#OC Asha Mariam

[essie-essex]

Asha's Embrace

I wanted to write about Asha's embrace into Clan Tremere, so here it is! She started out as a VTMB fledgling, but I changed the story of her embrace before the game, as well as her sire.

(tw for suicide)

That night it rained. It rained so hard that it was almost all Asha could see, covering everything like a translucent curtain. She had forgotten to bring her umbrella with her that morning, but the downpour did not bother her, and as she made her way home from work, the sun having recently set as it was one of the shorter days of the year, the raindrops plopped against her shoulders and soaked into her jacket. She could only experience it all without judgment, feeling the wetness of her clothes and the water rolling down her skin and weighing down her hair. Normally, she would have hated getting her hair wet. She would have to detangle it and reapply all the hair products and oils that tamed her natural curls, but tonight she did not care. There was nothing to really care about anyway. She was done. All of it was going to end, which made this moment somehow brighter than usual. Maybe it was because she really liked the rain and the darkness. It made her feel more alive than the sunny, warm days that most people seemed to prefer.

She pulled the hood up on her jacket, wiping her face with her hand as she continued to walk down the road. Luckily, it was not a busy street, so no cars passed by to splash puddles of dirty water onto her. For her, there was only the cleansing downpour, an unexpected step in the preparations she made before falling into everlasting peace.

As part of the first step, which Asha had planned, she had bought herself a box of chocolates, the expensive kind, and a bottle of spiced wine, from a gift shop near to her place of work. She considered stopping somewhere for flowers, but decided against it. She had candles and incense at home. That would be nice enough. She wasn't even the kind of girl who liked flowers anyway. After she left the store, she was no longer upset by the events of the day. She was no longer angry or even cared about her coworkers at the Post Office who had left her to close up by herself, as they had somewhere else more important to be. It was Friday, after all. They had plans, and in their minds, obviously, she didn't. Really, she was not mad at them, not anymore. In hindsight, they had made her decision to carry out her own plans tonight so much easier than it had been that morning.

Asha made her way down the sidewalk and watched her breath in the cold air at every step, her hands tucked into the pockets of her jacket, and her head bowed underneath its hood. The rain had let up a bit, but she focused on the ground, lost in her thoughts. So, when the car drove past, moving in the same direction as she walked, she almost did not notice it. Only when it stopped did she look up. Slowing her pace, Asha watched the two red lights ahead of her as they shined through the darkness, the vehicle partially obscured by the rain. It had pulled over to the curb.

Asha stopped, considering crossing the road. She could see the silhouette of the driver inside the car, its shape changing slightly, as though they were turning to look behind them.

Who cares? Just walk past it and keep going, Asha told herself. It was not as if she really cared about her life, not enough to go out of her way to cross the street, at least. She moved forward, ducking her head and walking at a brisk pace, favoring the right of the sidewalk, as far away from the car as she could get.

If someone grabs me, I'll bite them, she thought. I'll bite them as hard as I can, until I draw blood, until they let go. A vision of herself chomping down into the fleshy hand of an anonymous assailant formed in her head, but she pushed it away, shoving it to the back of her mind.

Now nearly to the car's bumper, she tensed, waiting for the door to open, for the stranger inside to jump out, but the door did not move. Asha peeked to the side from under her hood as she passed by. The window had been rolled down, and she was sure the person in the car was looking at her. Her breath caught in her throat.

“Excuse me,” she heard a voice call. “Excuse me, ma'am?”

Asha kept walking, picking up the pace even more.

“Would you like a ride somewhere?”

It was clearly the voice of a man, though drowned out by the roar of the downpour. Asha was not stupid or suicidal enough to accept a ride from a stranger, much less engage with anyone who would try to lure a woman into his car. There was no way he was just innocently offering her a ride, right? Whatever his motive was, she wanted nothing to do with it.

Asha passed the car, continuing until she was well ahead of it. She breathed a sigh of relief. However, her mind still would not completely relax. She imagined the man running up behind her, hitting her over the head, and dragging her back to the vehicle. She focused her hearing, listening for the sound of feet splashing in the puddles on the uneven sidewalk. She was not going to look back, after all.

No one ran up behind her or grabbed her. Instead, the car moved forward, driving past her and then stopping at a nearby red light at the next intersection. Now, she would have to pass it again. She slowed down, hoping the light would change before she arrived at the car once more. A handful of other vehicles drove though the intersection at the green light, but aside from those few cars, the street remained empty.

