solo-blood-sucking

[solo-blood-sucking]

In the Court of the Fairytale Losers

On the evening on which Mark came to the court of the changeling freehold, it was a wet and cold day in late February; just before the real chill leaves the air and the non-committal weather of early spring takes hold. That is to say it was still winter in Columbus, and that would have bearing on the evening. 

Some thirty years ago, Michael St. Michael had discovered the small community of fae creatures in and around the east side of Columbus. The crazy old vampire was not one to take direct part in the politics of the Camarilla, but like any vampire he knew an opportunity for power when he saw one. 

A lesser vampire, someone younger or more power hungry might have considered the exotic blood of the fae to be their primary value. Mark wasn’t sure what about it was valuable but he imagined it had to feel like dropping acid considering what the changelings were like to talk to. Michael had seen a partnership where another vampire- or perhaps where a sane vampire- would have seen food. It was always hard to tell if Michael’s fixations and rambling discussions were genius or inane, because most of the time what he was saying only made sense nights later in retrospect. As children of Malkav go, his predilection for prophecy was profound but often unreliable since there was no way of knowing when he was soothsaying or self-soothing in the moment. 

For this very reason lots of Malkavians tended to be dismissed as major players in most Camarilla domains, but Michael’s relationship with the changelings had transformed his casual remarks into more than just ambling prophecy. Sometimes things happened the way he said they would, sometimes they would happen that way because he had noticed something, foreseen something. But other times he was much more direct. He would issue a dictum. It seemed sometimes like things happened the way he said they would because he had said so. 

How Michael obtained this power, what convoluted rube-goldberg-ass bargain he had worked out with the changelings no one in the vampire community knew. If he could figure it out, Mark had thought to himself on a number of occasions, clawing his way up to Prince would be easy. If he could figure it out. He’d thought about it a lot, but the most important element of that agreement for Mark was the guarantee of changeling safety in the city. 

In the moment, Mark’s concern was with the discretion of the changelings. When the Tremere chantry, located under a local church, had burned down in a night of bloody retribution ordered by the Prince of Columbus Ariel Yost, a number of sidebar conspiracies had also taken the opportunity to progress. Michael St. Michael’s childe David had been involved- very inappropriately given his Sabbat connections. 

Adrien had adjusted the memories of the other handful of vampires who had been involved in the raid. The remembered Mark running afoul of a magical trap, incinerated before their eyes. The changeling who had been on hand observing the raid for the freehold’s interest was however untouchable- even a minor violation like the revision of a few hours of memory was completely out of the question. Apart from the terror that Michael St. Michael himself could unleash on your mind, no vampire in Columbus dared to discover what wards and contingent curses were bound up in the guarantee of changeling safety. As members of the court for whom Michael St. Michael had made the bargain, every Camarilla vampire in Columbus was a party to the fae bargain. 

Mark got out of his new pickup truck- he hated it- and walked through the rain in his progressively more soaked hoodie and jeans. It was just water, water and cold, and he wouldn’t be in it for long. 

Franklin Park Conservatory, a municipal arboretum surrounded by a few acres of curated public gardens, had been granted to the changelings as a place where they could do their business- hold their own meetings, hold congress with the vampires, wrap it in whatever of their bizarre fae magic they liked. 

The move had annoyed a lot of kindred. The park was a prime territory in a well to do part of town, frequented by healthy rich people and young lovers with blood overflowing with heady notes of lust and happiness. Mark didn’t entirely understand it but in the same way he and his kindred savored the blood steeped in heavy emotion the changelings also needed something from the humans who passed through the area. They liked to steal middle names or riddles or whatever, or maybe all of those weddings left love poetry they could use lying around or something. It was important that the people were emotionally rich for them- maybe even more so than it was for Mark. He could appreciate a discerning pallete. He just wondered how they got what they wanted from the kine. 

Mark thought a lot. Too much sometimes he thought. This was one of those times where getting lost in thought he’d just let his feet carry him to the doors of the conservatory, oblivious to everything around him. Dangerous habit for a vampire. 

He reached out and opened the front door. Despite the late hour, the facility was unlocked for vampires and changelings. He wondered if anyone else could have opened the door while he walked up the long access ramp to the interior. 

A large room serving as a sort of cafeteria flanked by a quaint cafe and gift shop- both closed down- was playing host to a janitor pushing dust on a mop towards a dustpan. Would have been entirely normal if he didn’t have cloven hooves. Would have been entirely unremarkable if he wasn’t a hulking mass of muscle and fur. Nothing to see here but a 7 foot tall brick shithouse of a changeling with antlers that expanded his already consierable width by a further foot or so on either side. Mark noticed his posture wasn’t perfect, as the changeline struggled avoid taking out the drop ceiling panels with his antlers. 

