A lot of Kindred exaggerated, and he knew memory wasn’t entirely infallible – especially as Kindred got older, he knew better than to trust their accuracy more than a few years out, and Vince had died, too. But there was something about the way Vince told the story that just felt… honest. “Did you ever find out why?” He asked, because that was the real question of it all – why save him – and Vince shook his head no.

“I never spoke to her again. Once we knew it was her, that was kind of purposeful. I was super blood bonded to her, and she could have snapped her fingers and commanded me to kill them all and while I would not have succeeded they didn’t really wanna kill me back, so we just kept us apart.” Vince exhaled, his breath without the smoke invisible. “No one could give me answers, either. Half the Kindred I’ve told I don’t think believe it. They don’t think she could be altruistic like that, let alone would. She’d ancient, right? Apparently, according to the oldest among us, once you’re a certain age only the blood matters; I don’t know if that’s true, but that’s the standing theory.” Vince shrugged. “Personally, I don’t think anyone had been kind to her in years and I think, in a sense, my kindness made me hers and she didn’t like other people playing with her things. But it still feels like altruism, which is basically the same thing.” He shook his head, as the theory of whether or not Kindred were actually altruistic was not something worth really exploring, not with any kind of seriousness. There weren’t right answers, and Eldest was supposedly dead, anyway. “Regardless, that’s the big deal about me. What’s yours?”

“What do you mean, what’s yours?” Donnie asked, the turn of conversation confusing. He’d been happy enough just listening to Vince talk, the stories interesting and somehow both entirely bullshit but also so real. Vince gave him a quizzical look in response, like Donnie’s lack of understanding was the confusing thing.

“You befriended Vyx, right?” Vince asked, like he had to be sure. He’d only been around for a few days, by then, so it made sense. Donnie shrugged an affirmative – maybe befriended wouldn’t be the word he used, sure, but it wasn’t untrue. “So,” Vince continued, “far as I was told, Vyx and I are as close to being the same person as two individual people can actually get, right? And I managed to find, fuck, date, and then lose not only both trans people we’d met, but also both people who were destined to betray us. I am a magnet for people with bullshit going on – the smart dressed bellhop in the veritable Hotel of Hell, here to collect all your baggage - and since Vyx and I are more or less the same, Q.E.D., there’s something going on with you.” Vince chuckled, tapping the last of his cigarette off the filter before tossing it in the grass and reaching for the other one he’d had tucked behind his ear. “Also, you’re Kindred. I have yet to meet a Kindred that didn’t have something going on.”

“I don’t know if I have anything interesting to really tell.” Donnie tried, but a thought came to mind, and the way Vince quirked an eyebrow at him, it was clear that Vince could see the thought as well. There wasn’t any hiding from him, apparently. Vince lit his second cigarette, blowing a low stream of white smoke out into the cold air.

“Donnie, I’ve met you for like all of two days now and even I recognize this: you’re as broken as the rest of us are. And trust me, we’re all broken. Me, Vyx, April, Al, Flid, hell, even Will. Broken people make the best immortals, ‘cause well-adjusted people don’t want to live forever. Well-adjusted people get to the end of their eighty something years on this planet and go yeah, that was good enough and don’t seek more. Broken people have to make up for time they lost. So, and I mean this with all good intentions, what broke you?” Vince asked, again, and Donnie sighed, loudly. He might as well talk about it with someone, and besides, Vince was right. The only people who sought more time were the ones who weren’t satisfied with how little of it they had in the first place. The fact that Vince could just tell was a bit of a surprise, but Donnie was quickly learning to take just about everything he could and roll with it, because otherwise Vyx would have had his head spinning like he was in the Exorcist.

“Don’t spread this around.” He warned, and Vince put both hands up as though to concede without a fight. He wasn’t a gossiper, so it wasn’t like he was planning on giving anyone else a tell-all; besides, it wasn’t like he had many people to tell as most thought he was still dead. “It’s not as dramatic as yours, but I… I had to choose who I was loyal to, and that meant having to kill someone I cared about, which wasn’t great.” He tried to sum up the situation in short, and Vince made an ah face, having to grab his cigarette to keep it from falling from his lips.

“Sounds like the Kindred life. Is it something you wanna talk about?” Vince asked, the consent appreciated. Donnie nodded – keeping it in wasn’t really doing him any favors, and Vince was a safe enough confident. They weren’t really going to date – he could tell he and Vince were just enough alike to make the idea of being together too much like dating oneself, and Donnie wasn’t a fan of the concept – so it wasn’t arming Vince with knowledge he could use poorly. Not that Vyx or April would, of course, but there was something comforting about the short distance between them that made it easier to explain.

“Well, to start, Molly’s been trying to get her hands on Maine for a long time.” Donnie explained, gesturing to the wilderness around them. “Apparently, it’s been giving her the business, so she hasn’t yet, and part of that was a guy named Aster.” Donnie paused, looking at the edge of the wilderness like the Giovanni of which he spoke would appear between the trees, and while a small part of him didn’t hate the idea of seeing him one more time, the rest of him feared the knife that would likely come with it. “Aster and I met before he was sent out to Maine. He was always meant to be this… special kid, I think.” Donnie furrowed his brow, the details of Aster’s employment under Molly the fuzzy part. “She doesn’t sire men, or at least, that’s what she says. Aster was the only one I’d ever met, at any rate, and I think people gave him a lot of leeway because they thought he was some kind of prodigal son.”

“Ah, yeah. The I’m not like other Giovanni kind of guy.” Vince nodded, like the phrase made total sense, which… honestly, it did. Donnie pursed his lips, giving Vince a sidelong look that said he almost didn’t like that Vince was making sense. There was something comforting about not understanding a Malkavian – it felt like the world was right; that was their whole schtick, and punching things really hard was his. Following the weird shit made him feel too much like he wasn’t a Brujah anymore – and if Vyx wasn’t just pulling his leg, apparently not being a Brujah anymore was a thing that could happen, though he didn’t get how. He didn’t want to, honestly. “You said you cared about him. Was this like, a mutual thing? Or some kind of one sided pining bullshit thing?”

“Looking back, it’s hard to tell.” Donnie said, and this had his attention turning back to the tree line, something sour on his face. “If you asked me in the moment, I probably would have told you he was… he was a good guy. He was endearing, y’know? Kinda awkward, but kinda funny, too, and he made me feel good. Like I mattered.” Donnie paused, kicking a rock down the lonely road. It was hard, admitting that Aster had made him feel anything, because it was that feeling, that closeness, that had put them where they’d landed. If Aster had just been an ass, maybe Donnie wouldn’t have needed to be the one, or maybe it wouldn’t have felt like shit to do, at least. He sighed. “The thing was, Aster was good at saying the right things to the right people at the right time, me included; that’s how he got in with Molly, y’know? He talked her up, sold himself right, and got sired by a prestigious figure as a reward. So I don’t know what was really something and what was just a façade he put up to get me on his side. At the time, the whole thing felt… mutual, at least. We got close while he was still in New York; I was his bodyguard, since the territory was familiar for me, and I dunno, we just… he was just… Sometimes, when you’re in proximity to someone for long enough, having them leave feels like the worst case scenario, and I can’t tell you how much of this was just that but I can tell you it didn’t help much.” He shook his head. “All I know is, when Molly asked if he wanted to try his hand at taming the wilderness out here, and he said yes, all I could think about was making sure I was there. So we came out this way.”

“I’m surprised she tried.” Vince said, almost absently, taking a long draw from the cigarette like he was centering himself with it. “I’m no Giovanni, so spirits aren’t really my thing, but this place? I’ve got goose-bumps and I’ve been dead and then dead dead long enough that I figured I had no bumps left to be goosed.” He chuckled. “I don’t know what it is I’m feeling, here, but the vibes? Horrific. Stephen King was right kind of horrific. Like, something’s been watching us absently from the tree line for like half an hour and I think it’s a ghost but it could be something worse kind of horrific.” Vince gestured to the tree line, and Donnie turned around quickly, like whatever it was needed to be dealt with – however, there was nothing there but blackness and cold. “Oh, no, I don’t think you’ll see it. I can’t see it, I can just feel it watching. Like how the stars watch us, or the owls.” He chuckled. “Anyway, you came out here and then what? You sleep together?”

“We made out once.” Donnie admitted, freely. His bisexuality wasn’t exactly something he kept close, after all, and Vince was definitely a safe person to talk to considering he’d married a man and was dating a woman all at the same time. “It didn’t go any further. I think I could feel the walls he was putting him to keep himself separate from all of this, and I knew better than to try and get around it.” He shrugged. It was probably the thing that saved him, to be fair – he didn’t press when people put up walls, and it meant he kept enough distance from the whole thing as to not be consumed by it. “I had to sit in on meetings he was holding, since I was his bodyguard, and he was… he had a job to do, for Molly. She’d sent him to connect with certain factions and then unite them under her, but when we actually had the meetings, he revealed that he was planning on uniting them under him and cutting her out entirely.”

“Classic.” Vince chuckled, but Donnie didn’t echo the sentiment, and he quieted quickly.

“I know it’s something vampires do, but I wasn’t okay with cutting her out; she’d given me a job, a steady paycheck, a crew I could rely on. I know there’s people out there that ask, how the hell does Molly get everyone behind her without having to lift a finger? What they don’t get is Molly is good to her people. Any time I’ve needed anything, I’ve gotten it. A paycheck? Sure, she’ll pay, and she pays more than enough to cover New York rent which, as you probably know, isn’t cheap. When I needed an apartment, she found me one and she keeps up with maintenance better than most of the cheap places around town. Hell, I mentioned once to my sire, Ryan, that I missed having a bike around and the next day there’s a fixer-upper sitting in my garage with a bunch of extra parts and a note about how it’s always good to have a hobby, signed with her name and a heart. I don’t know how she figured out that I like fixing things, like bikes, but she not only found me a bike but found me a project I worked on for a month.” Donnie chuckled. It was a sweet gesture, honestly, and he actually appreciated it more than just giving him a bike; he’d have ripped it apart anyway, just to make it run better.

“I can see that. I don’t think many people would agree with me about altruism, but if I was going to argue strong facts for the idea that Kindred do feel it, she’d be my number one example.” Vince nodded. Donnie was grateful he understood – it made the second half much easier in the telling.

“So, I called him out on it, after the meeting where he said it. I had to know, how could he turn on the woman who’d given him basically everything? She got him into Maine, gave him a powerful sire, taught him Necromancy. Turning on her, trying to strong arm her out, felt petty. Not to mention, I don’t know if he realized this, but there was no way we could actually have taken Molly in a fight. He was good, and I’m no lightweight here, but we’d be swinging against Ray. I didn’t have nearly enough muscle for that, personally or otherwise.” Donnie rolled his eyes, the idea just so stupid in his head; Ray was his grandsire, and was the kind of Kindred that could leap tall buildings in a single bound because he was bored. The man was a walking Masquerade violation in suspenders and a ripped shirt, but he was half the reason Molly wasn’t fucked with. No one wanted the nuke that was Ray dropped in their happy little laps. “Aster told me we didn’t need her. That she couldn’t take Maine on her own, which meant he was more powerful than she was since he was planning on taking it for himself. And that we’d carve our space out and when she came for us, we’d get rid of her and take New York, too. Or we’d stalemate, but we’d have Maine. The only reason I didn’t deck him was that I knew he was ready for it.”

“I imagine, since you’re alive and all, you told Molly?” Vince asked, a quirked eyebrow the only sign that he wasn’t being shitty with the statement – this was, as far as he was aware, a good thing. Donnie nodded, tucking his hands into his pockets, finding the comforting compression of denim around his hands nice.

“I called her secretary, Claire. She was our first point of contact for Maine, anyway.” Donnie said. He remembered the conversation vividly; Claire was a girl full of moxie and vigor, and it was clear why Molly liked her. She was just as petty, powerful, hardheaded and clever as Molly was, but she could still walk in daylight, being a ghoul. He’d called her, and she’d picked up almost immediately, like she knew any call from him was going to be a mess. “I… I told her everything. Just… dumped it. That Aster and I were a thing, that he’d mentioned trying to take over Molly’s holdings, that he was going to betray them, all of it. I think, part of me just wanted them to know I wasn’t in on it, because he would have absolutely tried to tell them it was my idea. I think the rest of me hoped they’d tell me what to do next.” He sighed. “She didn’t, not… really. She just told me that she was glad I had called her, she’d pass the information along, and that… that Molly had put me in Maine because she trusted my ability to make decisions on the fly, so if I felt like I needed to make a decision, she would make sure I wouldn’t get the short end of things.”

“She gave you the idea to kill him?” Vince asked, trying to clarify, trying to understand. Donnie shook his head no, looking down at the asphalt. There wasn’t really much difference between the black tar under his boots right then and the road under his boots the night he fought Aster. They weren’t even that far away, geographically. It was bitterly cold, then, too.

“She gave me permission to have the idea. I was… I was already thinking that was how it would pan out.” Donnie shook his head, kicking a rock. It bounced down the dark and lonely road, clattering loudly in the silence between his words. “I didn’t act because they asked me to act. She just gave me a blank check to do what I needed. I think… I think she could tell from the call that I was already going to do something about this, so she wanted me to know I didn’t have to pull my punches.”

“I haven’t talked to Claire, much – we rescued her, once, but that was a whole thing and then Molly’s kid, Annika, the scary one, didn’t leave her alone for more than like ten seconds at a time after so I didn’t really get a chance to be social – but she seemed to be particularly perceptive, especially to that kind of thing.” Vince shrugged – he didn’t know her, but he’d seen her, once, and for a Malkavian, that was kind of the same thing. He knew more about people than most gave him credit for.

“She’s definitely perceptive.” Donnie agreed, absently taking a right turn down a further street. He knew where the truck stop was, not because he’d really seen it on the way, but because he was familiar with the area. He’d haunted Maine’s roads enough to know where all the major repair and gas stations were. “After I hung up, I went back to confront him. I don’t know what happened, but he was… when I came back the second time, I can tell you that nothing changed, but he was just different.” Donnie watched the street signs, counting the number of roads until there was a left turn, which he took, and Vince followed, obedient and listening. “He always smoked cigars, which I didn’t mind, but that night, I dunno, it just smelled bad.” Donnie felt himself shiver, the smell of the cheap tobacco cigars acrid and biting and terrible where it had been heady and earthy and warm before, the memory of the difference making him react physically. The moment in his head was so real, so visceral, that he couldn’t shake it – Aster, in a suit that was too big, smoking a large cigar, flanked by idiots, sitting under a yellow lamp in a dusky room like he was some kind of big name Mafioso and not just one of Molly’s henchmen. Donnie shook his head, trying to dismiss the feeling. “I told him I wasn’t going to let him just turn on Molly. That he was an idiot for thinking this was a good idea.”

“You were trying to give him an out.” Vince clarified, and Donnie shrugged, because if he had, he hadn’t exactly done it on purpose. He’d gone with the flow.

“I think I just wanted to give him the chance, but I didn’t think he’d take it. He was so arrogant. He honestly thought himself Molly’s better and he hadn’t even earned what he’d gained.” Donnie sighed, slowly, and Vince offered him a cigarette as though to offer comfort. He waved off the gesture, pulling out another of his own and his lighter, holding the flame to the end before passing the pack and the lighter to Vince absently. Vince pressed them away with a palm and a smile that said he knew Donnie had thought him someone else, and while he was flattered, he didn’t steal cigarettes. Donnie chuckled. “He tried to change my mind, in return. Said that I didn’t have to follow her, that I could follow someone that appreciated me and would let me rise. He tried to offer me power, said I could become just as Ray was, but better. That I just had to throw off the shackles of power.” Donnie scoffed. It was a play, but it was a stupid play, as it banked on the idea that Donnie liked Aster more than he appreciated Molly – and Aster hadn’t done the things for him that Molly had.

“Oof, I’m sorry. Dumb and arrogant is a bad combo.” Vince laughed, a real laugh, and that had Donnie chuckling a little as well. It was hard to be sad when his friends were laughing at his ex and calling them an idiot – Vince was not only right, it was kind of cathartic. “I imagine the resulting contest of power wasn’t even close?” He asked, and this had Donnie letting out a cackle.

“Oh god no. I knew all of Aster’s tricks, so I knew what to expect; he knew mine, sure, but knowing you’re going to be punched in the teeth doesn’t make it easier to brace for it. Meanwhile, I knew better than to let him open his mouth for anything other than talking.” Donnie paused, a crossroads between turns, Vince waiting for him to make a decision, the image of their fight in his head almost all consuming. The smell of black bile that Donnie could still feel burning in his nose as his fist made contact with Aster’s face, the way the cigar hit the ground, bounced twice, and burned balefully on the concrete; he could see the expression on the other faces around him, the concerned look of someone who wasn’t sure if they should get involved because they knew they couldn’t win, and he could see Aster’s face of betrayal, the kicked puppy look of someone who truly believed that Donnie would just turn on everyone else for Aster’s sake. For the sake of a relationship built on lies and manipulation. Aster really was stupid. “It was over before it really started. Once I was sure it was done, I hopped on my bike and booked it back to New York. Molly appreciated the help; she was, uh… upset, I think, that Aster would do that to her. Claire told me something about how she was grateful I took action – something about how Molly wouldn’t have trusted another man if I hadn’t, I don’t remember. It was kind of a blur. Things ended up okay, in the end. Maine’s still wild and untamed, but Molly didn’t suffer any major setbacks.”

“Yeah, but are you okay?” Vince asked, sincere, and Donnie turned to look at him like he’d grown a second head. If he wasn’t a Malkavian, he would have probably been offended at the face, but it was definitely a face he’d seen before and it didn’t faze him much. Vince shrugged, like he knew the face wasn’t meant to be a shitty thing, but he couldn’t discount that Donnie was incredibly confused and maybe a bit putt off. “Hasn’t anyone asked you that?” Vince asked, instead, and Donnie watched him for a long moment with an expression that was… almost sad, because the answer was no.

“I… I wasn’t then.” Donnie said, honestly. It felt weird, because he hadn’t really ever been considered like that before; Vyx was the first person to make him feel really important, after Aster, and Aster’s whole thing had been a lie, so there wasn’t really anyone truly before them. No one else cared enough to make sure he was okay, beyond the physical. But Vince was watching him with an expression that was open, and sincere, and really wanted to know, and there was concern when Donnie said he hadn’t been and Donnie realized, all at once, that this was why he loved Vyx. They sincerely, truly, wanted to know if he was okay, and that made him feel more important than anything else in the world. To them, to both of them, he was a person more than a tool. “Killing your significant other isn’t easy, and it’s easy to feel alone after something like that. But then, there was this car accident, and this pink-haired Kindred was at my door with a busted bike and I guess things have been pretty okay since that.”

“Well, I’m glad they’re living up to my legacy of prying their way into people’s lives and then never leaving again.” Vince chuckled, and Donnie finally registered the crossroads, taking the left turn and finding the truck stop was finally visible in the distance, just off the exit to a major highway. “It’s funny, it’s almost like they’re my kid, the way we talk. Oh, yeah, they got that from me, or I don’t know who they got that from.” Vince shook his head, and Donnie rolled his eyes as they heading into the parking lot, being careful of the trucks – though most were still, empty and quiet at that time of night.

“Prying doesn’t really cover it; when they came back to get me to bring me to Greensboro, they broke into my house by the window and then they bit me.” Donnie added, pausing at the door into the shop. He didn’t want to be caught talking about vampires in a Kine store, just in case. “And then they dragged me down here. I don’t think that’s prying so much as violent upheaval, but I was in the mood for turning everything upside down, I guess.”

“Well, I for one am glad they did, ‘cause it seems like they turned your frown upside down with the rest of things.” Vince chuckled, even as the words stuck fast in Donnie’s head, an explanation he wasn’t really sure he’d asked for but one that he certainly needed. “I’m gonna smoke out here and people watch. Not like I’m much help with cars. I figure if you need help you’ll break a window or something.” Vince waved Donnie off, and the other shrugged, heading inside to start browsing the belts and other sundries. But Flidais’s short list – and his own personal short list, which overlapped but wasn’t all the same – had a hard time lingering in his head, too overwhelmed by the warm feeling of importance left behind by Vyx and brought up by the conversation. Aster never left him feeling that way, and as he found a bottle of oil and the right belt and a few other things he knew they needed, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d made the better choice.

He was going to find a lot of joy in leaving the snowy Maine roads – and the remains of Aster’s ashes – behind.

~*~

Vyx had decided a walk was in the cards.

It was mostly Al. They loved Al, they really did, but for some reason, Al had gotten it into his head that he and he alone needed to fix the bus, and that even Donnie wandering off to go find the parts was something he could have been doing instead. Vyx could tell it was something about machoism and feeling threatened and the general tension of breaking down in the middle of nowhere, Maine. And that attitude, the snappy, biting turn and the way Al didn’t pull punches even for them, had Vyx deciding it was better if Al had some space; April was quick to follow, as she was less enamored with Al and thus had less reason to put up with his bullshit. Honestly, the fact that she was even on the trip meant she liked Al more than she had in the past, so it made sense that she wouldn’t want to stick around when Al was being the worst version of himself. It meant they’d wandered off in the other direction, with a promise to grab a belt if they found a place first – Vyx knew they wouldn’t, as they weren’t planning on walking any further than a convenient place to sit – and a lit cigarette in Vyx’s mouth.

“So.” They said, having quickly found a series of downed trees that weren’t entirely soaked through to sit on. April leaned against a half-dead tree, her expression almost worried. She was still getting used to being around the Malkavians full time, so she wasn’t entirely sure what Vyx wanted to talk about and the possibilities were simply too endless. “Donnie, huh?” They asked, after a second, and April chuckled.

“Yeah.” April replied, and there was something to her expression that said if she could have blushed, she would have – a mild thing, pink to the cheeks, but halted by the fact that she wasn’t wasting vitae on that. But that was all she said, because that was all there was to say – Donnie, was, remarkably enough, Donnie, and there wasn’t really anything else to mention about that fact. He was sweet, he was kind, and he was, above all things, normal. He had a job he liked and a family he liked and he hadn’t tried to assassinate anyone specific before nor had he been through a war. He didn’t play politics, he didn’t hold land, he didn’t truck with powerful people outside of the polycule themselves – he was, probably, the worst vampire they’d ever heard of, and while that was part of what drew April to him, it also meant there wasn’t much to say. “Thanks, I guess? He said you were the one who dragged him from New York.”

“Eh, don’t thank me, that was entirely selfish.” Vyx chuckled, tucking their legs up under them on the log and pulling on the cigarette hard enough to turn the end entirely to ash. They watched the ember float slowly to the ground, unworried about whether it would catch; it was too wet to care. “He’s a cutie who’s more or less fully stable. Like, you’ve met the rest of us, you know we need that. Someone who isn’t one quick crisis from losing it, y’know.”

“I’m still grateful you brought him down here. I wouldn’t have met him otherwise.” April shrugged, leaning against one of the logs and finding she didn’t mind the wetness that seeped into her back from the damp wood. She was a vampire, after all – she didn’t really feel cold if she wasn’t paying attention to it. The wet clothes would probably get annoying, but she had spares on the bus, anyway. “And, I’m grateful we get to hang out, now. I didn’t… I didn’t really get to make friends at the end of the war. So it’s nice to not feel so lonely.”

“Hey, I’m glad we could hang, too. Vince liked you, for what it’s worth, even if he described you as that hacker bitch fairly often.” Vyx shrugged, happy that April laughed at their words. It wasn’t untrue, but they were glad it was still taken as a joke. “You’d have met him, though. Donnie, I mean.” Vyx said, gesturing vaguely to April like there was something they saw in her that she couldn’t see. “You’re attached. Saw it the first time he looked at you. Man had his whole ass mouth just wide open, like he was trying to catch flies with it.” They snickered, and they watched April make the same kind of face again, the one that should have been blushing had her blood moved, and it made them grin even bigger. “He thought you were pretty, and you know what happens to boys when they see pretty people. I realized there probably isn’t a universe in which you both don’t meet, so I pushed him your way and made the universe happy.”

“You encouraged him? He could have dumped you.” April laughed, a way to signal that this was an absurd risk they took and not something she expected or desired, and Vyx shook their head, like that was never a concern.

“He would never.” Vyx looked at April with a grin, an almost feral thing, as though their confidence was less based on trust in Donnie that he would always love them and more trust in Donnie that he knew the consequences of his actions should he choose the wrong ones. “He knows we’re stuck, now. I’m too difficult to get rid of – and I take that as a point of pride, so don’t stress. But that’s also why I think I have to be poly – if I kept him from everyone else just because I snagged him first, then I’d be a giant bag of dicks. Especially considering I’m currently at… three permanent paramours and like at least two others I’m not really sure about. If he wasn’t allowed to date outside of me, I’d be a dick.”

“How does that even work out?” April asked, a little out of the blue, taking Vyx’s thought train about whether Haytham was really their paramour or just one waiting for Vince and derailing it without effort. “I mean, having that many partners. I’m not… I’ve not really had one partner, let alone more than one. And some of your partners aren’t even here. How do you keep everyone happy? How do you not mess things up?”