Asha considered waiting until the light turned green and the car had driven away. She stopped for a minute, but the light stayed red, much longer than she was used to when waiting at that particular intersection.

Finally, she made up her mind to quickly pass the car again.

Just ignore him like last time if he tries to talk to me, she thought. She approached the vehicle for a second time, not even bothering to look out from under her hood. She waited for the man to call to her again, and sure enough, his voice sounded from the open window.

“Miss, do you need a ride?” he asked. “It's pouring out here. You must be miserable.”

Asha continued on silently, willing the stranger to leave her alone, but before she could react, the car lurched forward, splashing her with water and then turning the corner to cut her off. She froze. The man exited the car, leaving the driver's side door open and striding around it to the sidewalk where she stood.

Run, she told herself. Go!

Asha stayed frozen, and a few seconds later, even her mind was blank. All she could do was listen to her heart beating in her ears and watch the man as he seemed to approach her in slow motion.

He stopped only a few feet away from her, close enough for his face to be visible in the rain, and looked her in the eye.

“GET. IN. THE. CAR,” he ordered.

She got in the car.

They drove silently for a while, Asha still unable to restart her brain. All she could do was watch the rain, as though mesmerized. She had no idea how much time had passed before her thoughts finally surfaced, breaking through the wall that had been keeping them trapped, and she shook uncontrollably, the confusion wearing her nerves thin. Why was she just sitting here?

What are you doing? Get out!

She had to get out. She wasn't going to just let herself be abducted by some strange man. The driver stopped at a light. The perfect opportunity for her to escape. However, Asha's body did not comply. She could not will her arm to rise and unlock the door at her side. It was such a simple thing to do, but something inside of her kept telling her “NO.” She turned her head to look at the driver, taking a deep breath as she attempted to calm herself. The man behind the wheel glanced at her with no particular emotion showing on his face. He was young, maybe mid twenties with dark blond hair in a simple professional-looking haircut. In the darkness, she could see that he wore a button-up shirt with a neat collar, tucked into a pair of pants. He did not look like a serial killer. He looked normal.

Still, he had just abducted her, right? Even though she had gotten in the car willingly. Her mind strained to make sense of it. Why would she just get into some stranger's car? She had never done anything like that before. Maybe this was some sort of intervention? Someone had found out about her plans? She doubted it. She had not told anyone, and she had just bought the chocolates and wine. Asha clutched her purse as it sat on her lap. If she could open it, maybe she could find something to attack her abductor with. Her keys, perhaps.

“You won't be needing that,” he said, as though reading her mind. Did he have some sort of accent? “Throw your purse out the window, and the bag,” he added, noticing the plastic bag containing the chocolates and wine she had just purchased as it sat at her feet.

Asha's thoughts froze once again, but the rest of her body was happy to comply. She rolled down the window and threw her purse from the car and then leaned forward, taking the plastic bag by the handles. She hesitated. She was really looking forward to eating those chocolates, but the man said she had to get rid of the bag, and so she did. She nodded, satisfied, as though what she had just done was completely rational. The stranger closed her window from his side and looked at her again. She gazed into his eyes. They were dark brown.

“You're going to do as I tell you. For now, sit silently,” he said. Asha nodded again, turning her head forward and focusing on the movement of the windshield wipers as they pushed the water on the glass back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Left and right. Left and right. Left and right. Left and right. Left and—

“Let's go.”

They sat in a parking lot. Off in the gloom, a neon sign glowed red above them, reading, “Castle Hotel.” It was an old hotel. She had passed it many times, wishing she could visit to see what it looked like on the inside. The brick building with Art Deco details stood grand like a tower, several stories tall. She had imagined that going inside would be like traveling back in time. However, this kind of hotel was far outside of her budget range.

The stranger had already opened his door, but then stopped as he noticed her staring off into the distance.

“Look at me.”

She looked at him.

“You're going to walk with me. You will be silent, unless someone speaks to you. If they do, just give a normal response. You are simply walking to your room with a friend. Okay?”

“Okay,” Asha replied, nodding agreeably for a third time.

“Come on. Off we go.”

The man held her hand as they walked through the rain to the hotel, grasping an umbrella in his other, which barely kept the rain off the both of them. A doorman stood under the awning and held open the glass door, welcoming them as they entered the building. The stranger gave him a curt nod, while Asha stared straight ahead.

The lobby was empty except for a woman at the front desk. She greeted them from across the room, her voice echoing along with the sounds of their wet footsteps as they squeaked across the checkered tile.