The huge, round eyes of the changeling locked onto Mark, and the creature froze. The eyes were beautiful. Great deer eyes so wide and brown that they reminded Mark of an old boyfriend he’d had before his embrace. 

The changeling put down the broom and turned towards Mark with his head to one side so he could still look at him, but not standing a little taller than he had before. The game was less about prerserving the ceiling now and more about making sure Mark got a good look at the huge buck. 

Mark stood patiently waiting for the tension to drop. Even with the gaurantee, the changelings were- understandably- skittish around vampires. The furry sex fantasy in front of Mark was clearly put here to gaurd the front entrance. Despite the fact that the changelings had all kinds of bizarre magic at their beck and call, they had opted to simply make a clear statement of their capacity for violence. It was a negotiating tactic. 

After several minutes of regarding one another the deer let out a large forceful sigh through his nose. “You’re the Saint’s man?” 

“I am,” Mark said, drawing his words out carefully, to seem non-threatening. 

Another sigh- or was it more of a snort? 

“The Queen of Winter holds court tonight in the palm room. You’ll be seen there. Go to the desert to wait.” 

Mark nodded and walked past the musclebound buck, taking just a moment as he walked by to soak up one more look at the towering creature, for science. As he did pass he caught a hint of the creature’s musk and began thinking about how he could monetize the changeling if he could just get him to agree to some porn shoots. 

The conservatory was arranged in a circular pattern, connecting two north and south primary arboretums to a western wing where the palm room was housed, all connected by a central structure of older construction that had become the spine of the place. 

Mark knew his way well. Like any Columbus gay coming up in 2008 or so, Mark had been taken on more than one date here. Turning to the northern wing, he walked through a windowed observation hallway to the Himalayan room. A fantasy mountain landscape included a river that flowed down past several carefully chosen pieces of flora from a cave that was at once reminiscent of a golf course and entirely more grand than anything like that. The gently sloping path and occasional stariways provided the suggestion of descent, to pair of doors that entered into one of Mark’s favorite rooms. 

The Jungle room was dark and full of big, green leaves. Heavy palms, carnivorous plants, a little fake waterfall. There were little corners and park benches and all kinds of places where a vampire could have enjoyed a delicious opportunity to feed. It really was annoying that the entire complex was off limits, Mark could imagine the blood. He should have probably eaten before he came. 

Another pair of double doors and Mark emerged from the darkness of the jungle into the eerie quiet of the desert room he’d been asked to wait in. The air wasn’t still, and Mark could hear the machines moving it around, but that was it. Where the other rooms had featured sound systems to fill them with the calls of birds and insects, the desert room was simply silent. He could feel the quiet around him, like something physical. Mark found a bench next to a cactus and sat down. He didn’t get more than a minute to start thinking about what he would say when another changeling joiend him. 

Coming from the west entrance to the desert room, what could only be described as a walking rabbit in a motocross jacket entered the room and perked up his white-furred ears. 

“You’re the vampire? Mark?” 

“Yes.” 

“And you’re leaving Columbus?” 

“Yes.” 

“I’m Finn. I’m gonna be your ride.” 

“I have a truck.” 

“I have a mustang. It’s a custom job, better for our work.” 

Mark nodded. “I need to speak to the Queen.” 

The changeling tilted his head. “Yeah, something about a church right?” 

“Just take me to her.” 

Finn’s ears drew back a little but after a brief moment looking at Mark he spun on his heel and walked to the door. Not looking at Mark he said “come on then. She’s busy.” 

Beyond the door was another transitional space. Many parts of the conservatory were older than later constructions, and had been renovated into a kind of circulation structure. Mark walked through this and found himself in a small cave-like antechamber. He knew that to either side was a staircase and that on the other side of the wall was the palm room, he could see the north and south ends of it from here. 

He could also hear from where he was, and what sounded like an argument abruptly stopped as he and Finn entered the little cave. 

Mark started uneasily as a glowing dwarf stepped around one of the conerners. Her skin was like copper and her hair was a frenetically licking flame erupting from her head. Her face- which while it had features did not move at all- was also set in copper and Mark had the distinct feeling like he was talking to some kind of statue. 

A grating echo sprang from the flaming dwarf, “the Queen will see you,” and Mark was led away from Finn who he realized had pulled out a cigarette and leaned up against a wall. IT was a handful of steps to be properly in the palm room. The trees loomed over Mark, hemmed in only by the service gantries and the pale frosted glass of the arboretum. A bricked floor spanned the great room, which was a popular wedding venue among the well-to-do, and at the westernmost end of the building stairs rose to a balcony that overlooked the chamber and featured a door that opened out to a veranda and the gardens beyond. 