“A lot of talking, a boat load of humility, and the knowledge that jealousy is a skill we picked up back when proper mates were scarce which is no longer valuable to us in a post-capitalist society.” Vyx shrugged, pausing only when April’s expression was just confusion, especially at the last quality. “Seriously. Like, sure, the poly rules are open communication, most things are two yes one no kind of deals, etc. The standard stuff. But personally, I never assume anything should remain unsaid, ‘cause it probably shouldn’t; I always make sure I approach every situation that could have been my fault with the humility to admit it probably was, cause it probably was, and I really do just… ignore the idea of being jealous. Like what does that even do for me? How does being jealous of you help me with Donnie? ‘Cause like, Donnie’s still here. He’s not getting rid of me, and you’re not some magical god like deity that could take him away from me. So why would hating you change anything, y’know?”

“But what about… about life goals?” April asked, in the hushed whispers of someone who thought the part of the conversation they were bringing up was some kind of bomb and not just another question about being poly. Like bringing up the idea of life goals would only make things worse for everyone, including her. Like there was something to what she was asking that was impossible and that meant it was better to not mention it, because mentioning it would cause problems. “Like… marriage? Moving in together? …Getting a cat?”

“Cats are an any time thing, and I know what you were probably thinking and I know you know that as vampires, that… is extremely complicated and not really effected by being poly.” Vyx chuckled, knowing the cat was probably more about kids but since they were both dead kids weren’t really in the cards. Well, not really – Vyx knew a couple vampires who’d done some wild things with genetics, but that wasn’t their bag. If April wanted progeny, there were options, but extremely complicated was still an apt description. “But the rest? Still a lot of talking, a lot of humility, and kicking jealousy in the nuts and sending it packing; that’s how you do that too.” Vyx shrugged. “Legally, we’re gonna have to pair off on the marriage front, but that’s not… too hard. Vince is gonna marry Flidais, I know that for sure.”

“Has he told you?” April asked, shifting down the log so they were a little closer to Vyx. Part of this felt like gossip, and gossip only ever felt good at close distance. Anything further made it feel too loud. “Like, has he talked about it?”

“Nah, but I was him for a while there, right?” Vyx shrugged, but they shot April a sidelong look, something knowing and smug. “I know how he feels about her. He’d kill for her. Hell, he has killed for her. He rolled down to the bottom of the ocean and nearly died just because Konrad Varnhagen himself decided to get a little grabby, and he only sired her. I might not be Vince, but I’ve had a first-hand experience with his thoughts on the matter, and suffice to say the man would go apocalyptic if it meant saving her. He’s gonna ask her to marry him, I just know it. The only reason he didn’t was that she fucked off after she was turned and only turned up like three years later, when y’all were in the middle of a war.”

“Are you gonna marry anyone?” April asked, and there was something leading about her question that Vyx quickly picked up on, much to her distaste.

“You’re free to marry Donnie, if that’s what you’re asking.” Vyx chuckled, watching April actually blush, the involuntary rush to her face so strong it overwrought the fact that her heart hadn’t beat properly in a long time. April scowled, but that only brought a laugh to their lips. “Look, you’re not exactly subtle, girlfriend. We start talking about Donnie and then you’re on about life goals and marriage and asking how that works being poly.” This brought them to a real laugh, which brought April to a real, light, smack on their shoulder. They deserved it. “I’m just anticipating the situation and giving you what you want, don’t knock me for that.”

“I mean… I guess that’s what I was asking. I’m just… I’m not dating anyone else, so it’s either Donnie or it’s nobody.” April said, finally, pushing herself to sit up on the log Vyx had found, swinging her feet. “And I’m not… I’m okay with Donnie dating other people, and I’m okay being a part of this, but I don’t think I really want more than this. I think I’m okay with just Donnie, but… what if you had decided you wanted to marry Donnie? What if he started dating someone else and thought marrying them was better? I wouldn’t want to take that from you, or them, but it sucks, right? ‘Cause then I’d be left with nobody.”

“Okay, Rule 0 of poly bullshit: never compromise for a hypothetical partner. That’s like getting rid of your dog because you wanna start dating a guy and he doesn’t like dogs. You have no idea if that’ll work out, and if it doesn’t, do you wanna be the kinda person who gives up a dog for a boy you don’t even know yet?” Vyx rolled their eyes, putting out the butt end of their cigarette on the log. “If Donnie found a partner that wanted to marry him, they have to get your consent first. Two yes, one no. Everyone has to be on board or it’s a no-win game.” They shook their head, pushing off from the log and turning to face April. “Like, I get you’ve probably designed your wedding down to the type of flowers; that’s like, a thing. At least, Vince experienced that thing. He didn’t exactly design his own wedding but he knew girls who did, right? But a wedding isn’t the flowers and the dresses and the cakes - that’s the party around the wedding and you can have that party with or without paperwork making the government aware you did the fun party. The legal stuff is different, and that’s just about taxes and assets and power of attorney. When you’re poly, it’s better to think of it as two separate transactions, y’know?”

“So we… shouldn’t get married.” April tried to parse the words, but it was hard enough listening to a Malkavian talk without them necessarily also trying to explain complex concepts.

“No, you shouldn’t let the government knowing that you’re in love be the difference between getting something you want or not. Have the party you want, paperwork or not, and then figure out if you wanna sign the forms.” Vyx tried to explain, but they sighed, knowing they wouldn’t get what they wanted. It wasn’t an easy concept to explain. “Think about it like this, right? Say you and QB do get married, and have the party and sign the forms and everything perfect, and then he finds another paramour and he’s gaga for this chick. What about that is different than if he found another paramour he’s gaga over right now?” They asked, but they didn’t give April time to actually answer, the question rhetorical. “Literally the only difference is whether or not the government cares. If someone else came along right now, you’d be sharing him all the same ways, right? Marriage doesn’t change that. And then if they asked to marry him first, it just means they get the paperwork signed before you do, but it doesn’t mean you don’t get to have the dream. You could still have the party. Or they could still have it, if you went first, ‘cause the only thing you’d get is papers, y’know? So like, if you wanna get married, get married. If you wanna have the party, but no paperwork, have the wedding of your dreams. If you just wanna stay dating and be happy that way, stay dating. And if someone else marries the idiot before you do, know the only real difference is that they can take a tax cut you can’t.”

“Right.” April nodded, and while it made sense, it also… didn’t. That was the nature of Malkavians, however. They made sense until they didn’t anymore, and it was the responsibility of the listener to figure out whether to keep up or just nod and smile. “Who are you marrying, if not Donnie? Anyone?”

“Al, maybe.” Vyx shrugged, turning to the road and kicking a rock down it. “I mean, here’s the thing. Al has got a lot of recovering to do. Man’s in a bad way; that whole war thing really fucked him over more than most. Hopefully, Flid’s shoving him off a metaphorical cliff of self-discovery right now, but who knows, right? But if he gets his shit together, I’d marry him. We’re cohabitating, and he’s ready to get his hands back into the business of owning a building and that’s easier if we’re married, plus like… I dunno, I never did the thinking about it part but wearing a cute dress in a backyard party sounds nice, and since Al’s done the whole thing before it feels weird to not at least sign the papers if we do, y’know.” They paused, staring back at the area where the bus was, just down the road and out of sight, like they could see Al shouting, still. “Besides, I know how he’ll see it – it’s a promise that I will take care of him and not fuck off again as long as he’s not a dick about it.”

“Do you think… Donnie would see it that way?” April asked, softly, and Vyx turned to her, something actually compassionate in their face. “That marrying me would be a promise?”

“Honestly? I don’t think Donnie needs that promise from you.” Vyx shoved their hands in their pockets, and like it always happened, for a moment they were Vince, all awkward limbs and cheesy smile and something in April felt incredibly comfortable again, like she was talking with a friend she’d known for ages and not the sudden incarnation of that friend’s long-dead twin. “Like, me? Yeah, they need that promise from me. Sometimes it’s the blood getting feisty, sometimes I just get restless. But if I put a ring on that finger, Al will at least know I intend on keeping him around a while so if I do just vanish it’s not going to be forever.” They shrugged. “But you? Donnie doesn’t need that from you. He doesn’t have to worry about you leaving and not coming back, y’know? But like, yeah, he probably sees it as at least a little commitment. Remember, he’s real young – he’s technically been Kindred less time than I have and I’m a baby. So he’s probably running on the traditional Kine narrative of weddings.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” April sighed, shaking her head, and Vyx paused, unsure why April’s tone wasn’t as joyous as they expected. They’d just confirmed that Donnie would want what April wanted without hesitation, and that felt like a happy thing. They leaned down, trying to catch April’s eyes, and she chuckled at the movement, finding Vyx’s commitment to leaning down funny. “I just… I don’t wanna ask him, y’know, and I don’t know if he’ll ask me.”

“Oh, he’ll ask you. And it won’t even be ‘cause I told him to.” Vyx replied, and April laughed at that, a real thing, the brief moment of concern vanishing like a puff of smoke. “As I said, he’s a baby and a cis-dude, far as I’m aware. Being Vince means I know he’s had exactly one lesson on weddings and that’s on how to do the asking part.” Vyx put a hand on April’s shoulder, a comforting thing, and she smiled at the attempt. “And if he starts hemming and hawing because he wants to ask you but doesn’t know how, we can give him a crash course. Trust me, girl, we got you. But I think now’s the time to head back – I don’t want Al’s mood worse ‘cause they were waiting on us.” Vyx stepped back, giving April space to hop off the log she’d sat on, letting her get ahead of them as they picked their way back to the road. “He’s already in rare form.”

“Tell me about it.” April shook her head, but there was something mirthful there, something hopeful. It was hard, being part of a polycule she didn’t really understand, with rules she was learning on the fly, being given to her by someone who probably saw her as a bundle of wires or a ball of lightning or a deep, dark shadow figure. But it felt safe, and that’s what honestly mattered more than anything – for once, she felt safe, and she could deal with the visions and the weird rules and the management if it meant she didn’t feel unsafe again. It was hard, but she could manage.

She spent the walk back thinking about her wedding dress. Vyx wasn’t entirely correct – she hadn’t exactly planned her whole wedding out as a kid, she wasn’t that kind of girl. But she had all the time in the world to start.

~*~

“If they’re not back soon, I’m gonna try using my actual-belt instead and see if that can drive us to the truck stop.”

It had been relatively quiet, after everyone had left. Vince and Donnie had fucked off to go find supplies, Vyx and April had wandered off in the other direction, likely to have some kind of femme-chat-thing or probably because they didn’t want to be around Al, and that had left Flidais behind, whom Al wasn’t exactly super into talking to. It wasn’t just that his relationship with Flidais was weird to start with, though, it was, and he couldn’t shake that; Flidais was, as far as most people understood, Vince’s one true love, and he’d just been the replacement. She’d fucked off, said she wasn’t suitable as she was, and that had left Al to sort of fall into the place she left behind, pick up the pieces of Vince’s shattered heart and make something of what was left – but now she was back, and Vince was head over heels for her as he had always been, and it definitely made Al feel much more like a second fiddle to Flidais’s main melody. Even if they’d agreed that maybe they weren’t the most compatible, that they needed space to start over, it didn’t make Al feel great to have his entire relationship with Vince put into a perspective that made him simply a stand in. But it wasn’t just things being weird that made hanging with her something Al would rather have avoided – it was also the fact that she was staring at him like she’d figured something out about him and was trying to figure out if he knew.

“You don’t have to play that up around me.” She said, finally, her dispassionate tone still wildly jarring for Al to hear. She’d been bubbly, before, peppy and bright and happy; now she was cold, calculating, and deadpan, and Al hadn’t gotten used to it yet. It felt too much like trying to talk to Konrad, which was only sometimes a pleasant experience. Flidais was, at least, better at jokes.

“Play what up?” He asked, bristling at her question. He wasn’t entirely sure what she was talking about, though he had an idea; it wouldn’t have been great had she been right, honestly, because the idea was something he wasn’t exactly broadcasting about himself. Flidais let out a breath from her nose, a snort that was meant to convey something like mirth but could have probably also been frustration.

“The macho schtick.” Flidais supplied, simply. Al quirked a brow, unsure what she was talking about – he wasn’t really a macho kind of guy, at least as far as he was concerned; he was a hacker and a spy, not a bruiser like Ray – and she rolled her eyes. “You had to fix the car, not the certified mechanic who’s used t’fixing cars. You should be the one walkin’ for the belt. You have t’show off how good you are with these things. You’re playin’ the big, responsible man on campus.” She gestured, and Al scowled at her, because she wasn’t entirely wrong but she wasn’t entirely right, either. He wasn’t trying, he just… was. It wasn’t a conscious thing he was aware of, but now that she’d pointed it out he noticed in it everything he did and he kind of hated it. It didn’t help that he wasn’t entirely sure how to stop. “You don’t have to compete with Donnie, you know.”

“I’m not competing.” Al grumbled, turning back to the engine and staring at it like he could just make something happen if he looked long enough and he didn’t have to wait for the boys to get back. He sighed, however, staring at the large block of metal in front of him and knowing that Flidais wasn’t entirely wrong – she’d been a Malkavian, before, and apparently, some things stuck – and that he was, kind of, trying to be a bit… more, those days. It wasn’t worth hiding it from her, anyway, as it was just going to become her insisting the fact until he gave. “I’m not trying to compete.” Al corrected, which was more fitting. It wasn’t purposeful, he just got into a headspace of feeling more masculine when he saw Vyx with Donnie. If he was competing, it was subconsciously.

“Donnie’s not a threat.” Flidais said, softly, and Al turned back to her, leaning on the grill of the bus with his arms crossed like she’d finally said something he knew was false.

“Flid.” Al started, giving her a look that said she didn’t know what she was talking about. “Vyx came back and I chased them away. When they came back a second time, they had Donnie on their arm and he hasn’t left their side for any meaningful amount of time since – and you say that’s not a threat?” He asked, and Flidais shrugged, the smile still on her face.

“You weren’t a threat to me.” She said, inclining her head slightly as though to prove a point. “I chased Vince away, remember? Told him I wasn’t worth gettin’ t’know. And then he comes back and he’s married you. But you never threatened me, y’know? Donnie’s not different.”

“No, but you and Vince are, Madam my-boyfriend-followed-me-to-the-bottom-of-the-ocean-to-save-my-ass.” Al couldn’t contain the sarcasm in his voice, but Flidais didn’t seem to mind or react in any way – it wasn’t the same, as far as he was concerned, considering Vince’s connection to her was stronger than any other connection Al knew. There was something like fate involved, there. “You’re both soul mates. That’s just different.”

“Probably also different ‘cause I’m a woman and you’re not, right?” Flidais added, and that had Al squinting at her, like he wasn’t entirely sure what she was getting to but he didn’t like it. “You think it would have been different had I been a man, and you’d replaced me in Vince’s life?” She asked, and Al shrugged, but there was something to his shoulders that said yes. That if Flidais had come back and whisked Vince away from him, or if she came back and Vince had decided to stay, but Flidais had been a man instead of a woman, it would have felt more like a competition. Maybe a different kind, considering, but still a competition. “You pass fine, you know. You don’t have t’compete with every man they date.”

“I’m not competing.” Al said again, but he didn’t address the first part, not for a long second, turning back to the grill. He didn’t like talking about it, and facing Flidais would have made things harder. “He’s just… he’s everything you’d want in a guy, y’know. He’s a car guy who drives a bike and watches boxing movies and drinks beer. All he needs is one of those fish fear me hats and a shotgun and he’s the poster child for manly man. He even wears flannel.” He sighed, putting his hands on the grill of the bus and pushing himself back, so his arms were straight and he was staring at the cracked asphalt. “Meanwhile, I get told I pass fine, except, apparently, on the phone. Or in a store. Or in general public spaces. I have a goatee and exclusively wear cargo shorts and somehow, people still think I’m not good enough to be a man because I’m short and I didn’t inherit James Earle Jones’s baritone voice.” He straightened back up, turning to finally face Flidais with a sigh. “So Vyx leaving and coming back with a verified specimen of masculinity when I can’t even get the pharmacy tech, who knows me, who’s seen my license and my list of medications, to actually think of me as a man – yeah, that’s a threat. They’re clear on what they want and I’m not it.”

“You know it’s not that simple, Al.” Flidais said, softly, heading over to the grill and leaning against it as well, standing next to Al and not looking at him at all. “You know as well as I do people suck. Pharmacists especially.” She gave Al a sidelong glance, their shared experience something she didn’t need to explain in depth. He knew she was trans – he was a spy and she had shared a body with public enemy number one for several years, so he knew just about everything he could about her – and she knew he knew. “But Vyx isn’t trying to replace you with someone more masculine.”

“Then why are all of their partners after me all super masculine?” Al asked, his tone biting and shitty and trying to prove that he was right, that his life sucked and that even Vyx didn’t see him as good enough, even if he knew Flidais was probably more right than not. “First Allectus, then Haytham, then Donnie. A jacked Spartan, the model for the cover of most cheesy romance movies, and the Brawny man – you were good at patterns, once. What does that fucking tell you?”

“That Vince is very, very gay.” Flidais replied, simply, fishing a cigarette from her pocket and putting it to her lips. She didn’t smoke often, and notably only restarted after Vince returned. Al noticed the pack of cigarettes was a half-crumpled pack of Marlboros. “He loves me for me, and I believe that. But I know I’m an exception, Al. Vince says he’s into anyone and tells people he’s bisexual, but his tastes all trend towards men anyway. Especially ones that flirt with him, which is what you, Haytham, and Allectus all share.”

“And Donnie?” Al asked, like his point hadn’t yet been dismissed. Flidais shrugged.

“Not Vince, for one. For two, he’s extremely kind.” Flidais replied, and that seemed to catch Al off guard. Flidais grinned around the cigarette. “You pushed them away, so of course they were going to find someone kind, caring, and soft to recover with. Vince recovered by caring for you, ‘cause that’s what he wanted t’do with me. Vyx needed t’recover by being cared for, ‘cause that’s what they wanted out of you.”

“And I wasn’t good enough to care for them?” Al snapped, but it was a bite that said he was starting to reconsider his thoughts, or at least they were starting to rebel against him a little, like the idea that he was wrong about Donnie had settled into the bottom of his drink and while he couldn’t taste it yet, he kept seeing it every time he tipped the cup up.

“Not after telling them they weren’t Vince, no. You made that choice, remember?” Flidais shrugged, and that had Al releasing a sigh, because she was right. He’d been a shithead to them, and they’d reacted accordingly. “Besides, Al. Vyx uses they/them. They’re more femme than Vince, but I think that’s only partially so we don’t get them both entirely confused. You really think they give a shit if you’re the pinnacle of masculinity?”

“I don’t know. Flid. Especially considering they rolled back down with one of Ray’s progeny.” Al pressed his face to his hands, letting out a low breath in between his palms, which almost made it sound like a whistle. “No one else seems to think I’m good enough at this shit, and clearly, Donnie’s what they want. I’m not him nor will I ever be him.” Al groaned, but he paused when Flidais reached over with a boot, lightly toeing him in the shin. It would have been a kick had she actually tried. “What?” He asked, pulling his hands down to find her giving him a smile that was probably as close to soft as she was capable of.

“You care too much how Kine see you, Al.” She said, raising one eyebrow. “I know I’ve not been around much more than you have, but I spent three years in Konrad’s head, and that gave me… perspective.” She paused, taking a long drag on the cigarette, her lips perfect around the cylinder as she sucked the end down. Al was briefly reminded that, while she was still trans as far as she told people, she’d been perfected by the one man he knew would actually live up to the hype of the word. It was uncanny, and a little alienating, but Al pressed it aside. “Kine care about gender ‘cause they don’t like t’be confused. Their lives are short and often brutal, and most can’t handle when things change, like their understanding of the world, ‘cause it’s a reminder that life is unfortunately limited and time keeps marching on anyway.” She paused, holding the cigarette out in front of her for a long second, before letting go. It fell, as cigarettes often did, but she caught it before it hit the ground. “Kindred don’t care much for things like that. Konrad’s been Konnie just as much as he’s been Konrad, but no one gives a shit.”

“I don’t know if using a literal, sculpted god as your frame of reference really helps much.” Al grumbled, but he understood. Kindred lives were long, and while they were brutal, most could hold their own against each other and only one thing really mattered in the end – blood. Blood was power, after all – it was constant, immutable, and the more one had, the more one could use to destroy their enemies and control their kingdom. It had been that way since the beginnings of time.

“No, I think he’s the best example.” Flidais corrected, giving him a sidelong look. “Right now, he’s the forefront of masculine beauty, ‘cause that’s who he is. Perfect is a goal he’s gotten good at achieving, and to say he’s anything less than the masculine ideal would be an insult. But when he’s Konnie, you wouldn’t believe it was him.” She paused, pulling out her phone and tapping into the gallery. Al peered over her arm, watching her scan through photos, mostly terrible selfies taken by Vyx, though he could see a few Snaps she’d saved at one point from Vince. Eventually, however, she paused on a photo, thumbing it up onto the screen and showing Al the image. The woman in the photo was dark haired, all curls and soft, doe eyes and pert little lips. “Konnie.” She elaborated, and Al balked at the photo. He knew Varnhagen had been going back and forth between genders – it wasn’t really a secret – but he wouldn’t have believed Konnie was the same man. The only resemblance was the uncanny perfection to their faces.

“That’s not---“ Al started, but Flidais just gave him a pursed lip smile, taking her phone back.

“Konnie. Photo’s from… 2018, I think.” She shrugged. “When we were each other, he tried being Konnie for a while at my behest. I’d spent too much of my time aching to be more feminine that I made sure we were both very uncomfortable when he was Konrad, at first. I came around.” She paused, looking at the photo herself, her face an unreadable mask of emotionless thought. Whatever the hell she had going on in there, Al wasn’t going to guess. “But the way he simply… gave in and changed things had me thinking if that’s what I even wanted, or if that’s just what I was told I wanted.” She paused, taking the cigarette and tapping it out on the hood of the bus before stuffing the half-finished end back in the pack. “I realized, when I had my own body again, that Kine’s perception of my form would always be flawed, but not through anything of my own designs.” She turned to Al, her expression unreadable but intense. “I was a perfect woman, then. Konrad built me a new body, once I’d gotten apart from him, and it was everything a woman would have wanted, though he preserved my height at my request. Changing perspective, literally, is a bit difficult. But just that had me misgendered in shops. I’d probably get more he on the phone if I actually used it, considering I don’t sound like Kristin Chenoweth.”

“You get misgendered?” Al chuckled, but it was awkward, because he honestly didn’t believe the statement and yet, the blank and almost sour expression she kept on her face said she wasn’t lying. “Damn. Did Konrad go kill them?” He asked, trying to joke and finding it fall flat. Flidais shrugged.

“Never told him. Some of it was overseas, at first. Spent a little bit in Ireland, finding home again. Not worth Konrad’s trip to murder them all, I figured.” She shrugged. “Point being, not a single Kindred’s misgendered me, not on purpose, anyway. Usually, if I’m getting the wrong pronouns, it’s ‘cause they think I’m still Konrad in here, and that’s easy enough t’clear up. And that’s considering that, after these revelations, I’ve made a few edits myself. I’m not perfectly female anymore, and that’s… more where I feel comfortable, I think.” She nodded, putting her phone away, no longer interested in staring at the uncanny face that she’d worn, once. “It gets easier t’ignore Kine, for the record. And Kindred, especially Kindred like Vyx, won’t care what bits you have as long as you’ve got a mouth t’talk with and aren’t trying t’eat them.”

“Does it really?” Al asked, and something about his tone said sarcasm and the other part said desperation, clawing at the concept that things really did get easier. He’d been out for an entire lifetime, and he was still getting the shit end of the stick; Flidais wasn’t his senior by more than a couple of decades. He didn’t think there was honestly that much difference, but she was saying it was easier, and he needed to know if she was putting him on or not. She shrugged.

“It does, but you have t’stop feeding it.” Flidais reached over, poking Al with her boot again, this time a little harder. “You convince yourself Vyx doesn’t want you ‘cause you’re not masculine enough, and next thing you know, you’re nitpicking all your flaws to try and make yourself more and everyone gets t’see you falter. But if you just stop carin’, even if it’s only carin’ about how you present around us, you’ll stop finding reasons t’nitpick. And if you’re not doin’ it every hour of every night, then you’ll forget t’nitpick around other people who can’t get their shit together.” She shrugged, and Al sighed.

“Easier said than done, Red.” He shook his head. It was hard, being trans and also a vampire. Many Kindred simply didn’t know what being trans was, and more still didn’t understand the concept that such a thing was mutable, mostly because they didn’t care. “If I could stop hating myself just by telling my own head to shut up, I wouldn’t be stranded, frustrated, on the side of the road in Maine trying to fix a broken timing belt and having this conversation.”

“Let’s start small, then.” Flidais turned to Al, crossing her arms. “When they get back, you let Donnie fix the fuckin’ bus. Start there. Let him be the mechanic, and you can be the one who stole the Wifi for the bus. Can we do that?” She asked, almost a little like she was Al’s parent, and he grumbled something that sounded like a fine at her tone. He didn’t really want to be parented, but at the same time, he almost kind of needed it. Tough love was necessary, sometimes, and Al had grown a tough enough outer shell that even friends needed to be kind of mean to him to get things through. He pushed away from the bus at the sound of footsteps, one set coming from behind the bus and the other coming from in front – it would be Malkavians who could time coming back all at once without having to talk about it.

“Belt, obtained!” Vince called, as they approached, two plastic bags in his hands. “Also several cans of Monster, all of the Marlboros they had behind the counter, six bags of bugles, and a bunch of car supplies.” Vince held up the bags, which were loaded to the brim, and Donnie chuckled at the list. It wasn’t exactly in order of his priorities, but that was fine. “And they didn’t question where the card came from.”

