#vyxen rivera

[nosnet]

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

[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.