“We really did give them prime real estate for holding court” Mark thought. 

There was an array of changelings. Ever since the vampires gauranteed their safety 30 years ago, the legend of the haven of Columbus had spread among the fae and the once small and struggling freehold had become a mecca for changelings in the midwest. There were flower girls with their faces set among petals, more of the animal-types, a number of trees that might have been people, and presiding over it all a woman made from glass. 

Mark didn’t know if the name Vivica Valentino was real or if it was simply a name the changeling had given. He was sure they preferred to use fake names for reasons of fae bullshit. 

Real or not, the name of Vivica was ascendant. Even vampires fairly low on the Camarilla totem knew of her, and also of the fiery dwarf Mark had been brought in by, Billie Smith, the Summer Queen and forgemaster to the fae court. 

Unfortunately for Mark, Billie had the reputation as the more straightforward and easy to work with of the two. If he’d been able to wait a few weeks he might have found his task altogether simple, she was known for being gregarious and quick to consent to vampire demands. 

With Winter still holding the changeling throne however, he would have to endure Vivica’s haughty attitude, disdain for the kindred, and her notorious fixation on protocol. 

But Mark was betting exactly on those things tonight. He bowed slightly and started to measure his words carefully. 

“A good night to you my Queen and may I offer the greetings of Mr. Michael St. Michael. I am Mr. Mark Williams, son of Mr. Adrien Fortin” Mark was practiced at pronouncing French words though he didn’t speak any, Adrien appreciated it as a mark of respect, and he hoped that some of the Ventrue neo-feudal protocols could be repurposed for use in the court of the Winter Queen. 

The queen was inscrutable. Like the Queen of Summer, the Queen of Winter’s face was featured- beautiful, precise lines in gleaming transparent glass that seemed to shine a cold light of its own- but the features never moved. Only her quiet voice could be heard, fleeting high notes amid a constant shrill moan, like wind passing between houses. Mark could hear her- but just barely- say “you are recognized Mark son of Adrien. Speak your business.” 

Mark didn’t need to take a deep breath because he didn’t breathe. But he thought it a useful affectation to convey a sense of nervous distress he didn’t really feel. A few changelings raised their eyebrows and the queens’ voice echoed through the palm room again, “calm yourself vampire. You are among Neighbors.” 

Mark quietly noted his victory before he spoke. “The burning of the chantry in Italian Village leaves us without magical experts of our own with which to seal up the things the witch was concealing under her lair. Every last of the warlocks was destroyed in the Prince’s blood hunt, and I am here to present a duty.” 

Murmurs went around the palm room. Vivica silenced the whispers with one perfect, doll-like hand of glass. She was standing atop the balcony overlooking the room and Mark noted as her head moved from side to side that she seemed to be measuring the mood of the room after Mark’s revelation. 

It was deliberate. News of a vampire power vacuum was part of Mark’s mission, and he had to assume that the Queen would figure that out. Some changelings would see this as vampire weakness and it would cause unrest in the freehold. Some would see it as an opportunity to make themselves useful to vampires with their magical talents and so doing secure themselves with more resources. 

Vampires were immortal. Mark had a stipend from Adrien and of course he had spent years making himself a staple of the Columbus gay bar scene, but money and resources, Adrien had taught him, would always come to him given time and patience. 

Changelings were still very much alive and still very much subject to it’s weaknesses. Age, disease, hunger, poverty, taxes- changelings needed apartments and groceries and electric bills and all kinds of mortal concerns and everyday hassles that Mark had risen above when Adrien had chosen him for embrace. Shelter from the sun and blood, these are the bare necessities of vampire existence. Meaning of course that almost all vampire income is disposable income. 

The changelings knew who was the lord and who the serf in Columbus, and while their court was grand and their powers formidable and their own sense of ceremony every bit as pompous as a night at the vampire Elysium, Mark couldn’t help but feel as though he was at a renaissance faire, looking at a bunch of cosplaying burnouts trying to forget their humiliating day jobs. They were more than human, but just by a few tricks. At the end of the decade, they were just another shade of mortal. 

Mark knew how to manipulate mortals. 

“You are requested and required to provide assistance with the sealing of the ruin below the church on fourth street. Mr. St. Michael will provide compensation for this duty upon its successful execution. The form of the compensation will match the needs of the recipient.” 