“It’s a truck stop, Vince. They don’t care as long as it runs.” Vyx called, approaching from the other end, Al sandwiched between his two sort-of partners as they reached the bus. “As long as it’s green, they really don’t care. Regardless, Al? You wanna slap that bad boy in and then I’ll crack the deposit box?” Vyx asked, April following behind. She passed Vyx, heading over to Donnie and giving him a quick hug, which he seemed surprised about but didn’t reject. Clearly, every group had talked a bunch, and it wasn’t all sunshine and daises. Introspective, at least.

“Eh, Donnie can slap it in, if he can handle it.” Al shrugged, taking a hit off his vape, and that had most of the eyes turning to him, Flidais aside. He’d been such a bitch until they’d left, so the change of heart seemed out of place. He frowned, looking between the group like they were all out of their minds for being surprised. “What? Sometimes you just get done fighting a bus. Donnie can get his shirt wet this time. I have a Monster to drink.” He shrugged, but the words still had Vyx stepping up to him and wrapping their arms around his neck in a hug. Donnie didn’t hesitate – he didn’t want Al to change his mind suddenly – all but throwing himself under the bus, literally, to get it installed.

“I’m proud of you, Al.” Vyx said, putting their hands on the sides of Al’s face, and he frowned, which was almost comical considering how his face was squished.

“Can you just open the damn box?” Al asked, and Vyx didn’t press, separating themselves from Al and heading into the bus again, careful not to dislodge the jack. Donnie didn’t take much time at all to install the belt, considering Al had already worked the other one loose, and by the time Vyx returned – the box already unlocked, having struggled with the key inside for a moment – he was pushing himself out from under the bus and wiping grease off his hands.

“That was fast.” Vince was the one to state the obvious question, oblivious to Al’s slightly perturbed face – he was hoping they would get away without mentioning it. Donnie shrugged, sitting on the bus stairs next to Vyx as they positioned the safety-deposit box on their lap.

“All I did was the reinstall. Taking it apart and doing a diagnostic is always going to take longer.” Donnie shrugged, but he shot Al a quick glance, as though to say, even if Vince hadn’t intended it to sound quite so shitty, Donnie still had Al’s back, which was great, even if Al felt a little bad about the whole macho thing, considering. Were they friends? No. But that didn’t mean Donnie wasn’t going to defend one of his extended polycule.

“Anyway,” Vyx brought the conversation back to the box, holding it in their lap with their hands on the lid. “Let’s rediscover what the hell brought us out this far into the wild, snowy wastelands.” They didn’t wait any longer, taking the lid off the box and all but throwing it into a snow-bank, leaving the box entirely exposed. Inside, the bulk of the box seemed to be taken up by clothing, though it was hard to tell how much, considering it all seemed like snow gear. Vyx pulled out a pair of puffy pants, handing them to Donnie, before pulling out a matching jacket.

“Snow gear?” Al asked, settling next to Vyx, leaning against the bus and taking the jacket as they handed it off. “Vyx, we don’t feel cold.”

“Yeah, but if you wander out into a blizzard in a t-shirt and short shorts, people start to ask really uncomfortable questions.” They replied, pulling out a gray wool hat with delight. Their usual red beanie was quickly passed off to Flidais, who happened to have the reflexes to catch it, before they jammed the new hat on their head.  It looked good on them, as good as the red hat, and they turned back to the box with a grin. “Which is also why I have a wetsuit in here. I didn’t need it, but people would have been concerned if I’d gone midnight skinny dipping to try and find crabs.”

“Usually, I look more inland if I’m looking for crabs.” Vince said, absently. Vyx hardly looked up at him as they tossed the wetsuit his direction, which he only just caught.

“Different kind of crabs, V-dog.” They replied, pulling a soft, velvet bag from the bottom of the box and prying it open. They reeled from the smell, coughing lightly at it, before waving their hand in front of their face. “Oh, god, right.” They shook their head, clearly not into the smell of the whole thing, and April took the velvet bag from them, peering inside.

“A pipe?” She asked, pulling a wooden, carved pipe from the bag. It was still very full, even missing the instrument it held. “I didn’t know you smoked a pipe.” She chuckled, thinking of the only other person they all knew who did such – the other Malkavian in Greensboro, who was currently running the show while they were all out. Vyx made a face.

“I don’t.” They grumbled, sticking their tongue out lightly at it. “I mean, I tried it, when I was up here. Hung out with a Gangrel fisherman for a bit, he convinced me to give it a shot since I like cigarettes, but it tasted like ass and I didn’t like having to cart around a whole bunch of shit just to use it.” They shook their head again, less a no and more the sensation of trying to shake something off. “Guy can have it, or whomever the hell else smokes a pipe. I don’t want it.” They turned back to the box, where only two things remained. “Now, this I’m glad I kept.” They pulled the last two things from the box, one in each hand. One was a lobster claw, moderately sized, free entirely of meat – it didn’t have a smell, which is the only reason they knew it was meatless – and a bright, brilliant blue; the other was a small necklace, in the shape of a boney fish, all classic head and spine and ribs with empty eye sockets, but it was clearly carved from something not unlike bone itself.

“Is that from the Gangrel?” Flidais asked, and Vyx nodded, slipping the necklace around their neck.

“He was a good dude. Didn’t like people much, turned into a walrus when he wanted people to go away, made good money catching lobster from the bottom. Which is how I found this motherfucker.” They waved the lobster claw. “It pinched me, so I snagged its claw. It’s still down there, somewhere, probably. But the dude carved me the necklace and let me keep the claw as a way of saying I did it, since those are rare and all.” They paused, touching the necklace on their breast. “I hope he’s okay.”

“We can always look into it, see if we can find him.” Al suggested, and Vyx nodded, seemingly okay with that plan. “But can we do that while we drive? We’re still on a timer, and Molly’s going to be pissed if she finds out you took a whole ass detour to go find one wet Gangrel who doesn’t like people.” He added, and Vyx nodded, hopping up and swinging up onto the bottom step of the bus. They lingered, scanning the woods around them, and the crowd, the darkness of their collective pasts hanging over them like a shroud.

“Yeah, we’ll find him on the road.” They said, nodding along with the idea. “Let’s get out of here, before the aliens get us.” They chuckled, and they were followed onto the bus by the rest, the engine turning over without any issue as Will started the thing from the driver’s seat. As they sped into the dark night, the conversation briefly turned to aliens, and Stephen King, and Vyx ignored all of it, watching the dark trees rip past the windows.

Leaving Maine behind felt a lot like leaving problems behind with it. They just hoped that was true.

[nosnet]

Dead and Dead Again: Six (6) - Dead (Finale)

by J. D. Dennis

Time Period: Greensboro, end of 2027

Perspective: Vyxen/Vincent

Rating: PG

Content Warnings: Someone died, once, so that’s sad.

Word Count: 3,368

Comments: The final chapter of Dead and Dead Again! This was actually a really fun exercise, as I’d already written this scene for the end of “I Will Follow You Into the Dark” before I’d written everything else for this. Now I got a chance to go back and write it again, but from the other side of the conversation. I highly recommend trying it, it’s fun. Also, I’d go back and check I Will Follow for the full effect.

Honestly, the haven was turning into kind of an epic clubhouse.

The haven, as Vyx had only ever heard it referenced, had been Pip’s old place, back before he’d had his run in with a rocket. It wasn’t a particularly large haven, only a main room with an open kitchen, a bedroom, a bathroom, and a couple of hidden spare rooms, and it wasn’t a particularly clean haven either, considering the main way in was to go through the sewer. For a Nosferatu, it was home; for those that came after him, it was… something. Vyx had suggested turning it into some kind of clubhouse, a community center or meeting place or something; Al had been living there, for a time, but they’d reconnected after the party and Vyx had immediately asked if he’d rather have lived anywhere else. He had taken the third of three apartments above Geometry in downtown, though everyone could tell it was only a matter of time before he moved in with Vyx downstairs. He was only staying distant because they were trying to move slowly, but it had been over a year since they’d reconnected and neither of them had the patience for it.

They reclined on the bed, staring up at the pockmarked ceiling, the memories of Al throwing darts at it swimming around lazily in their head. They’d been cleaning out the fridge – Al was not a man to remember his damn leftovers, and they were one of the few people willing to get dirty and do it – but even they’d needed a break, so they’d settled down on Al’s old bed for a quick breather. The mattress was terrible, which was why they’d splurged for a new one in his new place, even if it meant having to do something with the old one. Maybe they’d just leave it, they thought; have a place for someone if they needed to crash. Their eyes fluttered closed, memories of the bed filling their head.

They opened them with a gasp. Well, they didn’t. Someone did.

Feeling someone rummaging around in Vyx’s body was a sensation they weren’t really used to. It felt like sitting on top of a sleeping bag that had someone in it, feeling them squirm under their legs, but there wasn’t a barrier between them and the squirming. They felt their fingers wiggle, like someone was trying to wake them up, and they tried to exert control, just to see how much they’d win in a fight. They felt the wiggling stop, like the other had backed off, but it was starting to become clear what was happening and Vyx couldn’t be nervous. They’d been waiting for that moment for nearly a decade, after all.

“I see someone’s awake.” They said, letting themselves relax. It wasn’t worth fighting, even as they felt their lips move, the exploration like the person fighting them for control wasn’t sure why he heard a voice and didn’t move the mouth. A brief moment of concern rushed over them, and they tried not to let themselves panic. “You can hear me, right?” They asked, sitting up quickly, and they felt heavy when they did, like they were dragging someone else up with them. It was a weird sensation, and while they’d been sort of piggy-backing off of Vince for a long time, they’d never had the weight that he brought, and it was a weird sensation to feel from the inside.

“Uh… who are you?” The person inside them – Vince, it was Vince, they knew it was Vince from the moment he’d stirred – used the mouth to ask, out loud, and it was clear he could hear what they said through their mouth as they could feel the way he pursed the lips like the voice just didn’t sound quite enough like him for his liking. They ignored this question, reaching for their phone, power-typing out a message – Lazarus has risen – to an established group chat they’d made ahead of time; they’d set up a series of roadblocks for Vince’s eventual waking, in order to keep the man from freaking out too much, and the first was texting the group – which included Molly, Donnie, Damon, Sven, Al and Flidais, who would then tell everyone else that needed to know – that he was awake. The second was setting their phone on Do Not Disturb, so they had time to themselves, and they tossed the phone behind them so it wouldn’t bother them any. Once they were done, they relaxed, letting Vince get a good look around the space; nothing really had changed, yet, as most of the work had been done cleaning up the main room. There was still an emergency SMG shoved half under the dresser, after all.  

“Okay, so I’ve been told quite a lot about you, and I’ve had a couple years on this plane of existence to sort of make sense of it, which means I know you’re gonna figure this out after I get a chance to explain but you gotta let me walk you through it, yeah?” Vyx asked, once they were sure that they were safe to do so, and they felt Vince shrug their collective shoulders.

“I just got off that exact bus, so I’m easy. Hit me. What the hell’s happening?” It was odd, feeling Vince talk through their mouth, but they didn’t mind the sensation, and his phrasing – they knew the way he talked, they’d listened to him for almost thirty years before he’d died – brought a laugh to their throat. It was one thing to remember the man, but another to experience him in person for the first time. It was weird, sharing a body, but not in a bad way.

“Cool cool. Uh, starting easy, I’m Vyxen, usually go by Vyx, she/they.” They paused, halfway through a thought about raising a hand like they were introducing themselves in person before they realized that, since they shared hands, it wouldn’t really work out that way. They didn’t let the moment linger, as the quicker they skipped by the weird movement, the less likely it would be that he would notice anything wrong. “Since you said you’re easy, I figure the idea that you were dead isn’t a surprise?” They added, softly. Their mouth chuckled, and it felt weird, but it at least meant Vince wasn’t really surprised by the words.

“Oh, yeah, no, that’s old news.” Vince shook their head, and for a moment, he pressed out and Vyx sort of let him, because they knew there would need to be a moment between them where they figured out who was actually where when. They’d talked to Flidais, before that moment, and she’d explained that, like sharing a shirt, they’d both need to figure out who’s arm went through which hole eventually. Sometimes, it could be both, but she’d advised it be one or the other when possible. However, they felt him feeling them out, and they found they’d come to the same conclusion he did – that the edges between them weren’t as firm as Flidais had implied they would be. That the difference between Vyx and Vince was, at best, nominal. “I don’t know what names you know, but this Malkavian named Alice? She also died a bit ago, and I saw her in… wherever that was. I saw a lot of people, honestly. All dead. Wasn’t hard to put two and two together.”

“Good, okay. We were a bit worried that would have gotten missed. Nobody ever wants the honor of telling someone they died.” Vyx leaned back on their arms, the lumpy mattress digging into their hips and back in a way that was kind of uncomfortable, but there was also something weirdly familiar about it. It wasn’t their familiarity, of course, as they’d never slept on the mattress before, but Vince clearly had. “So here’s the rundown of what’s happened since you kicked it. Far as I was told, you all won, so that’s the first thing.” They shrugged, and they hoped Vince would accept the declaration as fact and not ask too many questions. They weren’t there – that was the one true gap they did have, the time between Vince dying and their return – so they could only go off what they were told. “Then your friend Molly, the hot blond one with the crown? She brought you back. Or, well, she wanted to. But things got weird, because apparently, getting weird has been your shit for a while.”

“Look, I just have a hard time saying no.” Vince chuckled through their mouth, and Vyx could feel him finally settle in to the sharing thing. It was like that moment after getting a new dog where they finally just lay the fuck down and rest a moment, except it was Vince letting Vyx do all of the moving and not worrying about it. They shrugged at his words, as they weren’t in a place to judge – they also didn’t say no very much, though they could, they just didn’t like doing it.

“Well, according to her, I’m your… twin. Sibling.” Vyx paused, trying the words out in their mouth and finding them appropriate. This wasn’t a new idea, but it was one thing to tell Al that they were Vince’s sibling and it was another thing to tell Vince that. They didn’t hate the words, but it was still weird to tell someone inside their own head that they were siblings. “You know how sometimes, people are twins and then one twin dies before they’re more than like two whole cells so the other twin goes sweet, free food, and slurps them up and now one person has bits from two people?” They paused, the question left there for a moment, but they didn’t have to wait long. Something in them said that Vince understood without him having to ever actually say it, like their shared understanding simply crossed that boundary. It was almost like they could read Vince’s emotions, and he could probably read theirs in return. “So apparently, I was the unfortunate twin to not make it out. But Molly said it wasn’t just that we were like that, though. She told me it was something about us being… conjoined twins? But joined by the soul.”

“That sounds… kind of impossible, but I just met the ghost of my husband’s first husband who’s been dead for like, eighty years, so I’m not gonna question it.” Vince held his hands up, a gesture so reflexive that Vyx didn’t fight him on it; they were starting to feel where his wants and desires about movement began and ended, even if the line between them was blurry, and they were able to let him press on those wants without letting go entirely. They knew there was no expert on body sharing – Flidais and Varnhagen were close, but only by experience – but they could also tell that, if there had been, they would have been impressed by how quickly they meshed. It was probably the twins thing, if they had to guess.

“Yeah, even she was like, I’ve never seen this before in my life.” Something in Vyx said that they needed to attempt Molly’s accent, and they didn’t question it, trying something akin to a New York lilt; they only stopped because Vince chuckled, and the chuckle used too many vocal chords for them to keep going. It wasn’t like it was any good, anyway. “Regardless, I was dead and hanging out with you your whole life, right? Just a weird little hanger on while you lived and stuff. I was… my memories of stuff aren’t the best, but I have your memories and I recognize stuff between the two of them, so I was definitely present for it all? It’s weird. I’ve kind of stopped trying to understand it.” They admitted, sighing and shaking their head at the situation. It wasn’t easy to understand, especially considering the threshold between them wasn’t entirely succinct. They didn’t want to ignore it, but they weren’t beating their head against a brick wall, either. “And then you died and we were made equal, right? So when Molly reached back into the void to grab you, she grabbed me. Which was good because you weren’t responsive, anyway. So I’ve been in control of the meat suit since then.”

“How long have I been gone?” Vince asked, using Vyx’s mouth, and there was fear in his voice that said that the idea that time had passed scared him. They understood, of course – he’d been gone for a long ass time, but he probably hadn’t realized how long it had taken him to come back. It was a situation out of his control, and especially considering death damaged people, they could tell he felt responsible for anything that his death had caused, even if he hadn’t actually caused his own death.

“Well, it’s 2027.” Vyx said, short and sweet, letting that settle in the silence for a long second. They knew it would take Vince a minute to do the math and see how long that was, because a decade was not a short time to try and math out. “Once I got the rundown of everything, I tried to come back here, but Al wasn’t… he didn’t like the idea that you’d been replaced. So I left.” They paused, their hands gripping at the sheets; the memories of post-Al were fun, and exciting, and also filled with a thousand voices of a thousand different Malkavians and they knew they didn’t have to explain how awful that was to Vince, because he would just know, but they had to chase off the feeling anyway. Every Malkavian was haunted, in their own way. “Being alone wasn’t the best, ever, but I’ve managed. I went to London, tried to find Allectus. That didn’t work super great, ‘cause he wasn’t there, but Wilde was at least interesting. Popped by Paris; seeing Martha again was cool, but I could totally tell things weren’t all cool so I didn’t make myself that much of a problem. Thought about Ireland, but that felt… weird. So did Russia. Did go see Vlad out east, he was pretty neat.” They paused again, pulling their legs up to their chest, thinking about the time post Europe. It had been… interesting. “Came back, fucked around in New York a bit. Road tripped the US. Made a bit of a mess in Seattle, got shipped back to New York, then rolled on back down here again. Got to see Damon once I got back, he’s… going through it. He and Sven aren’t having the best time, but it’ll probably work out.”

“Did you see Flidais? Al?” Vince asked, pressing on that question hard, Vince’s grip against their collective knees almost white knuckle at the mention of either name. Vince clearly cared most about his ex-partners, and Vyx smiled, a sad little thing they hoped he wouldn’t quite notice was so sad.

“They’ve been alright. Found Flidais first. She’s still Konrad’s childe, but she’s been finding her own. She smiles, sometimes, these days. Al took some time, though. I think he’s grown to like me, considering I’m you but also not you, but it wasn’t easy. He was kind of in a bad way, after the war. Flidais got away with not being involved, and oh, Molly did separate her and Konrad, for the record. She wanted her boytoy back.” Vyx paused, letting themselves chuckle at calling Konrad a boytoy, and they felt Vince chuckle with them. “But Al dumped himself into the NosNet after the war – you probably know what I mean. He’d lost everyone, y’know? So he was kind of out of it for a bit, but we’ve been starting towards healing. It’s only been like, a few years since I came back, so we’re still figuring it out, but he’s eating most every meal, so.” They shrugged. They knew eating was important, at least. “Oh! I did find Haytham again, that was a thing, briefly. I think he’d be more into you than me, but he’s also not a guy for no. Also met this guy through Molly – Brujah named Donnie, one of Ryan’s childer? – and he’s a sweetie, so I’m keeping him. I don’t know if he’d be down to clown with you, since his other pick has been April, but hey, it means there’s less to have to figure out how to share.”

“April’s okay?” Vyx felt the other inside them grin, using their mouth to show his elation at the words, something from the depth of their shared soul that said they were both happy some people made it. That the world would be darker without them. “Are there others? Who did we lose? I don’t—I didn’t get to see anyone beyond Alice. Not from our time, anyway.” Vince asked, and the grin fell as he did, the moment gone quickly. Vyx exhaled, slowly, like they didn’t know how to broach this part of the conversation but it was waiting at the door with a dish in hand and they couldn’t leave it out in the cold forever. They let themselves fall back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling again.

“Vince, that’s – I don’t know how to answer that.” They said, softly, and they knew he could feel what they were wrestling with, questions about people they didn’t know and places they hadn’t been and the feeling that they hadn’t ever quite been enough to replace Vince, even if they had been all there was. “I wasn’t there. I know what you remember, but ultimately, I don’t… I don’t know these people, Vince. It’s like… it’s like I’ve seen your entire life time of home movies, and if you quizzed me on someone’s favorite pizza I probably got you, but I’ve… I’ve never met them. Not a lot of them. And the dead ones? I definitely haven’t met them. So I was given a lot of names of people I just… I don’t know, so I don’t think I can pass that on accurately. That might be a better question for someone else.” They said, and it was avoidant and strange but they knew better than to get started. They knew some names, some faces, but they were nothing more than pictures in a funeral parlor’s little book of the dead, and they had no connection there.

“Fair.” Vince sighed out of their lungs, relaxing with them onto the bed, and they felt a sense of complete relaxation when they did. It was weird, sharing a body. “So, now what?” He asked, and Vyx pushed themselves back up, feeling the weight of his soul when they did and finding it harder to sit up with him not trying to assist.

“Well… I know I told the others you were awake, so there’s probably some people to say hi to. And we gotta get you your own corpse – I don’t mind sharing, but I am starting to miss the privacy of my own head.” Vyx snickered, because it was both true but also a bit exaggerated, but they could tell it made Vince feel a little better about the whole thing. Feeling his emotions was also weird. “But after that? Fuck if I know. You’ve got eternity ahead of you, big guy. I can’t tell you what to do with that, though, that’s up to you.” Vyx pushed themselves towards the edge of the bed, landing on legs that for some reason felt like they were too short, even though they themselves wanted them that way, standing and heading for the door. They paused there, like they needed to be sure. “You ready, though? Ready to face the rest of forever?”

“I think so.” Vince said, and he took control of the legs for a moment and stepped towards the door to the room, leading instead of following. Vyx let him, making a note that they did need their phone at some point, but they were willing to let him get used to things for at least a moment.

They had plenty of time to figure everything else out, later.

[nosnet]

Dead and Dead Again: Fyra (4) - Adjustments

by J. D. Dennis

Time Period: Winston-Salem/Greensboro, 2025

Perspective: Vyxen/Donnie

Rating: PG-13

Content Warnings: Alcohol, big cathartic yelling match, throwing items, depression

Word Count: 16,049

Comments: Moving on to the only meeting I think wasn’t anticipated, but was part of the OG Dead and Dead Again I wrote before we changed everything – Damon Wellington. This was cathartic, not only because there was stuff I wish got said, but also because Damon was always one of those PCs where the line between the character and the player was really blurry. The incident in question, the player actually got just as mad as the PC that Vince would want to leave the room instead of being yelled at. Like, it was a whole thing. So this was some kind of method for taking that mess of a character and quantifying him into something we could beat up and rebuild. We’re doing a lot of that lately. It’s nice.

“Look, I don’t know how he changed it on Google Maps, but it definitely wasn’t Wellington Salem when I left.”

They had been in Greensboro for four days, and an inevitable meeting loomed over them the entire time. They were prepared to come back into the city and meet with their old paramours, and they were ready to see a few old friends as well – but there was one they were kind of dreading, because honestly, they had no idea if friend was really the word for them anymore, and there was always a small amount of danger in overestimating the closeness of someone’s vampiric acquaintances. Flidais was an easy reunion, even if the bulk of their new relationship hadn’t yet been undertaken; they’d gotten her number, and she was receptive, and that was about what they were expecting. Kana was fine, because it was, beyond all things, Kana, and she was predictable as much as she was still so young wielding so much responsibility. Vyx knew she was far too close with Vince to be able to really push them away, as she’d feel bad thinking she made Vyx feel bad, and would eventually find herself friends with Vyx almost like compensation for the initial slight. And Al, well… Al needed his space, but they knew he’d come around, too, once he got the idea through his thick skull that Vyx was never meant to be a replacement for Vince, but an addition. He just had to come to that conclusion on his own, because like a cat, he preferred thinking something was actually his idea all along.

But there was another Kindred they knew they’d need to see, eventually, and they weren’t exactly sure where anyone stood with him.

Damon Wellington had, at least, been part of the end of the world, and Vyx figured that bought them some kind of metaphorical ticket into his inner circle. But even during the end of the world, he wasn’t exactly the most pleasant person to be around. Vyx had watched, from the outside, as Damon belittled his friends, dismissed possible allies due to his own clan’s politics – fuck everyone else’s – antagonized the ones they did manage to keep, and bristled at any and all instances where the world wasn’t simply black and white, one or the other. He wasn’t a bad person – Vyx recalled that he tried, at least; Damon had let one of their party members, who Vyx understood to be his current boyfriend, punch him in the face because a Malkavian told him he was a tree and he wanted to test it. Vyx didn’t quite get why – clearly, the message left was about how he would grow branches as power, but that was definitely part of the problem. Interpreting anything other than the most stringent of rules with easy, identifiable lines was not only something that didn’t come naturally to him, he rejected the idea outright.

More to the point, he definitely treated Vince like shit, and when Vyx thought about that – and about a specific memory, one moment in time they witnessed from above, an argument about why Vince hadn’t mentioned a suspicion, based on nothing but a hunch and Malkavian gut feelings, which were not often considered truthful, that his at the time husband, Al, would betray them at some undetermined point in time – they felt like their guts were filled with hot stones, tumbling around over each other. See, they had the memory from their own perspective, but they also had the memory from Vince’s; his emotions were fuzzy – they could feel veils of emotion, but nothing acute, likely due to those things being tied explicitly to Vince and distant from them – but the words and perspective were clear as day. They knew everything everyone had said; they could see Kana’s absolute fury – she hated Al – and Damon’s pissy vitriol and the way the rest of the party hung back awkwardly while Vince got torn a new asshole for not turning his husband in to what amounted to the Vampire Cops. They had every moment, crystal clear, from Vince’s perspective.

And those moments weren’t the same as the thing Vyx had recalled happening.

Now, the thing was, Vyx probably would have waved off the whole situation as some weird quirk of memory and death and time and coming back as someone who didn’t exist; it wasn’t like they had a rulebook they were playing by, after all. But they knew Damon and Kana had both been in there, giving them that context explicitly, and the change was just light enough to almost be unnoticeable. A couple of words were different in one place, a tone softened in another – but they all served the same purpose: to make Damon look just a little bit less like a toddler having a tantrum that Vince had kept secrets from him and more like a concerned friend just trying to make sure that the world wasn’t going to end due to something stupid like love or trust. If Vyx hadn’t had the benefit of having both memories at the tips of their metaphorical fingers to compare between, they probably wouldn’t have noticed, either. Was it proof that he did anything? No, but the signs were all pointing to the same door anyway, and Vyx was nervous about opening it to see if the prize really was inside. Regardless, they had noticed, and it hung heavy in their stomach as they rolled up to Damon’s haven, because they knew he was going to pretend like he’d done absolutely nothing at all for as long as he could get away with it. Damon was, fundamentally, a coward.

Damon’s haven was in a city that had, at one point, been called Winston-Salem, ostensibly named after Damon’s late sire and previous resident Tremere blowhard, Bernard Winston. Winston had been a particularly impalpable specimen, to the point where the reception to his death was apathy and disinterest. However, having been killed – and surprisingly, not by Damon – it left the top of the chantry in the area open, and after the war, Damon moved right in. Apparently, he hadn’t wasted any time, either, as not only did the Maps app Vyx used read Wellington-Salem, the tower they lingered in front of read the same in large, glowing letters splattered across the top. It felt like getting an unfixed, male dog in a new house, with a desperate need to mark everything they could as theirs. At least Damon’s ego was satiated with lights and names instead of piss.

It was kind of funny, though. He was the Regent of the area, now named after him, and he wasn’t even a Tremere anymore.

“Who are we meeting?” Donnie asked, staring up at the tower from the bike; they’d found street parking, and since it was clearly after six, it was free, which Vyx hadn’t actually expected outside a Kindred building. It felt like something the city had pushed back on, at any rate. The way Donnie asked said he had some kind of idea of who they were meeting, considering the giant, ostentatious tower, the name in big lights, or the way it reeked of presumed power on display to hide real flaws, but he wanted Vyx to say it, just in case he was wrong.

“His name’s Damon Wellington. Professional snob, probably-just-a-Tremere – don’t ask – and someone who Vince used to be… kind of friends with? It’s… weird.” They sighed, straddling the bike with no intent to actually dismount, looking instead back at the steady traffic they’d avoided. They didn’t have to meet Damon; sure, he’d be pissed he wasn’t on the short list for knowing shenanigans were happening, and he wouldn’t quite understand why the nature of their relationship had changed, but that didn’t have to be their problem, necessarily. It would be Vince’s, though, and Vyx wasn’t about to leave Damon’s hanging anger for a dead guy to pick back up whenever he decided to rise again. And besides, there were things about Damon that were honestly likeable – he was tenacious, he was powerful, and he had a sense of loyalty that was just often overstepped by other emotions. There was something in there worth liking, under the rest of the bullshit.

“Why are we meeting him?” Donnie asked, a follow up he clearly didn’t expect to need to ask, but the answers hadn’t been forthcoming and he was concerned. Vyx chuckled, finally hopping off the bike, latching their helmet to a locked strap at the back so no one would run off with it. “Besides the fact that he knew Vince, I mean.”

“He’s a technomancer with the kind of paranoia you’d expect out of someone who smoked way too much crack and I think if he found out through the grapevine – which he will, as far as the memories state the man was like the first inklings of an iPad baby in a Millennial’s body – that Vince technically came back as someone else, he’d think it was some way to kill him or something. Like a betrayal.” They paused, staring up at the tower, the mismatched words in their head from two memories of the same moment trying to play all at once. If they weren’t used to hearing the Network all the time, it probably would have driven them mad. “He wasn’t ever good with feeling betrayed, and if I’m going to get the head of the only Chantry in like, two hour’s drive on my side of things, whatever side that is, I’m not doing it by hiding.” They shrugged, waiting as Donnie hopped off the bike, locking his own helmet up and locking the bike down as well. “It’s not worth hedging it, regardless; his people probably already know we’re here and we’re going to get a talking to about skulking around if we don’t just bite the bullet.”

“Does he really say skulking around?” Donnie asked, following obediently as Vyx headed for the door. Their reasoning was sound, but he didn’t know Damon from the devil – which was far too apt, anyway – and he hadn’t ever met anyone who seriously used phrasing like that. Vyx had to hide a cackle behind their sleeve before the staff noticed as they headed inside; they had their jacket on, luckily, and it muffled their noise before they were noticed. Inside, the tower was just as garish as expected, a decorative smattering of silvers and golds that should have made the place look fancy, except it was also devoid of anything fun so instead it just looked boring as well as shiny. Donnie briefly felt under-dressed – he only had a sweater and jeans, with boots that had done enough stomping to look almost ratty – but a quick look at Vyx, wearing nothing but an overly-large t-shirt that actually doubled as a dress, thigh-high stockings, boots, and their normal hat, he quickly realized he was the better dressed of the two. At least he had pants.

“He’s British.” Vyx replied, as though that were a suitable explanation. It only sort of was, but Donnie figured that was good enough. He didn’t really need to know why. “Oh, you’ll like his boyfriend. I think. I mean, they were dating last I checked, but the boyfriend – his name’s Sven, big Gangrel Viking guy, could snap me in half with a hug – had gotten a little torpored in London and I don’t remember when he woke back up.” They shrugged, heading, with the confidence of a king, to the front counter. A young man with a sharp face and a severe frown and a suit that was pressed enough to be a blade watched them as they put their arms on the top counter. It was just a little short. “Party of two here to see Damon.”

“This isn’t a restaurant.” The man was British and as snobby as Damon had been described, but that only told Donnie that Damon must be worse if this was his receptionist. “He’s in a meeting.”

“He’s always in a meeting.” Vyx groaned, rolling their eyes. “Look, I know what floor he’s on, I’ve been here before. Tee up that elevator with your fancy wiggle fingers and we’ll catch him when he’s out.” They paused, like they expected that to do something, but the receptionist didn’t even lift an eyebrow. Honestly, Donnie was a little impressed at how brazenly unflappable the man was. Even Ray looked vibrant as compared. Vyx huffed, pursing their lips a little like they were struggling to think of something else to say. “Look, if I can prove I know Damon super personally, would you just let us go up? I can’t have scheduled a meeting because I’ve been super dead and he’ll probably be pissed if I don’t get to see him for a whole ass calendar year just ‘cause you didn’t believe me.”

“I don’t know what you believe you might know about Regent Wellington that wouldn’t be common knowledge, but I’ll bite. Prove to me you know him personally, and I’ll let you both go upstairs, though I doubt that will be the case.” The Tremere in front of them sneered, clearly anticipating sending them away and finding some terrible joy in the idea of it. Donnie bristled, not liking the man’s tone and considering giving him a decent reason before Vyx could speak – the reason being Donnie’s knuckles and the Tremere’s teeth disagreeing with their placement – but the way Vyx all but climbed onto the counter so they could be closer, the way their smile said danger, had him staying his hand. They seemed to have it covered.

“I know who his sire is, and I know it isn’t Bernard Winston. Not anymore.” Vyx’s voice was low, quiet, dangerous, the information as potent as a knife covered in poison, and Donnie watched the Tremere behind the counter stiffen like he’d just been poked in places he didn’t think people could reach. But Vyx wasn’t done, their discomfort at the meeting working itself out in their words, like if they just got a little mad at this one guy, they wouldn’t lose it on Damon later. “Want me to call him? I probably can. He loves drama and boy, announcing to the entire Chantry what Damon chose to do, who he chose to re---“

“That’s enough.” The Tremere cut them off, his words clipped and fractured like he was desperate to keep them quiet and not say anything else out loud. He was terrified, and Vyx sneered back at him, like they’d proven their point. They had, in a way – they knew the one secret that the receptionist wouldn’t expect – that Damon Wellington, notable Tremere Regent, was actually a Baalii. The receptionist glowered, and Vyx watched his hands type something – probably an alert that a stranger who knew Damon’s terrible little secret was on the way – before he resettled, forcing himself to sit up straight and look unbothered. “I’ll call the elevator, but you must never repeat that again.”

“Repeat what, hoss? That Damon’s a sucker for drama like everyone else he knows? Yeah, that’s no secret.” They brushed off the whole thing with a kind of flippant tone that said they were doing him a favor by not acknowledging what was said, and after a moment of silent glaring, the Tremere snapped his fingers and one of the elevators dinged. Vyx gave the man a cheery, toothy grin, before quickly taking Donnie by the hand and all but dragging him to the elevator. He didn’t resist, too many questions rumbling around in his brain, anyway.

The doors closed, and they were alone, the elevator indicating they were heading to the top floor. They had a minute. “Who is he?” Donnie finally asked, trying to put the questions he had in his head into something succinct. He knew very little – something about being re-embraced, even though Vyx never actually said the word – they alluded to it fairly heavily, indicating some kind of second sire, but that wasn’t—he wasn’t entirely sure that was a thing one could do. Normally, embracing was fairly permanent. The elevator dinged up another floor, and Donnie, realizing his time with the question was short and the answer was likely much longer than the ride, reached out, smacking the emergency stop button fairly hard. The elevator ground to a halt. “I can’t go into this meeting blind. Especially if this isn’t as friendly as you want it to be.”

“Well, I know he doesn’t bug the elevators, so I guess this can be here.” Vyx shrugged, reaching into Donnie’s jacket pocket and grabbing a cigarette and his zippo; they had no pockets to have stored them anyway. They took a moment to light up, handing the lighter back and letting the exhale fill the elevator. Thank god they didn’t have to breathe. “Damon’s a Baalii, but it’s probably safer if you didn’t hear that and especially not from me.”

“You mentioned Baalii, before.” Donnie said, remembering the brief conversation about the end of the world, the first time they’d met. Vyx had gone through a more thorough play by play since then – they’d had a long train ride, after all – but they hadn’t mentioned any further details about the clan then, either. Just there was one, during the end, that was against their foe as much as they were, even if he himself also wanted the world to end. “I imagine being a Baalii is… bad.” He added, and he knew that much from the fact that Vyx didn’t want to talk about it. But he was green, politically speaking, so this was all new content. Vyx chuckled.

“Baalii are like, the one clan you can safely bet are universally disliked.” They shrugged, leaning back against the side of the elevator. They could hear sound, on the other side of the door, someone trying to figure out why the thing had stopped. The fact that they couldn’t hear more than muffled phrases said no one would hear them inside, either. “They worship demons and they have a fucked up way of siring people and in general, their unlife goal is to end the world. We happened to have met one, during the End Days, that wanted to end the world, just… not in the way Pip wanted to. So Damon and another unnamed individual I consider enough of a friend to not out right now decided it was worth it to go through the process. Neither of them wanted to necessarily be Baalii or end the world, they just figured… when you’re fighting a guy who’s whole ass plan is to raise Lilith from the dead and kill her, you don’t wanna shirk bringing the nuke.”

“And now we’re going to meet this guy again?” Donnie asked, concerned. Vyx surrounded themselves with people who were, at best, highly dangerous. He watched as they held up a finger – the conversation on the other side was growing more agitated, like they were about to start actually working on getting the doors open – so they smacked the button and the elevator was off. Three more floors passed, and then they hit the button a second time and for a second time, it ground to a halt.

“Yeah. Vince would want to.” Vyx shrugged, tapping the cigarette ash out into the little space where the door opened; it would likely fall into the shaft when they finally exited. Donnie balked at their casual attitude, and Vyx finally looked at him, the shock on his face, and registered that what seemed like a Tuesday for them was something dramatic and wild for him. “What? He’s kind of a dick, I’ll say that much, but we were in the trenches together, for what it’s worth. It feels unfair to set that kind of thing aside over something as stupid as---“

“As stupid as being a demon worshipping vampire who wants to end the world?” Donnie asked, filling in the back half of the sentence, and that actually got Vyx to hesitate, because he wasn’t… wrong. Even if they knew Damon had no intent to end the world or worship demons; he’d probably prefer the demons worshipped him, honestly. “Look, Vyx, I get you have memories of the guy, but right now I’m being told we’re walking into the office of probably one of the most hated people in this city, and you’re not entirely confident that he’ll even want to see you. You’re used to playing games with dangerous people, but I’m not, so I need something. How do I know he’s not going to try and do something to us now that you’ve proven you’re a liability who knows his secrets? How do we know that Vince dying wasn’t the best thing that happened to him?”

“He’s a coward.” Vyx said, simply, stubbing the cigarette out on the side wall and leaving a smudge of ash behind. They tucked the unused end behind their ear. “That’s how I know. He’s a coward who’s too used to using people he befriends as a safety net when he makes bad choices, and Vince was probably the only person he could wrong repeatedly and not worry about whether or not the man would hate him after. I don’t know why, but Vince was never good at hating people.” They shrugged, pausing a second and staring at their shoes, like they were debating adding a specific statement. They shifted. “I think, if you really want to look at it, it’s like… would you forgive Oppenheimer if you were on the same side of the table and you knew what was at stake?” They asked, softly – and Donnie understood that much, of course, even if the question was a hard one - and then that other statement came back and they exhaled because they definitely had to say it. “Also, when he put the context back in this body, for Vince, he… I think he changed things. Made himself look better.” They paused, biting their lip like they still weren’t sure how to feel about it. “I can’t really… prove it until I talk to him about it, but I don’t think he would have tried to make Vince’s memories like him more if he didn’t want Vince around.” They shrugged, again, hitting the button and letting the elevator ascend. “If Vince was really better off dead, he wouldn’t have helped at all. Trust me, if I thought Damon were capable of actually doing anything, I wouldn’t be here.”

“I’ll trust you. I won’t trust him.” Donnie replied, the elevator moving fast now that they weren’t constantly stopping it. Vyx chuckled, stepping out of the elevator as it reached the top floor, hardly letting the doors split before they were out and walking on the carpeted hallway. Upstairs, it was as grand as it was downstairs, though more tastefully done, with more wood and less gold. There weren’t many doors, and one was very clearly an office.

“No need, he’s used to it. Oh, but you can trust his boyfriend. Sven loved Vince. Man’s a big softie, honestly, but he’s got a big axe and he wouldn’t let Damon do anything without really good reason.” They chuckled, settling in on the seat across from the door – clearly a space to wait for those that needed to – pulling the cigarette back from their ear. They reached out, making the universal grabby hand signal at Donnie, who supplied the lighter as requested. “Not loved as in they were dating or nothing; I don’t think Sven was Vince’s type and I don’t think he’s mine. He was just really attached to all of his friends.”

“Also, please give your Seneschal my… warmest regards.” The lilting voice that found its way through the door was British, egotistical, and trying to be kind through gritted teeth. It was followed by a sharp laugh, something almost biting, bitter like dark coffee on a darker night.

“Ah, yes. There’s a reason I included a transcription. They like to fuck with people some, see who bends and who can ignore it. Most people are used to it by this point.” The laugh came from the second voice, more feminine, more conniving. The first voice chuckled, awkwardly, like he was done dealing with whatever bullshit the other had thrust on him, but he couldn’t exactly tell her no.

“Ah, okay. I thought the transcription was so you could control the narrative.” It was a weird phrase said in a light tone, but both parties chuckled a little at the words as the door opened. Vyx and Donnie were faced, briefly, with a pair of Kindred – one, a pale man in a dark, well fitted suit, with dark hair, sharp glasses, and a sharper stair; the other, a young woman who was somehow paler, with dark, gothy hair, the back held up by a clip and straight across bangs. They were both laughing as they exited the room, but the man paused, clearly registering Vyx and Donnie as likely the people he’d been texted about. “We’re on for dinner in three weeks, then?”

“Your people can text my people.” The woman passed, pausing to give Vyx a once over, because the other was looking at her like they could learn so many things by the words on her shirt, which would have been weird as her shirt had no words at all. To Donnie, she was average height, in a shawl, a crop top, and skinny pants with thick boots and dark lipstick and dark nails. To Vyx, it was like they were staring at a goddess, or, at least, someone who looked kind of like one. Her face wasn’t much different, but she bore a circlet that was somewhere between spider webs and constellations, a daughter of the night in more ways than one. She wore a dress that seemed to be made of the fabric of space, but it didn’t quite fit her, too long in the hem or the sleeves, loose in the shoulders. But what Vyx couldn’t stop staring at were her wings – paper thin things made of wax. Of course, the other man also didn’t look like a average white dude in a suit, either, but they were used to seeing a bundle of energy where a form would be; he was normal, but she was interesting. The woman considered Vyx, and Vyx considered her for a long moment. “I like the outfit.” She said, offhandedly, fishing out a business card and passing it along. “If you ever wanted to come join us.”

“Maybe. I’d be more worried if you weren’t Kindred, but I don’t think you’ll get too close to the sun if you only go out at night, so we can figure something out.” Vyx replied, and of course, they got what they always got – a profound, confused silence that didn’t remotely have context for what they said. They sighed. “No worries, Apate, we’ll figure it out.” They waved her off, and the woman cast Damon a look that said she knew Malkavians but this was a new one, before she headed for the elevator. Vyx turned, finally looking back at what Donnie could only have assumed was Damon Wellington himself, who was staring at them like they were a strange new kind of bug he wasn’t entirely sure he could pick up and let outside. “Ey, D-man, long time, huh?”

“Can I help you?” Damon asked, looking between Vyx – clearly, he could tell they were a Malkavian, and if Donnie were any good with expressions, clearly, he wasn’t jazzed about that – and Donnie, like he wasn’t entirely sure what they were supposed to be doing. It definitely wasn’t Girl Scout Season, at least. “Henry said you’d threatened your way up here. I honestly don’t believe him, considering, but you should understand who you’re dealing with before you make idle threats.” There was something in his tone that was serious, trying to be scary and intimidating, and something about it just fell… flat. Like he knew he had the ability, and the muscle, but he hadn’t really been trained to start swinging without provocation, and Donnie honestly felt a little bad for the man. Vyx didn’t, however, and actually laughed.

“My god, Damon, we leave you alone for five years and you can’t even make a decent threat! Damn!” They cackled. Donnie watched the other man bristle, his hackles going up like he was a Ghibli character with hair standing on end, and he honestly looked like he was going to try and prove something about the whole situation, raising a hand like a threat, until a booming voice from down the hall stopped him dead.

“I know that smell!” Whomever the voice belonged to, Donnie could tell they were big, and he was proven right as probably one of the biggest people he’d met – besides Ray – all but flung himself into the hall. The man was tall, tall enough to have to duck through the doors, and built like a barrel, solid all the way through, with braided, golden hair and a beard of magnificent proportions. If the braids hadn’t given Viking away, the outfit would have, as he still wore a leather tunic and tall boots and a little axe on his belt. Vyx turned, and the pair met eyes, before the other man was all but thundering down the hallway. Donnie stiffened, and almost reacted, as the big man reached out, but he only pulled Vyx into a hug that Donnie was sure made them squeak like a toy, and Donnie was able to relax, just a little. It was hard, with a demon worshipping Kindred standing five feet from him looking incredibly confused and maybe a bit nervous, but Vyx had leaned heavily in to the hug, not away, and he trusted that. “Vince!” The big man intoned, putting Vyx on the floor, finally. They laughed, awkwardly, but Donnie was the one that butt in.

“It’s Vyx, actually.” He corrected. He didn’t know why, but the impulse hit him and then he couldn’t stop himself; he was honestly just tired of hearing Vyx go through the corrections, over and over again, as he could tell they were getting more worn out each time. It was hard enough to have to live in the shadow of a man they’d already described as everyone’s favorite, harder still, he figured, to have to tell people you weren’t that good every time. Vyx caught his eye, for just a moment, and from the way they smiled at him, he could tell they very much appreciated the fill in. It was nice, honestly, feeling loved enough to have had him try.

“Yeah, it’s a long story.” Vyx shrugged, giving the big guy a smile, trying to keep their posture easy even if Donnie was right and it was hard to tell it again and again. It just reinforced this strange idea that they weren’t simply enough, and that once people found out they weren’t Vince, no one wanted to see them. “Damon kinda knows it, right? Molly went fishing for once Vincent Renato and caught herself this old boot instead. Except I was also attached to the fish. And also am, technically, a fish like he was. Maybe even the same fish. It’s… really weird.” They chuckled, turning back to the big guy. “Glad to know there’s some things that don’t change, though, Sven. Good to see you walking; think Vince kicked it before you woke back up, so he hadn’t seen you since… London?”

“Let’s bring this conversation into my office, shall we?” Damon said, trying to usher what Donnie realized was the boisterous boyfriend Vyx had mentioned, Sven, the Gangrel, along with everyone else, into his office. Something about this whole thing made him nervous, or at least, made him want to contain the situation – Vyx couldn’t tell if he knew Vyx knew what he’d done, or if it was just latent paranoia from their time being hunted like dogs. They followed, regardless, Donnie trailing them into the room, hands in his pockets and posture stiff like he still wasn’t entirely sure about the whole thing. Once inside, with the doors shut, Damon turned, finally giving Vyx a once over that said he was actually trying to see if they were, deep down, really Vince. He sighed. “Molly called me shortly after your exit and explained the situation, but… it felt too much like a farce to really believe; Vince, having had a mysterious twin that so happened to be possessing him instead? It sounds like the plot of a terrible romance novel.”

“You didn’t believe Malk shit when it was about you, dingdong, of course you didn’t believe it. You never have. But just because you don’t believe it doesn’t mean it’s not a real thing that happened.” Vyx didn’t waste time, settling on one of several small sofas that lined Damon’s office. There were mostly bookshelves, with some random seating in little sections, like reading nooks, and a big desk in front of a large, ornate window. The city skyline glittered in the distance like a sea of lights beyond their reach. They were really high up. “But it is real. Vince is in here, but I’m not him, I’m Vyxen Riveria. And since he’s knocked out, I’m making the rounds, giving everyone the low down, taking hugs as payment -  thank you, Sven, appreciate you’re good for it up front – and just…  I don’t know, I guess I’m putting the pieces back together, but it’s the life of a man I’ve only ever kinda seen from a distance. It’s not been easy, thank you for asking.” They added, a little bitterness to their tone that said maybe they would have loved if someone asked them if they were okay like, ever. Damon scoffed, the concept of asking foreign to him.  

“And your… friend?” Damon asked, quickly eyeing Donnie like he wasn’t sure how the other fit into the picture. Like Donnie was the body double they needed to be worried about. “I thought you’d return with Al in tow, if anyone.”

“Al is… currently in the trenches, so to speak, so he won’t be joining us until he decides it’s better to forgive than hold onto being a dick. He didn’t take not getting Vince back really well, so I’ve been letting him… cool off.” Vyx sighed, pulling the half-finished cigarette from their ear. Donnie tossed them the lighter before he was even asked, having seen them move and anticipated the need; Damon’s face said smoking in his office was not a thing he allowed, but either Vyx didn’t see the expression, or did and didn’t care, lighting up anyway. “This is Donnie. He’s my boyfriend and also my currently assigned Brujah de jour.” They grinned, tossing the lighter back over like it was nothing at all, exhaling the smoke, much to Damon’s displeasure. Seeing them against each other, Donnie could see how the act of bothering each other until they were blue in the face could be seen as something like friendship, but he wasn’t sure he was buying what was being sold. There was animosity there, something real, just under the surface, but he couldn’t tell from whom. “Donnie’s cool. He doesn’t fuck off when things get tough.”

“A man after my own heart!” Sven’s voice was several decibels above everything else in the room, and that seemed like his bottom volume. He reached out, clapping Donnie on the back hard – it would have toppled a lesser man, but Donnie was not a lesser man, and the fact that he didn’t flinch brought a grin to Sven’s face. It was like he was finally finding someone who wasn’t made of toothpicks and twine and he was delighted. Donnie couldn’t help but grin in return; he didn’t expect to find people like Ray’s crew that far south, and Vyx’s voice rang in his head that he did, in fact, like Sven. “This is cause for celebration! A new friend, reuniting old friends, and the rebirth of someone new from someone old! We should get drinks!”

“Svenjamen,” Damon hissed, using a name that was definitely not Sven’s name but definitely the closest he could come to not feeling like he was shortening it, “Do you not think this is a little odd? Normally, when Molly brings people back from the dead, she brings back the actual person in question, not someone else.”

“D-dog, the Norse think the world occasionally ends and everyone’s reborn as a whole new ass thing; I’m like… Biblical for him. Norsical?” They paused.

“Poetic.” Sven corrected, proud of himself and also of them – he liked the way they worked thoughts, because they were easy enough to follow. For the moment. Better than some Malkavians he’d met. “You’re thinking of the Poetic Edda.”