The Queen nodded. It was an annoyed nod, the nod of a woman who knew that she couldn’t say no. Mark wasn’t sure just how annoyed, her glass face made her impossible to judge. She had of course a human face that he could have probably gotten an idea from, but here in their court the changelings cast off such illusions to be among one another as themselves. 

Even if Vivica did say no, her entire freehold knew about the reward now, that what was essentially a vampire blank check was there for anyone willing to fulfill the request.  

She could have had a quiet private meeting with Mark and haggled, but her obsession with presiding over court in a grand ceremony was a weakness, and Mark had played it successfully. 

“Madame Whispers and Finn O’Hara will assist you. The reward will be that chosen by the freehold.” 

Mark shook his head. “Please accept my most humble apology Majesty, I am not empowered by my betters to renegotiate the deal.” 

Mark could hear the air passing through the Queen’s nose. 

“Please give my thanks to the Saint and my regards to your Prince.” 

Mark bowed, lower and with some flourish this time, and left the changeling court with a little spring in his step. If he to had start over, he thought, at least he’d started off on the right foot. 

[solo-blood-sucking]

He was dead. Mark had decided to walk directly into an arcane ward and disintegrate himself, in an apparent fit of madness brought on by confrontation with the eldritch terror of an ancient city of primordial age and alien origin.

This is what everyone who descended into the chantry of the Columbus Tremere witnessed. He was briefly mentioned as a hero by the prince, a few words were said on his behalf as a Ventrue, and his responsibilities were passed to some of Adrien’s trusted ghouls while the older vampire returned to his mansion and began to oversee his own affairs again.

A brief young vampire only four years into his requiem, burned out fast and hard like so many young kindred.

That was the story anyway.

Mark sat in a large, overstuffed arm chair in the cabin retreat of Michael St. Michael, a man who turned out to be Adrien’s only vampire confidant in Columbus other than Mark himself.

The older and by all accounts thoroughly terrifying Malkavian regarded Mark for a moment and drew, “it’s quite amazing of course. It took me the better part of 200 years to get ready for that, and you acquitted yourself well.”

“Cleaning up after messes was my first job with Adrien,” Mark said.

The older vampire gave the hint of an amused smile at the edge of his lips. “Yes, discretion is key for us. And now that there are not one but four arcane relics in our city it won’t be long before Columbus begins to attract unwanted attention. We can expect wizards, without a doubt another band of warlocks, probably some necromancers as well. The changelings are restless in particular. They think the fearies will smell the magic and hunt them down.”

Mark nodded soberly. “So where do I come in daddy Michael?”

The other’s eyes narrowed.

“Never call me that again.”

Mark nodded quickly, an apology in his eyes where his lips failed him. He wasn’t a coward but he knew that Michael could turn his mind inside out if he wished.

The older vampire continued, “your job for the immediate moment is to rebuild yourself. Your identity has been wiped from all records. You still have access to your bank accounts, and I have acquired some of your signature kit. The car could trace back to you however so it’s out.. Adrien was explicit in insisting that your old social circles, your old haven, your old power base outside of his network- all of it has to go.”

Mark pursed his lips but said nothing.

Michael continued after a pause. He seemed to be studying Mark’s face, looking for a clue to see just how compliant he would turn out to be.

“To make this work you must disappear. You have to stop existing the way you had done before. Your money and Adrien’s stipends are being moved to new account numbers for example, with a deceased kine as the account holder. The memories of anyone who you came in contact with that night have all been adjusted. Everyone who went into that church believes that you committed suicide in the city of Xo’Tah.”

“So where does that leave me, apart from dependent on Adrien for everything?”

Michael smiled. “For a start,” he said, “it leaves you in Cinicnatti for a few months. You will infiltrate the sabbat through my childe David. It’s abundantly clear that we don’t understand how they think right now.”

The older vampire stood up and walked across the cozy sitting room to a shelf next to his roaring fireplace. Returning with a folder, he handed it to Mark.

“A wardrobe is also here, and I have arranged a partner to look after you during daylight and provide you with rides to anywhere you need. He’s a Neighbor, and he’s here to help the freehold understand how dangerous the magic might really be. I agreed to clear out a favor. Help him in his investigations. We have a deal that he will start looking into the matter when you return from Cincinatti. He’s waiting outside for you.”

Mark stood up. “Rebuild my power base, make friends with the changeling, and find out what the sabbat know about our situation.”

“Correct.”

Mark thanked Michael and left, he was fuming, years spent building his club connections were gone just like that. He’s also need to work to beat his addiction if he was going to pass himself for the hick described in the dossier he’s been handed. All of this had to just be Adrien’s newest test of how adept Mark was at mastering his circumstances. He resolved not to disappoint.