“Yeah, that.” Vyx chuckled, crossing their legs under them on the sofa and leaning forward. “I do like the idea of drinks, though. Like… look, Damon, to be honest, I’m not really sure why I’m here. It’s not like I wanted anything.” They said, and they worked around the words and Damon made a strange face, but Donnie understood – Vyx was a fairly adept talker, but the blood made lying hard, and it was clear on their face that while they hadn’t said anything untrue, they also weren’t being entirely forthcoming. They had a reason for being there, but it wasn’t the reason they had decided to visit, because it wasn’t a big enough deal to warrant a visit on its own and they had no other reason to have seen him besides simply wanting his companionship. It was a weird thing to want, as far as Donnie was concerned, but he didn’t judge. “But like… you and Vince never got to hang out as just like, friends. That kinda sucks, right? And I miss most of y’all. We met so many cool people and we didn’t get to just like, hang out with any of them.”

“Most?” Damon asked, but there was something softening in his face; he was not a man used to being missed, nor used to being invited for a night out just for the sake of the night out. There was something like fear, maybe, rumbling underneath his expression, like he was scared he was the one they didn’t miss, or like he was scared of what they wouldn’t say. Or just that he was scared; it was a weird thing to witness, but Vyx understood entirely too well why. Damon was not-a-Tremere pretending to be one, and historically, the Tremere were not kind people to those that tried to hurt them. If Damon’s existence was discovered, he’d be put to death, so he had to live with a small undercurrent of fear at all times. Plus, the Chantry’s mere existence was one based on fear to structure its power, so he’d been set up from the start for something messy. And that meant he sort of feared everything he didn’t understand. It was safer that way.

“I mean, I don’t really miss Illya.” Vyx cackled, and the name gave Damon an expression that could only be described as a sudden and intense desire to throw himself bodily from the window. Even Sven made a small face at the name. “Who does, right? Man’s a creep. Uh, I don’t miss Ammon, he was a weird one. Oh, I did pop in to the London Chantry once! I don’t miss them, either – they’re just as up their own ass as they were during the war, and this time I didn’t have anything to offer for them to like me. Winston really picked one, huh?” Vyx asked, referencing the other Winston they’d met – Elnora Winston, the ex-wife of the late Bernard. It was no wonder they were divorced – both were sharp enough to make general socialization difficult, and neither had anything else likeable to excuse it. “But I miss you. I missed Flidais. I miss Al. I miss Malvern and Dan and Haytham and Kana and Nakamura and even Luis. And hell, I kinda miss Konrad. We made a lot of good friends, y’know? Well, you and Vince made friends; I was just also sort of there. It’s complicated.”

“You didn’t… tell the Chantry anything, did you?” Damon asked, watching. Donnie had seen the way he’d reacted to the name Illya – he’d gone stiff, and then he’d looked at Donnie, but not directly; it was discreet, like he was looking to see if Donnie seemed surprised that they’d name dropped Illya directly but he didn’t want Donnie to see him looking. Of course, Vyx had mentioned the name once or twice in the telling, but not with any seriousness or reverence. Donnie was just an unknown, like Vyx was an unknown, just differently.

“Damon, they hardly knew who I was. The fact that I managed to sweet talk my way into the chantry in the first place had a bunch of them on edge and I was summarily booted right back out.” The shrugged. “The only person who knows your little secret that didn’t know already is Donnie, and that’s cause otherwise I think he was gonna slug you across the face.” They shrugged, again, but the scathing look Damon shot Donnie had them laughing, and Donnie couldn’t make himself feel scared if he had wanted to. Damon was built like a set of twigs, and while he did magic well, he’d only get the one shot- and they both knew the consequences if that wasn’t a kill shot the first time. “But he’s cool. He learned what Baalii are in the elevator.”

“I don’t judge.” Donnie added, like he had to defend himself. He could tell Vyx was right, that the acceptance of Baalii overall was poor, but he didn’t know enough to really call it for himself. Sven nodded along to the statement, appreciating the sentiment; Damon looked somewhere between upset that they were so cavalier with his secrets and relieved that they’d told maybe the one person it was safe to tell. Or, at least, safe as far as Damon could tell; the future was still to be determined. It was likely he’d never be entirely in the clear, but safe for the moment was better than nothing.

“See, he doesn’t judge.” Vyx added, finishing their cigarette and putting it out on the bottom of their boot. “Now, Sven had the best idea ever about five minutes ago and considering this feels like it’s rocketing towards some kind of heart to heart, I’d rather do that over a big ol’ mug of booze, so. Drinks?”

Damon sighed, pulling his phone out. He was, really, a coward, Donnie realized, and it wasn’t just the big things that were acceptable for cowardice, but the small things, too. He didn’t have the spine to say no to drinks, even though he seemed like he didn’t really want to. Or, he didn’t have the courage to seem like he wanted this, too wrapped up in hiding himself behind a persona of uncaring and unchallengeable to keep himself from getting hurt by wanting things. The wall he built might have been of paper, but he’d built it himself, sheet by sheet. “If we must… Vyxen, was it?” Damon paused, confirming the non-shortened version of their name like he was allergic to using the nickname, “If we must get drinks, I should be able to secure us a spot at---“

“Damon, honey, sweetheart, buddy,” Vyx pushed themselves up to stand, putting both hands on Damon’s desk and getting into his personal space so quickly that the other didn’t know how to react but to recoil from their presence, “You don’t gotta do shit. I own a bar. Like, I know you like flaunting your money and that’s cool and all but why pay for some place that would make me wear a proper skirt when you can just mosey on down to Geometry and I can provide you the best and coolest drinks for freesies?”

“Alphonse owns Geometry.” Damon tried to offer the correction, to make the world fit what he understood, but clearly, he didn’t believe it anymore, as he put his phone back in his pocket. Vyx grinned, noticing the movement and pulling back from the desk, like this would be a discussion on the way out. Like they knew they’d already convinced him.

“Al owned it. With Vince. And then Vince died and I came back and since Al didn’t get the boytoy he wanted back in his house he instead got a whole side of depression so Molly, being proactive, bought his part of it out and then signed it all over to me. I think technically Vince is still on the paperwork and she was signing it over to Vince but also me at the same time but I don’t honestly care. What I care about is that the drinks are paid for.” Vyx lifted their hands up, like they’d offered a perfect solution and dared anyone to challenge them on it. “So, what’d’ya say, Oz the Powerful? Free is a beautiful price to get drunk on.”

Damon hesitated, looking between the faces in front of him. Vyx had offered a good solution, and looked like they would probably pout if it was rejected without due reason; Sven had what Damon would only describe as puppy dog eyes, and honestly, if he was going to drink like he often did – he was a Viking, they didn’t have water, just beer – free was in fact an incredible price. And Donnie, well… Damon didn’t know Donnie for beans, but the man seemed not too unlike Vince, and he’d grown fond of Vince, over their time. To say he trusted Vince explicitly would have been a lie – he hardly trusted anyone, Sven included – but fondness meant something.

“Alright, fine.” He said, and he said it like the whole process was a chore he didn’t want to have to get to. Donnie pushed himself up from his seat, a grin on his face – the whole thing gave big Tsundere energy, and while Donnie hadn’t ever met anyone in person like that, it was almost charming, in its own way. He could see what Vyx wanted to be friends with, somewhere under the paranoia and fear. Accessing it, of course, was an issue, but they’d get there, Donnie figured. Vyx was pretty good at getting there, at any rate. “But we’re taking my car. I will not be letting you drive me anywhere, Vyxen.” Damon tried to add in the caveat, to regain control, but Vyx ignored him, heading for the door and throwing them both open dramatically.

“Do what you want, but we’re taking our bike. Geometry is also like, my house, so it wouldn’t make any sense if we left the bike here and then had to come back just to drive it back again.” They headed into the hallway, Damon following quickly behind and the others behind him, Sven lingering to make sure the doors both closed and locked. It didn’t look like Damon wanted to use the standard elevators, likely due to his car being in another part of the building, but he hovered by the edge of the elevator bank, like he couldn’t just leave until they did. Vyx didn’t wait, pressing a boot to the button for the elevator to go down. It arrived with the kind of speed that said Damon never had to wait long for the thing to arrive. “So, we’ll catch you there?”

“Please don’t crash.” Damon said, and there was true concern there, and that actually roused a laugh out of Donnie as he moved past the pair towards the elevator. “What?” Damon’s tone was perturbed, like Donnie was laughing at him, and that only turned the laughter into chuckles.

“How do you think I met them?” Donnie asked, turning to give Damon a shrug that said he shouldn’t ask for anything without checking first, and Vyx snorted at the response.

“Yeah, I did totally get into a bike wreck outside of his gym, but don’t worry, Damon, I’m totally better now!” Vyx gave him a thumbs up, which did nothing to erase the expression of horror on Damon’s face. He didn’t like being right to worry. “Tell Billiam to park out back. We’re still working out which spaces are mine, but Molly can bully the city on my behalf if you get a ticket.” The elevator buzzed at them, impatient, and they stepped into the box. “See ya there. And don’t you stand me up.” They pointed, the elevator closing on them and Donnie, racing towards street level.

“You think he’ll be there?” Donnie asked, looking up as the numbers raced downwards, much faster than their earlier conversation.

“As I said, he’s a coward. He wouldn’t dare.” Vyx shrugged, reaching into Donnie’s pocket to grab a cigarette. He reached, too, their fingers briefly intertwining as they both went for the same thing, which made Vyx giggle. Donnie produced what they were jonsing for, before pulling out one for himself, lighting both before passing Vyx the second one. “Sven really wants this, too, so I’m not worried. I really think he’s terrified of having no one on his side when things go to shit.”

“It’s weird, considering how he acts like he hates having to deal with you.” Donnie shrugged, taking a long drag off the cigarette as the doors opened, letting them out into the lobby. Vyx shrugged, heading for the street.

“I have never known Damon to be a man who makes good choices, but hey, he could have changed.” They shrugged, ignoring the guard who seemed upset by their cigarette, heading outside and to their bike, which was parked where they left it. “C’mon, let’s see if we can get there first.” They hopped on, putting the helmet over the cigarette, and Donnie shook his head, settling down in front of them and stubbing his cigarette out, tucking it in behind his ear before putting his helmet on. He had to see, after all.

He didn’t want to disappoint Damon by crashing. That was Vyx’s job.

~*~

“It’s my liquor, I can over-pour if I want to.”

Geometry was still one of the most successful things Vince had ever done, and that said something. Before, it had been one of many storefronts in downtown Greensboro that needed a little love and attention, abandoned and undeveloped. Vyx knew why, of course – they’d seen the financials, which meant they’d seen the rent for the place and boy did their city think any business that survived needed to be built from bricks of 100 dollar bills. But Vince had everything bankrolled by Pip for long enough that he’d managed a little nest egg, and with a quick investment and a lot of hard work, the place had come together. Even being under only Al’s thumb for a few months, before Molly bought the place out, hadn’t done more than make some of the perishables unusable and bring the vibe down a bit – but under new management, it was starting to recover.

Inside, the walls were dark, blues and golds and patterns of color bringing something interesting to the space. The bar was in the middle, with space for dancing on one side and seats on the other, and it gave the space a coziness that was often missing. That night in question, it hadn’t been packed, the crowd still light while they realized the place was back under the old management. There was a new bartender – a tall, hairy black man with a bright laugh, a genuine smile, and less volume control than even Sven; he’d become a Malk ghoul almost immediately and adjusted well enough – as Molly had fired the old bartender as soon as she’d picked the place up. Apparently, the old bartender had been abusing the situation, giving the booze away to her friends without compensation for it and in general running the place like she owned it. That was, as far as Vyx understood, the first sign that Molly needed to take the place over, and once she’d been sacked – apparently, she didn’t have a proper domitor, either, as hers died in the war, and Kana was not as accepting about the whole thing – Molly had hired the new guy. Vyx liked him. He’d taken to the blood well, at least, and knew to get the fuck out of their way when they hopped the bar and reminded him they were the owner.

“Yes, but I don’t know if I want to drink this much.” Damon replied. He’d changed suits – Donnie wasn’t entirely sure when he’d done that, honestly, but the way Vyx had indicated his new suit with a casual and offhand comment said this was a regular occurrence and nothing to be surprised by. The other bartender hovered at the end of the space, serving the only other customers there and leaving Damon and Sven sitting next to each other at the bar, with Vyx on the other side and Donnie at the far end, leaning on the edge.

“Damon Wellington, I have never offered to pay for your drinks in our entire unlives together and now that I am you’re turning me down?” Vyx asked, pouring Donnie a second rocks glass of blood and whiskey and cracking another beer from below the bar for Sven. A lot of Vince’s investments had been, not necessarily in the building, but in the product, and that had worked out well for them. Many Kindred, especially in the city, didn’t actually like hunting, Vyx included. Finding a target was a pain, getting them to a quiet space was a pain, the risk of getting caught was a pain, and with the brief scare regarding the global pandemic, quite a few people had taken to staying indoors and the hunting had gotten more and more scarce, which was the biggest pain of all. But Vince had, back before even all of that, designed a specific wine label that commodified a commonality among Kindred – blood wine, a mix of tannins and fruit juice and blood that held the potence of drinking straight vitae as well as the burn of real alcohol they could process – but where others had bottled their own, one bottle at a time and sourced individually, he’d made it a brand. That brand, under Molly’s careful tending, had expanded, and now the V label offered blood-lager, and then an IPA after, and by the time Vyx had come back to Greensboro, the money had settled into something where they honestly couldn’t fuck up their finances if they wanted to. As long as they kept bottling the stuff, anyway, but that was under someone else’s direction; there was a whole factory, Vyx knew, using old Prohibition warehouses to bottle the stuff in relative secrecy. “C’mon. You don’t normally get to drink with friends, so give it a shot. ‘Sides, I bet I could drink more shots than you could, and I haven’t tested what Konrad considers an alcohol tolerance.”

Damon paused, mid drink, and quietly set the glass on the table. There was something about his expression that was calculating, sincere, and vicious, and Donnie realized quickly and with no small amount of hilarity that Damon was competitive. Possibly to a fault.

“Fine, but we should establish proper rules, first.” Damon said, agreeing to the idea, which Vyx grinned at. It didn’t seem like they were playing to anything except having a grand old time, but there was joy on their face that Damon had actually agreed to something fun. Changing suits was apparently common; having fun was not. “So no one can cheat.”

“Sure, fair enough, though I don’t know how you cheat at drinking. Hmm. Normally, the game would go until someone passes out, but I don’t think any of us have passed out drunk since we were sired, so I don’t think that’ll work.” Vyx hummed, tapping a finger against their chin, before they made a gesture of ah ha. “Let’s do this. Donnie is gonna pour us shots. We’ll start with like, what, five or something? And then we’ll take more as we go. If you’re poured a shot, you drink the shot, so first person to refuse a shot or refuse to order loses. Sound fair?”

“Why is Donnie pouring the shots?” Damon asked, incredulous. Vyx just stared him down, unwavering.

“Because he is the only person who hasn’t seen you drink, so he’s the only person who isn’t going to be influenced by your lack of alcohol tolerance. Also Sven’s a heavy hand and I wouldn’t want him to over-pour.” They replied. “Thirdly, I trust very few people behind the bar and I’m not about to get the new guy over here to indulge our bullshit when there’s real people in here with money that he should be concerned about.”

“Fine.” Damon sighed, and it was the sigh of someone who really didn’t know how to combat what he was observing, but who wished the world were different anyway. It would have been a sad thing, if they hadn’t been talking about drinks. Sven laughed at his acceptance regardless, clapping him on the back and nearly scattering his glasses across the bar top.

“After, I request a battle with Donnie!” He said, and he was clearly very excited, and if the sudden grin that crossed Donnie’s face at the idea said anything, the other man was also excited. Vyx shrugged, pulling several shot glasses from under the bar and spreading them out. A battle with Sven would be a hard challenge, but the fact that Donnie seemed ready to try was kind of attractive. “If he would agree to it, anyway.”

“I’m game, big guy.” Donnie nodded, slipping behind the bar, letting Vyx hop back over the bar top and join Damon on the other side. “But first, let’s get this challenge started.”

~*~

Damon had lost after three shots.

Donnie lost after fifteen.

Vyx wasn’t even going to try and battle Sven, but they knew that going in, at least.

“You know.” Vyx said, now potently drunk in a way Donnie hadn’t ever seen; it was strange, watching them wobble, as they were still incredibly alert and vocal and clear. Vampire drunks were weird. “I should battle you at some point. Not Sven, he’s like twice my size, I physically cannot put away that much booze, but you – you and I might got something here.” They cackled, leaning forward heavily on the stool, the only verbal tell of their drunken state the fact that they didn’t bother to rephrase might got something into an actual sentence. Donnie was also pretty drunk – he did slam fifteen shots over the course of a half-hour – but Vyx was moreso, having been pulling from the bottle directly between their rounds of shots. It was their bottle, of course, but it meant they’d probably put away just as much as Donnie. Damon sat next to them, nursing his third drink since the battle, and while he’d had much less overall, it was clear the man was a lightweight and couldn’t hold his liquor if it was handled to him with a grabby mitt attached.

“Let’s shelve that for a different night.” Donnie replied, pushing himself off the stool. Sure, he had the ability to eat food, and sure, he could sort of absorb the alcohol as he took it, but even as a vampire, he still had the sudden and immutable urge to piss. Not that he actually needed to use the restroom, but the idea in the colloquial sense, the need to get up, move to a different location that was quieter for a few moments, before returning to the same place. It was a drunken ritual, driven by factors that existed only in the hind-brain, and not a conscious need to be away from the party. The fact that he didn’t need the relief internally didn’t mean his body didn’t try and force him to the restrooms anyway; he pivoted, finding there was a door outside, which would settle the urge without actually going into a restroom. “I’m gonna take a breather.”

“I will join you.” Sven was the only one mostly sober, and he’d put away a solid twenty shots, the last couple only just to prove a point. Standing, the mostly was quickly apparent, as he stumbled slightly when he stood, but if anyone was going to prove themselves to be capable of doing more than gentle swaying, it was him. Donnie didn’t protest – he wasn’t trying to avoid company, just the lights and the music and the chatter and the undercurrent of muttering that was a half-empty club - heading for the outside door. Sven quickly followed behind, leaving Vyx at the bar sitting next to Damon, the bartender off elsewhere. With Sven gone, the air between them shifted, turned almost cold, like they were avoiding something and Damon knew they were avoiding something and their coupled avoidances meant there was a large gap in between them that they couldn’t really close, but which Sven had somehow plugged with his presence. Vyx poured themselves a heavy drink, thinking. Inhibitions were still gone, even with vampires, but they could still use their Malkavian senses to wander the minefield more or less unscathed; they just had to be careful. They were playing with fire – or, static, if the vision of Damon that existed over top of his new suit was really to be believed. He was a man made of electricity, an oncoming storm, but they could tell that he was quietly diminished from before, contained behind some kind of clear wall.  

“Hey, Damon.” They started, and he looked up at them, bleary eyed and closed off. It wasn’t a great way to start a hard conversation, but a part of Vyx realized that if they didn’t start while he was drunk as shit, it would never happen. Damon was a master of the calculated dismissal; if they brought it up at any other time, or in any other way, he’d dodge and dance and let it whistle right on by him without so much as addressing it. Now was the time and it was a stupid decision but they could tell in their gut this was the one shot they had to take the hot rocks and make something happen with them. They weren’t going to repair anything if they didn’t burn it all down first, after all, so might as well light the match when everything was soaked in booze. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You have never hesitated in asking me things before, nor have you ever cared about my desires on whether or not I’d answer.” Damon replied, putting his drink to his lips and taking a long swig. He was drunk as a skunk, hardly able to keep focus on his glass, his hands shaking, but his speech was still impeccable. He wasn’t the kind to slur; Vyx often found Kindred didn’t. Something about the way they could move their blood around meant the liquor only went to the places where they wanted it to, and nobody ever wanted to sound like they were eight drinks in. “I’m surprised you do now.”

“I haven’t done anything, Damon, Vince did; that’s kind of the point, here.” Vyx said, and something in them said they were doing this and that things were about to get messy, so they skulled their drink and poured another. “Like, I’m trying to ask you something important here, and you’re always cocked and loaded to be an asshole about it.”

“Alphonse is always an asshole too, but you married him.” Damon added, staring at his glass. Vyx sighed; they could tell there was something in Damon that did miss Al, but not in a way he could quantify. Maybe they could have had something between them; Vyx had figured they would, eventually, end up a part of the polycule until Al betrayed them all and the world ended and everything changed so quickly that they couldn’t guarantee anything anymore, and by the time they’d gotten back, Al was in such a rut and Damon was in such a rut that they realized the only way they’d get together is in a different universe. At that point, Damon likely missed Al largely because Al’s asshole persona made Damon look quite reasonable.

“Vince married him. He didn’t want me.” Vyx grumbled, shaking their head. It wasn’t a good start, getting off on the foot that made them think of the way Al looked at them in Molly’s hotel, like they were a farce of the man he loved; like their existence was mocking everything Al knew. They exhaled, taking the line from Damon as consent to at least ask. “At least when I was watching them, when it was Vince, he listened. You never really liked listening to Vince, and that really sucked for him ‘cause if you had, well. Here, since you wanna be this way, I’ll just keep this short and sweet. I remember what you said, to Vince, in the forest? When you and Kana found out what Al did. I have a memory of that, on my own, not from Vince at all. Like straight up over the shoulder, third person.”

“I am drunk, Vyxen, do you really expect me to recall a nothing argument from…. From half a decade ago?” Damon asked, but no, that wasn’t a question, that was a dodge. He knew something was up. He knew because he claimed he didn’t recall what was said and yet he called it a nothing argument, an attempt to minimize what was said; if he didn’t recall the argument, he wouldn’t have wanted to call it nothing.

“I don’t know what you do and don’t remember and honestly, I don’t care, ‘cause that’s not the point. See, Damon, the thing is, I don’t have only my memories of the moment, I have the context you slapped together in Vince’s brain to help him figure his stuff out, and I know I have his distinct memories in here, somewhere, though they’re harder to access. Mostly, that context has been helpful stuff – y’all met a lot of people and I did not remember names well – but that conversation? My memory of it and the context for it are different.” They paused, letting the bomb of truth just sort of fall onto the table just as it was, without any kind of hedging or caveat. They were doing their best to keep a cool voice, to keep from slurring and sounding hammered; it was easier, as a vampire, though it was work to do. It just meant keeping their mouth full of hot blood, the muscles responding thusly for being so full.

“Do you believe Kana may have changed something?” Damon asked, and it was that which broke Vyx in two. Shifting the blame, trying to push Kana, one of Vince’s true friends from the whole debacle, in front of the bus so he wouldn’t have to admit to having done anything – that was a low blow, and even Damon seemed to realize it. Vyx slammed the drink in response, throwing the glass down hard enough to the table that it nearly shattered, pushing themselves up to face Damon with a fury in their eyes that had him reeling. Sure, he hadn’t expected the idea to go over well, but this was far beyond what he was used to.  

“No, Damon, I think you did!” They snapped, turning on him, and Damon had the good sense to look aghast, at least. For a moment, they doubted themselves – maybe Damon didn’t change anything, and Kana had - but that was quickly dismissed – Kana simply wasn’t the type. She wouldn’t have dared, she believed too hard in the sanctity of someone’s brain, and they knew she wouldn’t have changed anything and they knew Damon knew that, too. It was the line of a man too scared to face the music he commissioned to be made. “But sure, always make sure to blame someone else. Never take accountability for anything. Never mind the fact that the bit that got changed was to make you look better, of course. Kana still looks like a complete ass, but I bet she was just feeling super altruistic in order to violate the sanctity of a dead guy’s memories to make you look like a peach.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about; how do I know you were even there?” Damon asked, and he pushed himself up so he was sitting straight up again, watching Vyx with a wary, but drunken, eye. “For all anyone knows, this whole missed Vincent and grabbed you is a farce made up by some wayward spirit or demon that’s having far too much fun making a mess of Vincent’s life. You can’t prove anything’s been changed.” He fired off, and Vyx snarled, something that started in their toes and made its way up through them like a shiver.

“You’d lost Art and Jeannie and this place called Wonderland, though I couldn’t tell you what that looked like ‘cause Vince didn’t spend much time inside it. They’d been killed, you were suspicious. Then Al threatened Kana and Nakamura in… a Waffle House.” Vyx shook their head; once the memory started, it didn’t stop, and they couldn’t stop it if they wanted to. “He was pissed. She was worse. She’d never liked Al. Being friends with her and marrying Al always felt like he was forced to carry a detonator in one pocket and a bomb in the other and if they ever touched everyone died and then wham Al slammed that bomb pocket right into the big red button. We met in the woods. You wanted to kill him; he was your friend and you didn’t give a shit the moment he turned because you didn’t care why he turned, just that he had. I couldn’t---he couldn’t understand any of you. We loved Al. Hell, I still love Al, Al just doesn’t love me but I’ve learned to take what sucks and run laps with it. And then you asked if he knew and he couldn’t lie, the blood makes it hard to lie so he didn’t and he told you what he thought but you only heard the concept that maybe he could have said something and missed the part where you hadn’t ever believed the shit he’d said before and also the part where he wasn’t about to let Kana loose on the man before he’d done any crimes. You were furious and you were madder when he tried to leave, but what the hell did you expect? That he’d just stand there and let you bully him until you were satisfied?”

Damon’s face had turned cold, sometime during the rant, but Vyx hadn’t noticed, the memory too real and too pungent and too fresh to look past. “You just wanted him to sit there and take it up the ass like a good little boy because you never liked the fact that the universe had decided he was going to be at the center and you had to sit on the outside but maybe if you’d paid attention, you would have noticed he was miserable at the center. Everyone he ever loved ended up betraying him, trying to kill him, or worse, bullying him while trying to remain his friend.”

“Are you quite finished?” Damon asked, his tone dismissive and contrite – clearly, he’d been proven wrong about the proof thing. Vyx didn’t have to say it for them to both know that, if anyone with a smidge of brain-reading looked in there, they’d be able to see the two books Damon had tried to cook like they were laid out and waiting for someone to find. Proving it wouldn’t be hard at all, and he could tell Vyx’s memory was accurate to the point where his machinations hardly mattered.

“With what, ranting at you or this friendship? ‘Cause the first, well, I don’t think I’m gonna not be mad about this for a while, dude. You went in to a man’s head to make yourself look like his savior – and don’t get me started on the fact that you’re the shade of fresh snow and Vince is brown, ‘cause that’s a whole level of stink I don’t think either of us want to get into right now – because you knew that was a fucked up way to treat him and now you won’t even acknowledge that you did it! And whether or not the second survives depends very heavily on how you address this.” Vyx bristled, hackles up, furious and drunk and not entirely sure what to do with either feeling now that they were there. Damon sighed, staring at his glass like he was honestly trying to figure out a way out of the situation without having to either admit to the wrongs or apologize.

“Vyxen, you know Vincent. You claim to have been with him through everything, right? So you know him.” Damon started, taking the bottle from the bar and pouring himself another full glass. If nothing else, he wasn’t going to remotely become sober while they talked; he was already on the rocks, so he might as well have had a drink on them, too. For all the alcohol in them, it didn’t escape them that this was the first time they’d ever heard Damon reference them as someone separate and apart from Vince. “He was… a mess. I wasn’t entirely sure what he was saying, most of the time, and any time he tried to help, it wound up ending poorly. So when Al betrayed us, yes, Kana was absolutely furious, as she was right to be! No one likes having someone they were supposed to trust turn on them, especially having threatened the one man in the room still mortal enough to die. I was… concerned that Vincent had been coerced, or-or tricked, into believing Al was a good person, but clearly, his memories of the incident weren’t accurate, so when we were asked to add context, I added my intent along with it.”

“You don’t just get to add whatever the fuck you say your intent was after the fact and pretend like that isn’t weirdly violating or missing the fucking point.” Vyx snapped. “Especially ‘cause I don’t believe that was your honest intent, and I had an unbiased, front row seat! I didn’t know Al from Cain, but I heard what you said. You were just as mad and you got even more angry when he tried to walk away. What, were you trying to punish him for being the center of attention? Trying to teach him a lesson about feeling important?”

“And what if I was?” Damon snapped back, pulling himself up to his full height by standing, even if he did almost wobble. The alcohol was getting to him, making him brazen where he probably shouldn’t have been, but he’d had his buttons pressed enough to finally break the machine. “I was important, Vyxen, me. Marie gave her letter to me. It was my magic and my roots and my power that meant we could end this in the first place! You couldn’t have managed Pip on your own without my assistance, not to mention my money and my contacts were how we got the army across the ocean! I was the one with the complete and accurate narrative, because I had been chosen to have it! Not him and certainly not you! So maybe I changed things – fine, I’ll admit it, I made some minor alterations. But Vincent Renato was a man who didn’t know a good choice when he saw it, and constantly made a mess of not only his life but everyone else’s lives as well. He trusted too freely and with no reason and that trust got us almost killed often. All I did was make an adjustment that would show Vincent reality as it happened and not whatever delusional fantasy world he’d been living in that meant that not telling us about the possible betrayal was somehow not only an option, but the best one!”

“You do not get to decide reality for us.” The sound that came out of Vyx’s mouth was not a kind one, and hardly words, and Damon, for a moment, realized he’d done fucked up real bad. Vince would have brushed it off and forgiven him, or at least, he figured Vince would; the man was, as described, way too trusting and far too kind for his own good. This was something even Vyx could admit to, and while it wasn’t a problem, it also wasn’t a bad thing, either. The fact that Vince extended trust to others without expecting it in return was half the reason they had the allies they got for their final battle – it was an easy way to showcase how big the stakes were without having to do much for it but a little begging. Damon thought it was unbecoming, but it had been useful, on occasion. It just also caused more problems than it was worth – or, at least, to him. “But you’ve always wanted to be the arbiter of the truth, haven’t you? That’s why you hate Malkavians, ‘cause you can’t understand a reality that you don’t shape with your own hands and instead of maybe finding value in other people’s perspectives, you dismiss and reshape your world to exclude them unless they’re trying to suck your tiny, lying little dick.”

They grabbed the bottle from the counter and took a hefty swig, enough to finish it. They considered smashing it on the counter, as they honestly would have felt better with a weapon in hand, but they didn’t want the bartender to have to clean up broken glass, so they stayed their hand. “But here, let me give you a taste of reality, since you’re obsessed with it: you weren’t ever that fucking important.” They snarled the words out, and that seemed to wound Damon to the core – or, at least, as much as it had wounded Vyx. “You were a pawn in a game we didn’t design, just like every other fucking sucker Pip walked into that mess. You realize we were the expendable ones, right? The low level schmucks made to do all the work for minimal benefit. You, me, Kana, Nakamura, Al, everyone. Just pieces in a grand scheme run by a couple of Antediluvians and everyone’s least favorite Nosferatu. And if you’d died? Illya would have found another sucker with enough of a need for power and enough of a death wish to make stupid choices to take your place without even blinking.” They leaned in, their words feral and their voice low and their anger real and powerful and deep. They hadn’t been in Vince’s shoes, technically, when he’d been berated for not letting them kill Al, but they’d been on the receiving end and even not being the true target, it sucked. “You don’t envy Vince because he was important, you envy him because people liked him and you’re too far up your own ass to notice that there’s a difference. Maybe if you weren’t, people would like you more, but clearly, you’re dedicating yourself to the practice of being a true, full on asshole.”

They stepped back, deciding it was better not to engage any further; Damon looked wounded, core hurt, and that was enough. Shedding real blood would only have wasted the alcohol. “At least Al’s putting on a persona. But I don’t think you’d figure the difference there, either.” They paused, their better judgment losing as they took the empty bottle and threw it with surprising strength at the far wall, where it shattered in a crash that shook the bar out of the quiet lull it had settled into. Damon didn’t say anything, the mood tense as the other patrons decided it was best to just go, and Vyx hovered, daring Damon to say anything for a long moment. When they’d left, and the moment lingered, and he still said nothing because he had nothing to say, they scoffed, pushing past him and towards the back door with a stride that said fury and a wobble that said drunk.

They arrived, out back, to find Donnie and Sven staring at the door, like they’d heard the crash and had stopped whatever they were doing, like they could actually make things okay if they just knew what was wrong. Vyx took about five steps outside before the emotions hit them and they crumpled. Crying was not a involuntary thing, not really – it took vitae to make tears happen and vitae was not spent without at least some willingness – but many Kindred had found that, when faced with enough emotion and enough humanity, they could still cry without actually pressing themselves to do so. It only seemed to happen to those vampires who weren’t so separate from being human, but it did happen enough to make it a known quantity that it could, which meant that, while both Sven and Donnie were shocked at Vyx’s tears, it wasn’t necessarily the crying part that surprised them.

Donnie was first to their side, but honestly, once he was there, he wasn’t entirely sure what to do. Sven was quickly behind him, and it was with his direction that they helped Vyx up and away from the door, finding them a place to sit next to one of the walls. They curled up against their knees, back shaking, and Donnie hovered.  On one hand, he had an idea what happened – something with that prick inside – but on the other hand, he knew rushing in to commit a murder of a prominent Kindred, especially one with powers he didn’t quite understand, in what Vyx had indicated was an Elysium, was a bad plan. He wasn’t used to Elysiums, yet, but he knew that unprovoked murder wasn’t a thing one did in them. But Sven was mostly sober, and had a head on his shoulders that had been through this kind of thing more than once.

“Donnie.” He said, turning to Donnie with a face that said he was absolutely on the train of dealing with this, and that the other had to trust him. Out of anyone in the room, Sven was probably the one Donnie had trusted on sight, but that was his partner sitting there, sobbing into their knees. It roused something in him that was probably at least partially fueled by alcohol, but that wanted to burn the whole place down for the fact that someone made Vyx cry. Sven, however, gave him a look that was steeled and hard, like they were going to get into a very different kind of battle if Donnie didn’t let him work. “I’m going to speak to Vyx. Can you check on my husband?”

“Shouldn’t you check on your husband?” Donnie asked, and he did his best to make it sound like a legitimate question and not just him being shitty or sassy, because he honestly didn’t intend to be, but there was something about being asked to step away from the one person he honestly gave a shit about that had him on edge. Sven’s face reflected his distress, however, and he didn’t seem to take any issue with Donnie’s tone, even if it came off a bit more biting than he’d intended.

“I will.” Sven said, simply, slowly. He knew how to talk to a Brujah that was on the edge of frenzy; he’d worked with enough of them, over the ages. Many Vikings were Brujah as much as they were Gangrel, and he kept his voice calm and collected, even if Donnie could hear the rumblings of something dangerous and deadly underneath. He was taking this seriously, clearly, and with all the deference necessary; he just had his way of doing things. “But I know the man I married. He won’t admit to any wrong doing if he thinks he’ll get away with it. So we’re going to sit here, and Vyxen, whenever you feel collected, I want you to tell me what happened. In the meantime, Donnie, I would appreciate if you could make sure Damon isn’t laid out on the floor. It will likely be best that we don’t crowd them when they talk, and if my husband is torpored, I’d like to know.”

“Then what?” Donnie asked, mostly curious. Sven turned to him, and there was something in his face that said that a lot of the then what depended on what Vyx said, and if their crying was any kind of indicator, then what was about to be much messier than what had already happened.

“Likely, I will be collecting my husband and we will be going home. I can’t speak to what happens when we get there.” Sven’s voice was low, a growl, and Donnie made a quick decision to head inside, letting Sven do his thing. He was quickly realizing that he was playing at a power level that he wasn’t entirely prepared to play with, considering that the man inside was a demon worshiper and the man outside was clearly powerful enough to deal with the first. “Thank you, Donnie, I appreciate it.” Sven’s tone was nice, however, and that gave Donnie some comfort; clearly, he was not an unkind man, just one in a bad situation.

Inside, the vibe was silent, and that was off putting and weird immediately. The other patrons had left; the bartender was at the back wall, sweeping glass into a dustbin. Damon sat at the bar, an empty glass next to him and a bottle in his hand, drinking straight from the neck – at least, until he saw Donnie come in, and he quickly switched from drinking to pouring it into a glass like he hadn’t just been caught doing it. He had a sour expression, like he’d been laid out verbally, if not emotionally, but Donnie was glad he wasn’t dealing with Vyx having laid the man out literally. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do with a body he wasn’t supposed to kill.

“So, what did you do?” Donnie asked, finding a seat next to Damon and settling into it. Damon huffed, his posture closed, refusing to look at Donnie at all. The Brujah sighed, taking the bottle from where Damon had set it and taking a long draw himself. He had no embarrassment at drinking from it straight, and honestly, he wasn’t entirely sure why Damon did. “And don’t try any of that playing dumb shit. I might be a Brujah, but I’m from New York. I know a liar when I hear one.”

“Vyxen got themselves worked up over nothing.” Damon admitted, but Donnie wasn’t wrong, and he knew a liar when he heard one. The scathing look he gave Damon admitted as such. “I may have made some adjustments to Vincent’s memory when we added context. I wasn’t about to let myself become the bad guy in his story from a misunderstanding.”

“No, you’d rather just be a bad guy in everyone’s story from trying to fix a misunderstanding that didn’t need to be fixed.” Donnie replied, and that seemed to catch Damon’s attention in a way that said he hadn’t ever thought of it like that before. That was fairly common for him, though Donnie wasn’t aware of it. “I don’t know what you changed, and honestly, I don’t care. It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you have a guy who thought you were his friend, and instead of taking the normal route most people do when they say things they don’t mean and apologizing, you decided to alter his memories instead. That’s fucked up and I work for Konrad Varnhagen.” Donnie took a long draw from the bottle, shaking his head. “Do you even like any of these people?”

“Of course I do. I married Sven, after all, and Vincent was a dear friend. You don’t just get to survive the end of the world together without bonding over it.” Damon’s tone, for saying he liked his friends, was more incredulous than it was affectionate, like he was more pissed over the idea that someone would doubt his friendship than he was actually enjoying the company of his friends. “Vyxen isn’t Vincent, of course, so there will be… adjusting, but.”

“You sure, dude?” Donnie asked, ignoring the last statement – it didn’t matter, and honestly, only served to make him more pissed, as the adjusting that Damon implied seemed to be on Vyx’s side and not his own. “’Cause you’ve yet to act like you like any of them. I’ve been around you a whole three hours, and if someone asked me right now whether or not I thought you actually wanted to be here, I’d have to tell them no. You don’t want to be here, you don’t like any of these people, and you’d rather be brooding in your wizard tower alone.” Donnie shook his head, but he did reach over, pouring another long draw into Damon’s empty glass. “You think you’re putting yourself out there as in control or whatever, but instead you just seem like a miserable piece of shit.”

“You’re not one to talk, you know. You don’t even know most of the people I do. Who are you to judge?” Damon asked, trying to push Donnie away, to push his words away, and Donnie just chuckled, pushing himself from his seat. He’d had a drink, Damon wasn’t sprawled out on the floor, and that was good enough. If Damon didn’t want him around, fine; Donnie was okay with Damon learning what happened to friends when you pushed them away the hard way.

“Someone who isn’t biased towards your accomplishments, that’s who.” Donnie shrugged, taking the bottle with him, something in him feeling powerful in the brief moment of denying Damon the comfort of hiding in the whole bottle. It wasn’t Damon’s to drown in, after all. “You wanna know why Vyx has friends and you don’t? They actually give a shit about people. Hell, they looked at me, a random bruiser from the boroughs who wasn’t any better than any of the other guys who worked the gym for Ray and said you’re important. They think other people are neat. You think other people are beneath you and you don’t make it worth trying to reach up and connect with you anyway.” Donnie put the bottle to his lips, draining it thusly, before setting it back down on the counter. “No wonder your lies work. You’ve made being the unlikeable Tremere your entire personality.”

“That’s unfair.” Damon tried, but it was weak. Donnie shrugged.

“Hey, I call it like I see it. Which, speaking of, bartender,” Donnie called out, getting the man’s attention, “This guy? I think he’s done for tonight.”

“Excuse you—“ Damon started, but Donnie shook his head, like there was nothing he could say that would excuse things.

“Look, your husband’s gonna be back in here in a second and he’s getting the whole story from Vyx, so you’re not gonna be drinking here much longer anyway. Thought I’d save the barkeep the trouble.” Donnie put his hands in his pockets, considering Damon for a long second; now that he wasn’t in his element, in his own house, he just looked kind of sad. “You know, I probably should have decked you for making them cry. I still want to, and if you keep running your mouth, I will.” It was a threat, serious and deadly, Elysium be damned. “Next time we meet, you should watch how you talk to people, ‘cause I’m only gonna stay my hand once.”

Donnie didn’t wait for a response, heading back for the door outside. He met Sven at the threshold, and there was something about Sven’s face that said whatever Vyx had told him, it wasn’t good. It was, in fact, very bad, and Donnie quickly sidestepped before he became nothing more than an obstacle to be stepped over. Sven, however, was constantly aware, and while he was absolutely beyond furious, he wasn’t mad at Donnie and it would have been unfair to take it out on him. “Vyx is still outside. They said they’d talk to you about the whole thing later, once they’ve had a moment.” Sven said, giving Donnie what he wanted to know quickly. “I will be taking Damon home, now. Please tell Vyx that I appreciated the drinks, and I hope we’ll get to meet each other in battle again soon.” Sven’s words were warm, appreciative, and kind, to the point where Donnie almost lost the fury that had settled behind his words like a parent about to take their kid home and ground them forever. Almost being the key word.

“Yeah, thanks.” Donnie nodded, letting Sven pass before heading outside. He didn’t hear any fighting – he did hear a brief conversation hissed in quiet tones, but only the tones and none of the words – the door closing behind him before anything else could be heard, but he also didn’t care. Vyx was still where Sven had left them, and their hands were on their head and while they had stopped crying, they were shaking very slightly, and Donnie realized why. In the absence, and in their emotional state, the Network had gotten its hands on their brain and flooded it. He knelt next to Vyx, putting a hand on their shoulder and feeling them involuntarily shiver under his touch. “Hey, let’s get you upstairs. Can you walk?”

“Mmhmm.” Vyx only muttered words, something that sounded like a yes, but they stuck their arms out in such a way as to ask to be carried, or at least helped up. Donnie didn’t mind, letting Vyx wrap their arms around his neck and lifting them like a princess, tucking his other arm under their legs and heading for the stairs to their apartment. They were on the floor just above the bar, so it wasn’t far, and Vyx wasn’t particularly tall or hefty, so it wasn’t like Donnie struggled to carry them. Vyx whined something, their face pressed against Donnie’s shirt – and they were getting blood on it but he didn’t care – like if they could just hide their face the night would get better. “They say he hates me.”

“What, the Network?” Donnie asked, and they nodded, not minding as he shifted them around in an attempt to open the door to the apartment’s inner stairwell. There was a path up from outside, but otherwise, all of the apartments were locked off by an inner stairwell. It meant random drunks couldn’t get into their house without their knowledge. “Vyx, the Network doesn’t know what happened.”

“They all listened.” Vyx replied, their voice soft, even as Donnie let them both into their place and deposited them on the sofa there. They curled up, and he sat next to them, throwing an arm around their shoulders. “They heard, they said he hates me. Everyone hates me. I’m not Vince and I’m not good enough.”

“I can’t speak for anyone else, but I don’t hate you, so they’re at least a little wrong. And Sven doesn’t hate you. He said thanks for the drinks, by the way.” Donnie said, grabbing the remote. The apartment was too quiet and he needed to fix it. “Everyone else just needs time to adjust. But for right now, I’m gonna put a movie on, okay? You relax and we can talk about this all later.” He didn’t wait for an answer, turning the TV on and throwing something random on the screen, relaxing back into the sofa and letting them curl up against him. He sighed.

Adjusting was taking a god damn long time.

[nosnet]

Dead and Dead Again: Tri (3) - Lost

by J. D. Dennis

Time Period: Greensboro, 2025

Perspective: Vyxen Riveria, Donnie Lawerance

Rating: PG-13

Content Warnings:  guns, mostly, and a little bit of implied body horror

Word Count: 4,892

Comments: Dead and Dead Again, proper chapter 3, where an old friend comes back better than ever.

They’d forgotten how green the park stayed, even in the dead of winter.

The process of getting back into Greensboro had been surprisingly easy, honestly, and Vyx was still sure there was some other shoe waiting in the wings to fall on the wrong person. Being the owner of Geometry, as well as the units above, there had been an apartment waiting for them on their arrival back into the city. They’d taken the train – Molly had never been a fan of planes, something about being friends with Amelia Earnhardt back in the day, so she had trains ready at a moment’s notice whenever she needed to travel – and after a day spent in the relative darkness of a back train car, they’d arrived in Greensboro without much ado. Claire had traveled with, and she’d delivered them safety to their new apartment, which was at least nominally furnished already, and then she’d left.

Of course, as a Kindred who needed to feel welcomed, Vyx had insisted they go find the Prince and give her a quick ring, both as an introduction for Donnie as well as a re-introduction for Vyx. Kana was joyed to see them, but not necessarily overjoyed; part of it was that, like most people, Vyx seemed like a solid but incomplete replacement for their favorite Malkavian, and Kana especially felt that in her bones, but the other part was that she was elbow deep in bullshit and couldn’t really get away long enough to do much more than give them a quick hello. She’d explained that, unfortunately, someone had been trying to rouse Kindred to Pip’s old cause, and while nothing major had happened, a tiny little cult had started to form up around the idea. Of course, they all knew who that someone was – there was only one man left who wanted the world to end enough to try it, and they knew Illya Illustra would take a chance to be annoying any place he could – but trying to actually find that someone was harder than it looked. Vyx knew he would only appear if he thought he was getting something – he was good at that. Regardless, it meant that there had been a small, but annoying, influx of rogue Kindred trying to sneak into town and do… something. No one was quite sure what, yet, but it was definitely something.

Of course, Vyx wanted to prove their use as much as they could, and what better way than to help the Prince deal with a tiny Kindred problem. Besides, they figured they needed something low stakes to start with, just so they could get used to how Donnie functioned. That meant that they found themselves in the depths of Lindley Park, a local arboretum and city park that was as woodsy as the inner city got, trying to find a rogue Kindred that had been seen ducking into the woods to hide. Unfortunately, however, the park was full of evergreen fir, spruce, and magnolia trees, not to mention the prolific amount of pines that made up the bulk of the forest. Sure, it was the state of the long-leaf pine, but Vyx privately wished it was the state of the tree-that-went-bare-in-the-winter instead. Finding someone in the brush would be easier.

At least Claire had sourced them a rifle. It wasn’t Vince’s – that was somewhere, with someone, probably Al, since he seemed to have every other thing Vince owned, and Vyx wasn’t sure if he’d say yes just yet – but it was the same style, with a full wood frame and attached scope.

Donnie and Vyx had searched the first hour in silence, but hadn’t come up with much of anything, which meant they needed to change tactics. Height was the idea, sure, but it didn’t really do much to get above the branches if they couldn’t see through them. Woods were much more difficult to navigate than, say, a city, where a roof would offer unlimited view of everything below. Unless… there were plenty of empty fields throughout the park, too, and their quarry would have to leave through one if they wanted to get somewhere else. All they needed to do was pick the right field and hope whomever was stupid enough to think they wouldn’t get it right. Sure, they had one shot – but they had a Malkavian. 

This led to Donnie and Vyx sitting next to each other in a large magnolia tree, its leaves a dark and bitter green, Vyx staring through their rifle scope, the gun itself nestled between two branches so they didn’t have to constantly shoulder the weight of the thing. Donnie found a gap in between the leaves that he could see through, and he let himself take a view of the big picture, not so much focused as set on a hair-trigger – if anything moved, he would be immediately locked in. Silence settled between them, professional and quiet, but even Donnie could tell it was starting to get to Vyx, to sit without noise for so long. He watched them shake their head, something animalistic about the movement, like they were trying to shake off a fly. He’d quickly learned that this was a signal that something in the Network was bothering them, and they needed to get it out of their ears.

“What’s on?” He asked. He’d asked it before, once, in the train, and he’d explained that it was like asking what was showing on the TV – he wanted to know what they were hearing. Vyx snarled, adjusting the rifle slightly to scan another section of tree-line. Where Donnie could see the broad picture, Vyx was better suited for scouting the details, and had been systematically sweeping the edges of the clearing for any movement.

“Well, the Paladium apparently became the circus while I was away, so that’s a fuckin’ constant. Also, I think there’s a Malk nearby going through a depression spiral. Shit sucks.” They sighed, sweeping their rifle over the empty space, trying to find anything as long as it meant they could just go. Donnie nodded, understanding – he couldn’t hear it, but he had figured out what it was like, more or less. It was like being in a club, except the music wasn’t the vibe and he could hear every conversation, and having been to New York clubs where he’d caught even snippets of conversations around him, he knew it wasn’t a picnic.

“Maybe we can find that Malk later, see if we can help?” Donnie offered. He couldn’t do much about the circus thing – he didn’t even know where the Paladium was, he’d only been in the area all of three days – but he thought that might help. He opened his mouth to say something else, to suggest they should start a Malkavian therapy office or something, but Vyx’s hand snapped out and he could tell something had changed. They’d been frustrated, before, but there was now a clarity to the way their eyes tracked over the  edge of the scope and their eyebrows knit together like they’d seen something. He peered out over the space, but he couldn’t see movement, nothing having changed – except, wait, no, there was a flicker of something in the trees, but up, high like they were, a rustle of the branches, visible for only a second.

A rifle cracked and Vyx pulled Donnie from his spot just as a bullet zipped past his head, lodging itself in the tree behind him with a fizzle. Regular bullets didn’t fizzle, which told him enough; tracer rounds meant that whomever fired knew that vampires were the thing they were firing at. Vyx didn’t hesitate, lifting the butt of the rifle to their shoulder and snapping off a return shot, the echo of the sound the only thing Donnie could hear for a long second. They hardly waited for the sound to finish before they were off, slinging the rifle over their shoulder and jumping to another branch, and Donnie was lucky he was fast or he would have lost them. They settled in a tree three trunks down, jamming the rifle into the branches and quickly getting a lay of the land. Nothing else below them moved, and it was still again.

“Who was that?” Donnie hissed, and he had the sense to keep his voice down, but Vyx didn’t look up from the scope even as he asked, their sights now on the trees and not the clearing.

“Sniper.” Vyx said, their voice so hushed as to almost be unheard. They were focused, the mantra of the Network now almost entirely muted by the sound of the rifle still ringing in their ears. They’d seen the flicker the first time, and then the second, the briefest rustle of branches as whomever shouldered their rifle and took deadly aim. There wasn’t any evidence of a scope – they checked, something deep in their guts turning over at the thought of it, a memory of thunder and pain and a cigarette left hanging behind before darkness flooding their brain briefly at the thought before they pushed it away like they pushed away everything else – but they knew a good sniper would have moved as much as they had. “Let’s keep skirting the trees, see if we can get around. I can’t get the drop on a sniper who knows my location, especially since I don’t know theirs.” They said, shouldering the rifle before dropping to the ground. Donnie followed, their footsteps now silent in the darkness of the park as they skirted the tree line.

A second shot almost clipped Donnie by the heels, but he scrambled into a tree and vanished before they could get a third shot off. He paused at the top of the tree, Vyx using the scope to see if they could find the place where the shot had come from – the crack of their rifle against the silence said they had some kind of idea, and he heard branches rustle just after, like they’d actually gotten close – and something occurred to him, giving him pause and making him grab at Vyx’s arm before they moved again. “They’re only shooting at me.” He said, giving Vyx a look that said that, while that wasn’t a plan, he knew it was the seed of one. Vyx nodded, and he could almost see the wheels behind their eyes churning hard.

“Head left. Try and keep to the tree line and don’t get shot. I’m going to find a different way around. Let’s see if we can pinch our sniper between two fronts, yeah?” Vyx asked, a feral sort of smile on their face, and Donnie nodded in agreement. This was something he could do, and he hopped back from the tree, heading left, the shorter distance between the two points. He tried to keep to the edge of the trees, just within view of whomever was doing the sneaking, and he knew he was doing a good job when he felt a round zip past his ear, the sound loud like a buzzing mosquito as it missed him by a hair. He jumped behind a tree, taking a second before using his speed to cross three more trees, hearing a branch snap as a bullet took off a small twig instead of his head. It was stressful, running like that, knowing that he was getting seen every time he so much as stepped out from behind a wild pine trunk, but that was the nature of what he was used to, after all. A decoy, bait – the job left to the expendable ones. At least he knew Vyx wouldn’t let him get spent.

The curve of the field was too acute, and Donnie decided to make a bit of a spectacle of himself, running full pelt across the empty field to cross the distance quickly. Sure, he knew he’d been seen – a sapling just at his feet didn’t survive the missed shot, and he was glad for his vampiric speed as well as his stamina, as it meant he didn’t get breathless running that hard, and he could cross quicker than the sniper could aim – but wasn’t that the point? He charged into the trees, no longer playing at being subtle; they knew what he was doing, he figured, considering he ran more or less straight for the tree he’d seen the bullet come from. But when he arrived at the bottom of the tree, he saw nothing but empty branches and darkness, which was not the best. It meant either his quarry had decent luck with obfuscating themselves – it wouldn’t be hard, he’d meant to take time and learn the trade of Auspex, but he hadn’t ever quite done it, and it would take a little study to keep up with even Neonates who could disappear – or they hadn’t ever been there in the first place. The first was scary; the second was scarier.

A shape, liquid and fluid, schloped out of the tree behind Donnie, all but silent; his instincts were, however, entirely on point, and he felt the subtle change of the air behind him that signaled someone was in the space, the way the hairs on the back of his neck stood up at the presence. He spun, superhuman in his speed, and the figure caught his fist with their hand. They were cold, vampiric and frozen, as tall as he was but their face obscured by a page-boy cap and a thick scarf that did nothing to warm them, and they seemed to be able to move as fast as he could, if the speed of their response said anything. They had a knife – clearly, prepared to fight Kindred – the blade glinting wildly as they swung with it, and Donnie found himself in a pattern of blocking and swinging that was almost too fast to perceive, let along focus on. Swing, block, knife so close to his cheeks he could taste the steel on the air, twist their arm but they didn’t let go of the knife, sweeping with a leg he leapt over, a series of disengagements and reengagements as each tried to find a target without giving too much space for a repartee. She – and Donnie was almost sure it was a she if the way her coat laid over her said anything -  smelled like tobacco and wood oil and stale blood, her hands lithe around the knife – which was nominally a knife, the thing was nearly a foot long – her footwork against Donnie’s impeccable and well calculated to keep them just close enough but not so much that he could maintain purchase on anything she wore. He tried, of course – she had a greatcoat with lapels, which were an easy grab if he could get his hands in there, not to mention the scarf – but every time he managed to get a hand close enough, the knife would ghost something important and he’d change tactics.

The first true hit was a hard hand to Donnie’s stomach, but he didn’t think much of it – it wasn’t the knife, the thing that worried him, because that thing was long enough to really cause some damage and the other combatant was good enough with it that he knew she was capable of using it to full effect – until he felt fingers slip through his skin like the flesh over his stomach wasn’t anything more than the surface tension of a glass of water. He felt the fear rush through him like being dunked in ice – he’d never asked the damn clan they were fighting, and now the Tzimisce had free access to his important internal processes. He could live without a stomach – he could not live with his heart in someone’s hands. Literally, anyway.

A rifle clicked as it settled into place. “I would remove your hand from his stomach, if I were you. And don’t think about taking anything with it.” Vyx’s voice was a sweet sound, turning the inevitable loss of Donnie’s guts into a standstill as the other figure considered her options. Vyx shifted the rifle so it made another noise, just so she could hear how close it was to her head. “I don’t ask twice, and I’m not sure I can miss point blank.” They said, and Donnie felt the fingers slip slowly from his stomach, leaving him unmarred and unblooded beyond the tears in his shirt from her fingers. He reached out, intending on grabbing her and stilling her, but she spun, knocking the rifle up and away, her hands finding purchase on Vyx’s jacket – they weren’t as adept at close-quarters combat and weren’t entirely ready for it – but the figure stopped, hand raised like she was going to take Vyx’s face off with her long fingers, Donnie’s hands on her arm but finding she wasn’t actually pulling. She’d frozen, stopped dead, the three of them a strange vignette, fully stopped in the darkness of the trees.

“Vince?” The voice was Irish, soft, cold, very little emotion beyond an almost undetectable amount of surprise, and she released Vyx’s jacket, pulling the hat up and the scarf down so the other could see her face. She was pretty, in a way that seemed to have been perfect and then softened over time, large eyes and a pretty face and waves of shockingly red hair tucked under her clothes. Vyx’s eyes widened, clearly surprised to see the other in front of them, actually dropping the rifle with the shock. It, luckily, didn’t go off, but Donnie felt bad for it all the same.

“Flidais!” Vyx’s voice was full of delight, and Donnie realized why, quickly. He’d gotten a full run through on the train over, and he was aware that Flidais was Vince’s first partner. Something had happened – they hadn’t gone through the details, just the broad strokes – and she’d been sired a Tzimisce after having been a Malkavian ghoul, and then the world had ended and she’d been saved a fate of being tied to Konrad Varnhagen; after that, she had fucked off, never to be seen again. Or, at least, that’s what Vyx said, anyway. “Holy shit, Flidais! Man, I almost shot you!”

“What happened, Vince?” Flidais asked, picking up the rifle before Donnie could get to it, carefully disengaging the hammer so it didn’t fire wildly. She had hers slung over her shoulder, and Donnie quickly realized they hadn’t seen a scope flash because she didn’t use a scope, which, considering they had started hundreds of yards apart, was honestly kind of badass.  Vyx took their own rifle back, slinging it over their shoulder like they hadn’t just treated the thing like shit.

“Uh, Vyx, she/they. It’s… a really long story, but uh, you remember how you and Konnie did that whole body-sharing thing? It’s like that, except he’s taking a long nap and I was apparently the ghost of his twin that is still spiritually bound to him.” They said, and it sounded like nonsense, to the point where Donnie wouldn’t have believed them had he not already heard the story in detail. Flidais just made an ah noise, like that was somehow sufficient. “Molly brought me back when she meant to bring him back, so I’m driving the bus for a bit. Oh, this is Donnie! He’s my boyfriend and current mandated Brujah bodyguard.” Vyx referenced Donnie, who found himself smiling without having given his body that direction. It said a lot that they were willing to claim him as their boyfriend in front of one of the people he was sure they were going to try and get back with. Something warm bubbled inside him, like there was screaming there that he didn’t want to tamp down on, in case he lost the good feelings when he did. Flidais turned – she moved so fluidly, so calmly, even in the midst of everything – reaching out like she wanted to give Donnie a proper handshake, and he returned it, though awkwardly. Most Kindred didn’t shake hands, and especially after a fist fight.

“Flidais O’Riordan.” She introduced herself – probably a Tzimisce thing, honestly, Konrad was just as proper, Donnie had heard – giving Donnie a nod at his firm and solid handshake. “I imagine they’ve given you a proper rundown of things, then?” She asked, and Donnie shrugged.

“They’re a Malk, still, so proper is as much as they’re capable of.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and Flidais nodded, like that was the expectation. “You’re a hell of a shot. What are you even doing out here?” He asked, trying to get to something productive, because he didn’t like how she was looking at him like she was trying to judge whether she should allow him to continue to date Vyx or just tear him apart right then and there for being unworthy. She looked up from him – and her expression didn’t change, so maybe the look was just resting bitch face and he couldn’t tell – scanning the trees again like she’d all but forgotten why she’d been out there.

“Pip’s got a cult.” She said, toneless and almost bored. “I wasn’t about to let that stand.”

“Good news, we’re out here for the same reason.” Vyx grinned, shuffling their rifle on their shoulder and finding their words garnered the smallest smile from Flidais. If they were going to rekindle things, this was a decent enough start. “Kana asked us. She’s Prince, now. Better her than me, honestly, but damn, right? Little Kana gets to rule the whole of Greensboro. I don’t know if Dodge would be grumpy that a Ventrue took his city over, or happy it was, at least, her and not some other schmuck who didn’t know the vibe.”

“He respected Nakamura enough that I think he’d be proud.” That statement got a smile, a ghost of one gracing Flidais’s face for all of one moment before it vanished again. Vyx had described her as a cold fish, but clearly, living alone and hunting cultists had her nearly frozen. “This one’s been hard to catch, and I don’t think we’re going to have better luck after all of that.” Flidais sighed, the briefest tell of frustration in her tone. “I’ll have to go hunting again tomorrow. But you can tell the Prince that I have it handled.”

“I totally can, or… maybe we could go get drinks and you can tell her yourself? I have a phone, it works. Mostly.” Vyx was nervous, unsure. It was hard to get a read on Flidais, as she was as cold as ever, but Donnie saw her shoulders soften slightly at the invite. There was something there, deep and hidden and buried. Maybe, with time, Vyx could dig it up.

“I don’t know if the Prince would want to speak to me.” It was a deflection, not entirely real, Flidais turning away from Vyx and looking at the tree line instead like if she just didn’t have to see the disappointment it would be easier. Donnie watched his partner stiffen, just a little, the rejection something they’d braced for, but they didn’t seem to let that stop them. Instead, they quickly fished around their pockets, pulling Donnie’s pack of cigarettes – he quickly checked, they weren’t in the pocket he’d put them in, little shit stole them – out of a pocket and lighting one before tossing the pack back over. The cigarette seemed to calm them; their leg wasn’t bouncing quite as hard while they smoked.

“Then you don’t have to see her. But that doesn’t mean you can’t go grab a drink?” They tried, and the look they got in return, unnecessarily scathing, had them looking sadder and sadder. Donnie resisted the urge to step in between them, give Vyx any kind of comfort, because they were clearly still trying to reach out and if he stopped them, that would be over entirely and he didn’t want that on his shoulders. “Look, I… I get it. I’m not stupid – I’m not your boyfriend. I’m not Vince, and even if I look like him or sound like him or have his memories and his habits and everything else, I know I won’t be him. I won’t be good enough, and I’ve come to accept that.” They sighed, cigarette in their mouth hanging loosely between their lips, and they looked up at Flidais and for a moment Donnie could see someone else, again, someone deep in there, buried, their mannerisms not really their own, and from the way Flidais seemed to soften, she could see it too. “So I’m not asking to replace him. He’ll probably be up and at ‘m eventually, I hope. You can have him back then, all yours. Or, well, yours and maybe Al’s? And maybe Haytham, I don’t know where that’s going. Instead, I’m asking you as me. Get a drink? See where that goes? Nowhere’s fine as long as we find that out together.”

Flidais pursed her lips, the most expression Donnie had seen cross her face all evening. “Give me your phone.” She said, finally, and Vyx offered the device up on reflex, even if their face said confusion. “I can’t get a drink tonight, unfortunately. I don’t want to leave the area until this cultist is dealt with. But when I’ve got him, I’ll text you and we can see about meeting somewhere.” She punched in her number as she spoke, passing the phone back to Vyx, who had a smile on their face that said they were elated and also entirely surprised. “It’s only fair I get the chance to know you as well as you know me, after all.”

“Really?” Vyx asked, a little breathless, which was funnier due to the fact that they didn’t need to breath. Flidais actually laughed, thought it was a soft thing, not even a chuckle as much as a couple of sensible little giggles.

“Yeah, really. I couldn’t ever resist that face. But for now, I have t’go find a new hide. You should both get going; he won’t want to appear again if you’re skulking around the area, and he knows we’re all here now.” Flidais nodded, giving Donnie a stern look for a long moment, a thought jamming itself into his brain without him consenting to it. You hurt them, and I will kill you. She told Donnie, explicitly, and he nodded, a small thrill of fear in his veins. Sure, he had no intentions of ruining things, but he could tell from the power he felt slicing its way into his brain that Flidais was not exactly a force he wanted to get on the wrong side of. There was nothing else, and with that, Flidais hopped up into the nearest tree, and the branches shook for a moment until they didn’t and then she was gone, Vyx left with a lit cigarette in their mouth and their phone in their hand, staring at it like an idiot.

“Well, that went well, I guess.” Donnie said, throwing one arm over Vyx’s shoulders to better lead them from the park. Besides, he’d had the urge to hug them for a long moment, and it felt like the arm scratched that itch. Vyx giggled, quickly tucking the phone away in their pocket, delight on their face. “Did she say anything else, by the way? Into your head?”

“Nah, not me. Lemme guess, she threatened you?” Vyx asked, now present enough that they could lead on their own. They took Donnie’s hand all the same, walking him back to the parking lot with a grip that said they were headed for much better adventures than sitting around in the cold, dark, woods. He nodded, and he felt their grip strengthen just a little, as though to reaffirm their hand hold, even as they reached the bike. They laughed.

“Yep, that’s my girl.” They chuckled – the phrase feeling so much like someone else had said it, maybe before or maybe right then, a different voice for a moment full of adoration for her -  hopping onto their bike and tossing the helmet on their head. Donnie followed suit, taking the reins and doing a quick check to be sure everything was in place. It ran a lot better now that he’d serviced the thing. “Now, c’mon. Let’s go home. We gotta report to the Prince it’s taken care of, and then I need help stealing a cute date outfit for later.” They pressed themselves against Donnie, the engine revving as he rolled it from the parking spot; he tried to ignore the heat building in him, though it seemed Vyx didn’t want him to, pressing their hands to his hips and waist in a way that said they wished there was less between their hands and his skin. “And maybe you can help me take it off, after.”

The engine roared. There wasn’t any sense in waiting around, anyway, Donnie thought, rocketing the bike into the dark ether of Greensboro’s sleepy streets. There were other things to get to. And when Flidais was done, she would call, and they would go from there. As they rolled into the darkness, Vyx’s words – or not their words at all, someone else’s, he could tell – echoed in his head.

That’s my girl.

[nosnet]

Dead and Dead Again: Zwei (2) - Return

by J. D. Dennis

Time Period: New York, 2025

Perspective: Vyxen

Rating: PG

Content Warnings: someone gets a little bit bitten, sad introspection

Word Count: 8,010

Comments: Second vignette, wherein we return to get The Boy. A sequel to Crash and Burn, technically.  

“No, I know. I know. Trust me, I didn’t know. …Yeah, Malkavian…. Exactly. You try and stop them, right? They’re here, now, though and they’re not gonna be heading that way again anytime soon. I promise. Yeah, yeah. I’ll talk to you soon.”

Vyx knew they’d gotten in trouble. They were sure of that; they’d crashed a Kindred party and gotten shipped back, by train, to the other side of the United States without even so much as a thanks for coming. That definitely felt like trouble. Not the kind of trouble they had any regret for, of course, but trouble all the same. And it felt like further trouble to have the woman that raised them from the dead, the only person they actually considered a voluntary authority figure, talking on the phone about them to someone else without bringing them into it. Like sitting in the Principal’s office while she called their parents to tell someone that they punched a kid in the face. But then Molly put the phone down and she smiled and the stars in her eyes glittered with something like annoyance and also something like mirth and it didn’t feel like they were in trouble at all, actually.

“You’re a mess, you know that?” Molly asked, leaning on her elbows on her desk, the pomp and circumstance of being the person who ran New York City easily discarded when it was just the two of them. Vyx liked Molly like that; sometimes the cold façade of queen that she put on for her day to day felt too much like being lectured by a parent, and the woman in front of them then was the cool wine aunt that would buy them pretzels and not tell their parents that they failed math again. Vyx could understand how she managed to get to the point of power, but only when she saw the woman as she really was – slightly chaotic, impulsive, and feral, with the kind of energy that said no was a word for other people. Vyx could relate. “Okay, let’s just work this out. I have some ideas, but I want your input. You think you wanna keep traveling, or are you ready to settle back down?” Molly asked, leaning back.

“I think I can settle.”  Vyx shrugged, curled in their seat in her office. The big chairs she had in front of her desk were nice, dark red plush things that one could really just curl ones legs up in and fall asleep – if Vyx could voluntarily fall asleep, that was. That was one thing they missed from Vince’s old life that being Kindred had ripped from them – cat naps. They missed cat naps and they’d never even taken one. “I’ve kinda been most everywhere else, and the places I haven’t I don’t know how vampires would get treated there and I don’t know if I want to find out.” They shrugged, looking at their nails – they needed to fix them, they were chipped and fading – before smoothing out their skirt. They’d found a cute, tan corduroy dress and a striped blue and yellow t-shirt and they’d kept their clunky black boots and dark jacket; they missed some of their other outfits, but those were either stored away in a safety deposit box somewhere out in the country, or donated back to the Goodwills where they fished their other items from. They didn’t own a suitcase, but they kind of missed building a consistent wardrobe. Yet one more reason to settle down. “I’ve been everywhere else I’d wanna go and I’ve met most everyone I needed to meet. I miss having a consistent home. Rewearing outfits sometimes. Leftovers in the fridge. Something to defend. I think I’ve found as much of myself as I can out in the world, but there’s still so much me that I can only find at home.”

“And I figure, with that kind of conviction about it, you have an idea where you want to settle down?” Molly asked, a knowing tone, leading them into giving her the name she knew they had settled on their lips. She wasn’t a Malkavian or a mind reader, but she knew things about people and she knew, for instance, that Vyx had a place in mind before they could even voice it. They chuckled, the obvious answer almost silly in how obvious it really was.

“I miss Greensboro.” They said, and they said it like that was so stupid to miss, because Greensboro was a combination of a nothing town, Kindred wise, and the ground zero for every horrible memory they had stored in their noggin from the past half-decade. They’d fought in Greensboro, and they’d died in Greensboro, and they’d lost a hell of  a lot of people in that city and that was only counting the ones who rolled up to their final end of the world battle and didn’t walk away. Duncan, Celia, Glamis, people who ashed and none of them during any kind of battle and it wasn’t a short list. But Greensboro was their home – it was the first place Vince had found that felt like a place worth staying in, where the people liked him and the town bent to their will when they needed it to. They missed the way downtown always smelled of cheap weed and bad cigarettes and diesel and grungy metal train cars; they missed the way things always seemed to be just a little haunted, but not enough to really cause a stir or attract unwanted attention. They missed the house shows by people they didn’t really know but had good music and the way there always seemed to be something brewing in an underground scene they weren’t quite privy to. And they missed the fact that there were so many good places to get good food and none of them were chains. “I know it’s weird, but I wanna go back there. I don’t know what I’d do, I don’t have money and I’m not living with fuckin’ Shambles, but I can find someone to stay with, some work that’ll pay bills.”

“Well, here’s the thing: if you go settle down there, it’s going to be on my dime, because this is gonna be a trade.” Molly said, leaning forward on her desk; her face was dangerous, but it seemed like it was dangerous for other people and that she wanted Vyx in on the part that made it dangerous. “Right now, you owe me a big one. Deacon was not happy that you crashed his party. Man’s a big softie, ‘course, wouldn’t just outright off you, but I’m gonna be smoothing his ruffled feathers for months. So here’s my proposition: you go back to Greensboro and you work for me.”

“Doing what?” Vyx shifted in the seat, leaning forward a little, a coconspirator in Molly’s games rather than a victim; they didn’t hate where things were going, as a job was a job was a job, especially under someone who they knew paid like a champ. Besides, Molly wasn’t one of the world ending villains, just one who’s power got out of her control before she could catch it; Vyx didn’t expect her to turn them against anyone they liked, and they were highly aware that both parties knew Vyx wouldn’t do anything if they didn’t want to. “I’m a decent cook, or at least, Vince was and I know I can probably replicate what he had going for him, but otherwise I’m at a bit of a deficit.”

“You’ll be doing the thing you do best, sweetheart – seeing.” Molly grinned, a feral little thing, like she herself was committing a crime in hiring them and she wanted them to be in on the thrill. Like having a Malkavian around doing the spying for you was a nuke she didn’t want to the world to know she had. “You’ve probably noticed you’re not the only Malkavian I have around here. Martha, Marie, Margie – you haven’t met her, she’s almost as flighty as her sire and probably twice as mad, but she’s around sometimes – Rosemary, bless her woody spirit, etcetera etcetera. But that’s not ‘cause I have a thing for the weird ones, you know.”

“I mean, you do have a thing. I mean, I can tell. You smile a lot more around Malkavians.” Vyx shrugged – they noticed things, little things, that was the blood and they couldn’t really turn it off, just mute it – giving her a smile that said this wasn’t bad even as she looked at them just perturbed enough in the set of her mouth to indicate she wasn’t happy being called out. “What’s a queen without a court, right? And the fool’s always been important. They speak to the commoners and the kings alike, and it’s easy to see why you’d want someone who can run the gambit around. Easier to get information from the little guys if the little guy is the one doing the talking – like undercover boss, except the boss doesn’t have to do anything ‘cause you’re definitely not going undercover with your own people. But hey, I can’t talk, I am one, right? I like me, so I’m biased.”

“Yeah, that’s… I should know better than to hide things from you, honestly.” Molly chuckled, a release of tension, something that said trying to be cagey would only give her heartburn, if she had a heart left to experience it, of course. It really was stupid to just hide those things from Malkavians, after all. “But I do have a use for you all, beyond my propensity to find myself in the company of some, for what it’s worth.” Molly shook her head, rolling her eyes as a way to return to the topic. Her thing for weirdos wasn’t the reason she mentioned it. “Your kind see stuff, and you’re almost always right about the shit you see. And why would I deny myself a set of eyes and ears that have a leg up on even the most observant Kindred you could find?” She leaned back, the offer already on the table – Vyx would be the aforementioned eyes and ears. “So here’s the deal: you move back down to Greensboro and you stay there. Travel’s fine, you’ll probably travel a bit for me, but this isn’t some place you can drift from anymore, y’know? And you report back to me, tell me the going’s on, anything you notice; maybe you’ll do me a favor every now and then when I ask, nothin’ big. In return, I cover your expenses, your rent, all that. I get you a regular job, get you an apartment, get you settled in with anything you need.”

“So I get a free place to stay and a decent cover job and all I have to do is like, what, a weekly phone call to answer questions?” Vyx asked, sitting back in their own chair and grabbing the throw pillow that was behind them, holding it in their lap not unlike a child in a chair too big. “Where’s the catch, then? ‘Cause I’m struggling to see how this is a punishment. Cause it’s supposed to be, right?”

“Well, you can’t just up and go places. That’s what I think we’d both want to avoid, right now, right?” Molly asked, cocking her head to the side, blond curls following along her jawline as she did. “This keeps you where I can find you and where I can manage your messes more easily. Think of it less as a punishment for what you have done and more a way to… prevent the same thing from happening in the future.” Molly nodded, like that was sufficient, and Vyx agreed. They preferred not being punished, anyway. “Now, as for your cover job – which, I do have something set up for you – I think you’ll find it to your taste.” Molly smirked, something almost affectionate, a mother with a last minute gift at Christmas, smug about her ability to get things done, passing over a small folder with a few files in it. Vyx took the folder, quickly flipping through the paperwork, which seemed to reference a club in downtown Greensboro – Geometry.

“Wait, isn’t this…?” Vyx started, looking up to the smug smile and feeling things fall into place.

“Yup. Vince bought that place, couple years before I knew him, turned it from a little shithole into probably the only queer bar in that town worth going to. I think Chemistry would have lasted had Drew not been a shithead and had Vince not out-competed him.” Molly shrugged, tapping the folder as Vyx set it on the desk again, her red nails clacking against the wood underneath. “When Vince died, Al got soul ownership of it, but, after what happened with you, well… Man’s been goin’ through it, and I saved him the trouble. He hadn’t really been managin’ it, anyway, so it was startin’ to fall a little behind on everything. Bought him out before he ran it straight into the ground, picked the pieces back up, and it’s been happily sitting in your name ever since.”

“Aw, that’s nice of---what do you mean my name?” It took Vyx a moment to catch up, to hear the last of the phrase, more enamored that she would think so kindly of Al – and Vince, considering she didn’t let Al’s brooding depression destroy the one good thing left with his name on it – to hear her last words until they were already in the air. Molly chuckled, that smug smile never quite fading.

“When I bought the property, I put it in your name. Look, I can’t have owned it – people would start asking questions and I’d rather keep my involvement in North Carolina very strategic, limited, you know. But you? Well, you own a building, now, Vyx. And the apartments above it. There’s four, for the record, full floor things. I figure you’ll take one, then the rest are yours to rent or use at your leisure. The bar makes a decent income, you don’t have rent, I’ll lie about your taxes, no worries. You just keep your head on a swivel, keep me up to date, and maybe do a little political fiddling here and there.” Molly shrugged, and Vyx gave her a smile that said she was honestly cooler than they’d hoped for.

“Damn, Pip was really wrong, huh? Cause there’s no way in shit that this would ever be a net bad.” They laughed, and Molly laughed, something cathartic – knowing that not only was that man wrong, but provably wrong, said a lot. Especially since she was the one doing the proving. “So, what’s next, then? Paperwork, I bet?”

“Yes, but first, you need a bodyguard.” Molly said, fishing a handful of little folders and sliding the stack – only four strong, not many – across the desk at them. Inside, there were dossiers on a handful of Kindred, with everything from their past exploits, any criminal records, to their favorite kind of coffee or list of relevant skills. For picking a bodyguard, it was a complete list for the need to know. “I find sending my Malks out into the world alone tends to wind up with more trouble than its worth, and you’re already dealin’ with a lotta shit down south, so I wanna get you settled with a bruiser before you head out. Most everyone in that list is free for the forseeable future, and the one or two that have commitments, they’re far off things we can work around. But for the moment, you need someone with muscle, just in case your reception isn’t as welcome as you’d want it to be.” Molly said, watching Vyx flip open the first folder – no, didn’t like the set of his eyes – second folder – no, he looked too dumb for their taste – and pause on the third – oh - staring intently at the photo there. “Found one you like?”

“…Yeah.” They said, staring at a face they mostly recognized. It was hard to tell, really, as they’d seen a crown of thorns and pinprick eyes set in the otherwise handsome face, but a good squint had given them the rest. Donnie. Dark hair, dark eyes, thick of body and entirely Vyx’s type. The memories of him were fresher than the memories from Vince’s brain, so it took little effort to flicker the scenes behind their eyes like sorting through a slideshow, one negative at a time – a crushed bike, bloodied legs, pain in quite a lot of places, and then sweet lips on theirs, whiskey and blood and long talks with short cigarettes and open New York windows, and then hands and sheets, pressed together like flowers between the pages of a book, and then all of those things on repeat for a few days before they were gone again, a wish on their lips of their return… which they never did. They’d flown into JFK from Paris, shacked up for a few days, and then booked it out west, and it had been over a year since. They’d meant to, of course, they’d always meant to come back, to say hi again, to see if the embers died any in between their forays, but they just… never did. Newer, brighter, shinier things called at them, and they listened. Something rotten, guilty, tumbled through their core, squishy like their stomach full of soft, uncontained blood. They’d promised they’d return, and then they’d… forgotten, or at least pushed it back over and over and over again. Amid the voices and the memories and the choices, they’d forgotten their promise. They felt bad. “I mean, if he wants it. I’m not gonna force it, but he’s the one I’d pick if I had a choice. I dunno if he’d say yes, considering, but…”

“You have a history?” Molly asked, taking the file as they slid it over and giving it a once over herself. A history with Vyx wasn’t in her notes, but there were probably many things that weren’t. “Donnie’s a sweetheart, far as I can tell. Kept my ass out of a little political theatre with some Banu-Haqim; he’s got an upcoming commitment to a position in Maine, once we get that settled up, but Maine’s being a bit of a pain, so I don’t know when that’ll finally come to a head. I figure we can sort out the details of eventually when that shit actually happens.”

“Yeah, he… when I came in from Paris, I got into a bit of a bike accident. He fixed my bike and I, uh… spent the night.” Vyx chuckled, awkwardly, and the look on Molly’s face at the chuckle spoke more words than she ever could have. Vyx had done their fair share of sleeping with people, over their time being awake; Molly was probably aware of at least the amount of their exploits, as Vyx had definitely listed quite a few the once or twice that Claire got a hold of them. Mostly as a way of listing people they’d pissed off. But they hadn’t ever been awkward about their process of sleeping with someone and leaving again, and Molly could tell this was different. There were feelings involved. Guilt and shame for not living up to the grand expectations they set for themselves. “I told him I’d come back. I… I may have forgotten.” They shrunk back in on themselves, and Molly sighed. There it was.

“Look, you’ve met Donnie. Man’s a doormat, but in a good way. He’s been up to his ears in bullshit, anyway – I can’t say he feels any certain way about things, but I can say you’re probably not ruinin’ things for having done it. If there was anything really there, he’ll get it.” Molly shrugged, passing them the folder again, letting them hold Donnie’s name and face in their hands. It was their choice, issues aside. “’Sides, Vyx, you’ve been in a weird position for a bit. Most Kindred don’t have to go find themselves like you did. I think he’ll understand if you got a little sidetracked while you were out there.”

“Yeah, it would just suck to hurt him, y’know? Even unintentionally.” They pushed themselves up, flipping open the folder and finding it had an address in it; it was the same one they’d been to, and they were unsurprised it hadn’t changed. They pressed a finger to the name, to the face – and the blood didn’t work the same on photos, which was always so weird, but he looked so handsome and something stirred in them that said this wasn’t a misinterpretation of something more casual – reminiscing for just a moment, lost in their thoughts and memories. “He was kind to me. I didn’t even know him, but he gave without question, and I haven’t… met people like that, not really. Hell, he didn’t balk when I said I had met Eldest.”

“Ah, yeah, that’s… I’m gonna have Claire give him a talk, first.” Molly said, pursing her lips like the fact that he didn’t balk at Eldest’s name was actually a bad thing they needed to fix. “He’s a bit green when it comes to the political side, unfortunately, but we can fix that.”

“I don’t know, I kinda like it.” Vyx chuckled, closing the folder so they didn’t get distracted by his face. They missed Donnie, and it kind of stung that they hadn’t noticed. They missed Al, sure, but Al didn’t want them; they missed Haytham, but there was clearly less of a spark there than there had been with Vince. They missed Allectus, but he was missing in action, not to be found. And they missed Flidais, though for some reason the way they missed her felt like they were dredging up feelings that didn’t belong to them and feeling them in someone else’s stead. But she was gone just as everyone else was, and Donnie wasn’t, and that made up for quite a lot. And they missed him for it. “It’s nice to be able to be like, yeah, Eldest wasn’t really that bad until she tried to end the world, y’know, and have someone else treat it like it’s… it’s just a thing that happened. Nobody else does that. It’s all hush-hush, quiet coyote, like if I said Pip’s name three times he’d appear again in the mortal world with a circus tent hat and a gross suit.” They paused, trying not to crumple the folder under the sudden need to grip that raced through them. Like if they didn’t hold on, he’d vanish into ash and dust like most things eventually did. “Everyone else treats the end of the world like it’s still ending, but I’m here when I wasn’t and that can’t be bad, right? He treats it like it’s over. I like that.”

“No, Vyxen, it’s not a bad thing, but… you were there, I know you know this, but a lotta people didn’t make it out the other side the same way they went in.” Molly said, softly, and it was clear she was referencing even herself. That she had changed, somewhere in the in between, and that she wished she could shake the difference and she couldn’t. “War changes people. You think you haven’t changed, but technically, you have, ‘cause you’re not Vince. You’re you.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s just… it’s nice to be able to just tell someone the things that happened like I was gossiping at the water cooler and not like I’m relaying a epic tail in front of some fire in a cave somewhere.” They sighed. Eventually, that feeling would fade, too, as Donnie did need to know the details. “If you want, I can tell him. At least then I get to have fun. If he doesn’t already know. He might – I’ve never heard you say Ray’s people are subtle.”

“Eh, he probably does now, but I’ll let you break things to him, if you want. Just… promise you’ll actually explain yourself?” Molly shook her head, heading around the desk and towards the door, ushering Vyx along with her. She had other business, and Vyx has a Brujah to pick up. “I don’t want to find out he’s spun some other weird tale instead of the truth ‘cause you couldn’t be assed to explain yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll explain, I promise.” Vyx shook their head, hovering at the door. This was it, their new life, splayed out in front of them like an open map with a road marked straight through. For all that they were nervous, and unsure, it was… exciting. Exciting, with no small amount of dread that they were placing all of their eggs into one basket and Donnie was about to smash the whole lot over their head like a weird prank. But they’d wandered into worse situations before, so they inhaled, slowly, and exhaled. “Right. Guess I’m heading to his place, then? Or are you gonna phone him?”

“Claire’s got a car waiting. I thought you’d want to give him the news yourself, in person, rather than a phone-call. Especially if you haven’t called him in a while.” Molly grinned, a thing that understood more than she let on, that said she knew this was important. “Claire has things t’do, so if you wanna hang with him for a bit, that’s fine by her. Just text her when you’re both ready and we’ll go from there.” She smiled, and it softened into something that was truly wishing them luck. “You’ll be fine. Just roll with it.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Vyx nodded, stepping away from the office and towards the elevator that brought them up there. They waited for a long moment, watching the numbers tick by overhead, and sighed. This was going to be a long night.

~*~

One of Molly’s cars pulling up wasn’t a surprise, not really. Donnie was fairly used to the comings and goings of Molly’s people by then, especially considering he was neck deep in possibly accepting a place up in Maine – which was rife with Anarchs that didn’t appreciate Molly’s style, among other critters and beasties that didn’t give up the ghost easily – though usually, Claire wasn’t the one at his door. He could tell it was her, though, or at least a driver – they drove somewhere between Molly’s erratic sense of not giving a shit and someone who actually cared about road laws. Ryan was too sensible, and Ray didn’t drive.

He went back to the whiskey he was nursing, the concepts of what she might have in store for him simply… uninteresting. Maine was a cool prospect, but it was slow moving, and there were a lot of papers and things to sign and most of it was boring, repetitive, and like he’d been in a rut for a year. The thought stopped him, sitting at his kitchen’s counter-bar with a rock’s glass in his hand, staring at the swirls of red and clear brown that wouldn’t quite mix. Some whiskeys did that. He wasn’t sure why he’d picked out a year, why his thoughts had settled on that being the timeframe for his boredom, but it stuck hot in his guts, like that was exactly the thing. The reason hit him slowly, building up from the burning sensation in his stomach as he skulled the contents of the glass – it had been a year since Vyx had arrived in his life. Damn, he asked himself, getting up to pour another round, a year. Time moved so wildly as a Kindred; days were long, weeks were slow, but years flickered by in a blink.

He’d hoped they’d come back, but nursing hope was like nursing a bottle of good whiskey – at some point, eventually, one would return to fill their cup and find the bottle entirely empty. He’d decided, instead, to pace himself, hoping in brief bursts when something seemed like it was starting to happen, though he found he was growing more and more tired of the sensation of disappointment when it wasn’t them. Of course, that sensation – the feeling that he wasn’t really worth the trouble, that no one really cared, that his value was in his body, his strength, than in anything else – wasn’t a new one, and it was one he’d grown to trust as right; right up until they’d shattered that particular part of his mind and now, trying to fit the pieces back together to make the feeling of being so unimportant something comfortable like it had been simply wasn’t working. They’d changed him, and he was loath to admit it, because if he was right – if they weren’t ever really coming back – that was almost cruel. To change him so thoroughly, so completely, and then leave again. He didn’t want to think of them as cruel. Even if he’d known from the moment he met them that they were going to roll in, make a mess, and then leave again without any kind of warning. He’d gotten involved, anyway, and now he was fighting the idea that such a thing would become regret.

His window rattled. That… that was new. That wasn’t a thing his window did; even when the trollies and the train cars rumbled by his window, he didn’t hear any rattling. No, that sound was someone on the fire escape. He carefully set the glass down on the bar top, putting a lid on the whiskey – if there was a fight, he didn’t want it to tip over an spill, for a number of reasons – before quietly, achingly, stepping over to the exit where the fire escape was. Donnie wasn’t a small guy – he wasn’t tall, and he wasn’t massive, but he was solid all through, thick with muscle – but he was fairly good at being quiet, especially considering he was running around in socks. He padded over, silent, until he was standing just behind where the fire escape opened up, waiting. He had no gun, but he had no need – his fists were the only things really worth arming himself with, and it always felt good to be armed.

The window creaked open, a slender hand pressing up on the glass, one boot on the window sill, and then Donnie was reaching out, bodily pulling the figure into their house and trying to wrangle them into something like submission. He pulled one arm behind their back, pressed them hard to his chest, his hand over their face to keep them pulled back, and he felt familiar hips against his own and a familiar wrist, the smell of cheap cigarettes and engine oil and the detergent thrift stores used triggering a memory of a night long ago, heavy hands in a bed together, shirtless, injured, bloody—

He was so close to figuring it out within those first three seconds, and then they bit him.

They were away from him in a flash of movement, the pain of their teeth – and oh yeah, those were Kindred teeth, for sure – making it hard to keep a grip. The whole exchange only lasted a handful of seconds, maybe ten at the most, before they were on the other side of the room, and the pieces of the puzzle fell into place before shattering at Donnie’s feet. It was Vyx – Vyx the returned, Vyx the missed, Vyx with the teeth like little knives in the back of Donnie’s hand – standing in a red and blue striped sweater, short-alls, tall socks, black boots, and a frown that said they hadn’t intended on biting him and they weren’t sure why that all happened. Donnie pulled himself up, straighter, trying to process this intrusion, letting the blood in his system patch over the bite as much as it could. It was a Kindred thing, so it wasn’t going away quickly.

“Most people use the front door.” He said, finally, the awkwardness between them stifling. They, clearly, had rhyme and reason to be in his house, but now that they were faced with him, they seemed to falter. It could have been regret, and a part of Donnie hoped it was, hoped they felt a little bad about hurting him; the rest of him didn’t feel strongly enough about anything to hope someone was really hurt. Not anything outside of a job, or the bloodlust of a hunt. Vyx shrugged, stuffing their hands into their pockets, picking up a foot to give themselves a twirl and inspect the room again. Nothing much had changed – nothing except Donnie, anyway.

“If you haven’t figured out I’m not most people, QB, then maybe we didn’t get off on the right foot. Or left tit, whichever.” They shrugged, finally turning back to face Donnie, and their face said they’d hoped the twirl around would make things different and then they weren’t and they weren’t sure what to do with it. “Sorry about the hand – I, uh. Reflex. You did put your fingers in striking distance.” They chuckled, and they watched Donnie sit back down, take the lid off the whiskey, and pour himself a generous helping. It did not seem like a party time vibe, either.

“Don’t worry about it.” Donnie shrugged, letting the water run off his back like a professional in duck-physics, and he turned to watch them as they watched him and for a moment, there was just silence. Not comfortable silence, no, but something wavering and unsure, too much needing to be said between two people who didn’t know how to start saying anything at all. Donnie took the moment to really take Vyx in, to trace the differences in their face and hair and eyes – they were a strawberry blond, a bit of orange or pink in two blond pigtails off the back of their head, and their eyes were a pink that was both startling but also dark enough not to register, especially under the dark glasses perched on their nose. The outfit was new – probably very, if the smell said anything, distinctly like cheap detergent and latex gloves – but the jacket was the same, and the boots were the same, and the haunted look to their cheeks was the same, too. Whatever it was they found out west, it didn’t agree with them. “So, is this a business venture? Or are you here for pleasure?” Donnie asked, trying to be smooth and finding the line didn’t hit the same way once he’d said it, but Vyx chuckled, stepping forward, decreasing the distance they’d put between them.

“Kinda a bit of both?” They said, slowly making their way to the bar seats and settling down on one, their elbows on the bar and their chin settling on their arms. “First, look, I’m—I’m sorry I didn’t call.” They started, not looking at Donnie but at his fridge, studying the magnets there like they could learn their answers from his free Swinging Bimbos promotional magnet instead of asking him. Sure, it said “we swing whichever way you do!” with a rainbow background, but unless they were trying to figure out if he’d somehow become bisexual in a year, it wasn’t going to help them. Especially as he’d been bi long before he’d gotten the magnet. “I could sit here and list excuses for hours, I really could. I was busy, I got kicked out of Seattle and that was a mess, I lost my phone like, twice. But that doesn’t make it feel like it wasn’t a mistake I should have done something about.”

Donnie let them talk, teaching over the bar to grab another glass from underneath. If they were going to spill things – and boy, did it seem like spilling things was happening regardless – Vyx deserved a drink to go with it, at least. He poured them a finger’s worth, and they slammed it like he thought they would, prompting him to pour them a larger amount for sipping. For the short time they’d been in proximity, Donnie had been a quick study. “You’re finding yourself. I don’t always have to be part of that.” Donnie said, softly, understanding. The fact that they felt bad gave part of him a little, tiny spark of something like justice, like seeing karma, but the rest of him felt like shit, like he’d been the reason they’d felt terrible. Like he’d complained and they’d heard about it. Sure, it wasn’t true, but it won the fisticuffs in his brain over the part that liked the karma handedly.

“But, like… I wanted you there.” Vyx said, leaning on their arms and turning their head to face him. “I want you there. Present tense, ‘cause I’m still looking for the bits of me I haven’t found yet, but… I think, when I started, being alone was kinda nice. I didn’t have to worry about whether or not someone was going to judge what I did against both the city we were in but also against my life as a whole. Especially as I was trying to live up to what amounted to a veritable Kindred Saint. Vince was everyone’s favorite, and I think I was kinda okay leaving behind the people that wanted him back more than they wanted to get to know me. But you didn’t give a shit about Vince, you liked me, and I think, in retrospect, I was dumb to leave you behind like that. I know you probably couldn’t have left, that would have sucked, but I think there was something between all contact and no contact and I never went for it.”

“So what does that mean now?” Donnie asked, pouring himself another, bigger glass of whiskey. He wasn’t trying to get drunk, but this was a lot to roll up on, first thing in the evening, without any kind of warning. It sounded like Vyx was asking him out, properly, not just as a fling or a one-time deal, the preverbal limited-time offer of their heart, as it were, but as an actual, permanent thing, and while part of him absolutely loved the concept, the rest of him was scared he’d fall into the same kind of pit again; that he’d move, and he’d get settled, and then they’d fuck off again. That he was only as useful when other things weren’t more interesting. Vyx sipped the whiskey, sitting up on the stool, swinging their legs as they did.

“Well, I’ve got an offer. You’re cool to say no – trust me, I get it, I would also tell myself no thanks after all of this, considering. I was a shit friend, a worse possible-partner or paramour or whatever label we had, and I could have done better. I’m sorry I didn’t.” They paused, skulling the second glass, but they put their hand over the top before Donnie could pour any more. “Ah, wait. Let me get the offer out, and then I’ll drink if there’s reason to celebrate, yeah?” They chuckled. “Offer is this: I am officially moving back to Greensboro. It’s on Molly’s orders and dime; apparently, this is payment for the mess I made out west. Keeping me in one spot so the blast radius isn’t quite as bad.” They shrugged. “Regardless, I’m not only supposed to go, I’m supposed to stay. And I was asked to bring a friend along for the ride, someone with a whole lot of muscle and maybe a handsome face to boot.”

“You want me?” Donnie asked. He wasn’t the picked first from the lineup kind of guy, and it showed. Vyx kicked their feet, pulling their glass in front of them to stare at the rim.

“If you’d take it, yeah. I just… Greensboro’s gonna be a lot. I have… a lot of people I left behind. Some of them didn’t want me. Some of them don’t know I’m here. And doing that alone, or with some random asshole from Molly’s personal dollhouse of big, chunky beefcakes she keeps around? Does not sound like a picnic.” They sighed. “Honestly, Donnie, you’re brilliant. You’re kind, and you’re soft, but you’d punch a man in the face if the face needed punching. I like that about you, and I’d like if maybe we could take whatever the hell this existence is and make something decent out of it.”

“So it’s business… and pleasure.” Donnie nodded, thinking hard about the offer. He wasn’t against it, of course. He wasn’t doing anything yet in New York, and Maine was a distant thing with no real sign of resolution, and he did want to get to know them better. Make something decent, as they said – but he didn’t get a chance to really answer, as Vyx continued.

“You should know, my love life is… complicated as hell?” They added, and this seemed like the big issue, the crux of things. Sure, they were mad at themselves for being a prick, and they were worried he wouldn’t accept them for what they did, but this seemed to be the bomb they carried carefully in their chest, the real reason Donnie would tell them no. But it was worse if they got his yes first. “And being in Greensboro is gonna make it more complicated, ‘cause Vince had… a couple solid paramours and I…  I have every one of his memories. I’ve seen these people at their lowest, and their highest, and probably everywhere in between. And it’s… I haven’t even met some of them but dammit I can’t say I don’t love them, even if I don’t know them, and I know the only thing to do is feel out whether I’m really the right person to fill Vince’s little slot. If he doesn’t come back and take it, anyway.” They exhaled, tipping the glass under their fingers. “So we’d be doing a whole poly thing, and probably a weird one at that. Just wanting to get that out of there. I just can’t… monogamy isn’t my strong suit and it really wasn’t Vince’s, but I’m at least not pretending to try for it, y’know? If this… thing we’re gonna be doing isn’t for you, if you would rather be exclusive, I’d rather know now than trap you in my stupid little city without a way out, y’know.” They shuffled, fidgeted, nervous about the incoming rejection they were sure was coming. “So, can that work?”

“I think I can do that.” Donnie’s answer came with a smile, something heartfelt and sincere, tender, even, and he reached out, pouring a half glass of the whiskey in Vyx’s glass, their startled expression making it easy to get past their hand. Did Donnie mind being poly? Not… really, or at least, he didn’t think he minded. He’d never done the multiple-partners thing before, but he’d been okay enough knowing Vyx was sort of his unofficial, un-discussed partner of sorts and that they were gallivanting around doing Cain knew what with Lilith knew who, and that told him enough. If he was prone to jealousy, this wouldn’t have been the same kind of reception. The smile almost turned to a laugh when he registered that the look on Vyx’s face was still surprise, like they’d expected to have handed him so many different reasons to say no that he’d end up taking one. “Vyx, you’re one of the most interesting Kindred I’ve met, and you want me to join you. Why would I say no to the one person who honestly thinks I’m important?” He asked, and their smile shifted, a little, something sad there, like he’d said very sad things even though nothing he’d said seemed sad at all.

“I can’t be the only person who thinks you’re important.” Vyx said, a little sad, but somehow still taking the compliment as it was. “You’ll find someone else who thinks you hung the moon. Call it Malk intuition or just my ability to find a cute date, I think you’ll find more than just me. And hey, that’s the cool thing about being poly – it goes both ways. While I’m off making a mess of my love life, you can be cuddled up to someone cute.” They chuckled, lifting their glass and staring at it like they weren’t really sure they were at celebrating just yet, but they couldn’t deny he’d said yes. “But, for real, you’re actually… okay with this? All of it? The poly thing and the job thing?”

“It sounds like fun.” Donnie shrugged, twisting to lean back against the bar, staring at his apartment. He wouldn’t be living in it for a while, if ever again, and he… honestly didn’t mind. Familiar was a comfort, sure, but it was also growing stale. He wasn’t sure what Greensboro would offer, but it was already one up on New York in the sense that Vyx would be in it. “Beside, New York’s gotten dull, and I think Ray has it covered without me.” Donnie chuckled, the joke meant to be self-deprecating by implying he was the most necessary, but the fact that he was joking failed to land.   

“We can always visit. Molly said I could, and probably would, travel, just not drifting.” They shrugged, turning to mimic Donnie’s posture. There was something cat like, like they didn’t know what to really do next but they knew if they just copied Donnie that would work out. He shook his head, deciding to leave the fact that it was a joke behind like everything else.

“I… I haven’t done anything with multiple partners, for the record, so I won’t know if I’m causing a problem, but I figure if we hang out… I don’t know, like once a week? I’ll be alright with things.” He added, trying to address what he knew, even though he knew it very poorly. He knew balancing partners was always the biggest issue, and Vyx seemed to appreciate his directive, at least.

“Oh, no worries there, QB. You and I are gonna be attached at the hip, at least for a while.” Vyx chuckled, finally raising the glass, the acceptance sloshing around between their fingers. “But I guess this is it, right? To the future – of us, of Greensboro, and everything else.” They reached out, the glasses clinking together in the toast Donnie was hoping they’d get to, Vyx draining the glass in a single draw. It wasn’t a small amount of liquor, and honestly, it was kind of hot, at least to Donnie’s brain. “Right. I’m gonna go tell Claire you’re down. I get the impression she, uh, was expecting you to follow me down with any stuff you wanna bring.” Vyx hopped off the chair, the idea of packing and leaving right now something Donnie wasn’t entirely prepared for, but he was used to rolling with the punches. It wasn’t like he had much. “I think if there’s shit you can’t stuff in a duffle, we can get her to truck it down later?” The paused, looking between the window and the front door, before deciding it was best just to take the stairs. “I’ll see you down there, QB. Don’t you dare stand me up, though. Only one of us can be a leaver, ‘cause we can’t fix us both like that.”

And then the door was opening, closing, and they were gone again, Donnie’s apartment quiet without their presence. But this time, well, this time he was going with – and as he zipped around his apartment, grabbing the few odds and ends he didn’t already have in a go bag, something in him felt invigorated. Even as he made a note to have his computer, and his mattress, and a few other things shipped down to him, he could only feel excitement, and maybe a little bit of terror.

The idea that he wasn’t coming back wasn’t a sad one, as there were more important things waiting for him on the other side of the door. And he couldn’t wait to get there.