“Hello,” the stranger replied cheerfully. Once again, Asha said nothing.

It was when they entered the elevator that Asha's mind started to wake once again. The first thing she felt was a sense of wrongness, as though she should not be there. Didn't she have plans? Why was she with this man anyway? She didn't know him at all. Presumably, they were headed to his hotel room, but why? Was there something there that he wanted her to see? Something he wanted her to do?

Her thoughts stopped and rewound themselves, and she found herself revisiting the fact that the man who stood next to her was a stranger. She had just gotten in his car and gone with him to this hotel. What was wrong with her?

The bell dinged at the seventh floor, and she followed the man out of the elevator and down the hall.

Run away, she willed. Get in the elevator before it closes, but all she could do was follow. Finally, they stopped at a door. Asha never noted the room number. She entered as the nameless stranger held open the door, beckoning her inside.

“You can hang your coat there,” the man said, motioning toward the closet on her left. She looked at it blankly for a moment before slipping her jacket from her shoulders and moving to fix it on one of the hangers. Behind her, the man closed the door, making sure to lock both the doorknob and the deadbolt. An alarm seemed to go off in the back of her head as Asha heard the click of the lock. She could finally make enough sense of her mind to realize that she was in a very bad situation.

“I'll be right back,” the man said, stepping farther into the room. He crossed it and opened a door on the wall to the left, which seemed to lead to another section of the suite. Had she not been in this current situation, she would have marveled at the existence of a bedroom separated from the main room in a hotel. All the hotels she had ever been to were only one room, usually with beds, a dresser, and a television. Maybe some chairs if it was really nice, but this room was like nothing she had ever seen before. The Art Deco style was apparent in almost all of the items in the room, with the exception of the television and clock. Golden light fixtures on either wall gave the air a warm glow, illuminating the patterned wallpaper and carpet. Two velvet plush couches faced one another, a gold and glass coffee table situated between them. Decorative chairs sat by the window, framing the sides of a tall lamp, and finally, a grand wooden desk of polished mahogany sat near the right corner of the room with a padded, wooden desk chair to match. It was truly breath-taking. Had Asha actually noticed any of these details, she would have been thrilled to realize that she had successfully traveled to another time period, one that she admired. At least aesthetically.

However, Asha's mind at the time was preoccupied as she summoned all of the her willpower to turn towards the door.

Okay, now just unlock it and leave, she thought. However, she found herself distracted by the low voices coming from the adjacent room. Her heartbeat accelerated when she realized.

Voices. That means someone else is here.

She willed her right hand to rise toward the lock on the door. Just two separate motions and then she could open it and leave. Her arm trembled as her fingers drew closer to the deadbolt, and sweat dripped from her temples. She was almost there. Almost close enough to reach the lock. Just a few more inches. She brought her hand shakily forward until it made contact with the cool metal.

Okay, now just twist it.

Her hands attempted to grip the lock, her fingers fumbling as though it were her first time using them. She had just about gotten a grip on the latch when a voice called out from behind her.

“Asha.”

She froze at the sound of her name coming from an unfamiliar voice. It was spoken sharply, authoritatively but quietly.

“Asha,” it repeated, gentler this time. She turned. In the doorway to the bedroom stood a man she did not recognize. He wore round glasses and a red duster and suit, his head completely shaved. “Come to me, childe,” he called.

Her escape forgotten, she went to him.

The mysterious new stranger held out his arms, and Asha could not help but walk into them so that once she was within his reach, he could lightly hold her shoulder while using the other hand to tilt her face to his. He looked into her eyes and she looked into his. They stayed like this for a while, his gaze sometimes retreating as though examining his inner thoughts before returning to her, scanning, studying.

Finally, he spoke.

“There is no need to be afraid,” he said, quietly. “Now come.”

He turned, motioning for her to enter the bedroom. Although the man's voice had calmed her somewhat, she stopped abruptly upon spotting the clear plastic covering the floor.

“Come here,” the man ordered. She went to him, the plastic crinkling under her feet. This time, the crimson-dressed man took her face in both hands before moving his right to the collar of her shirt. He tugged at it, ripping it easily.

Asha tried to step back, her heart pounding, but the man held her by her arm, pulling her closer. She wanted to tell him that she was wearing her work uniform. He wasn't allowed to just tear it like that, but she doubted he would care. Whatever was happening here was much more important than her dark blue United States Postal Service shirt, at least in his mind. She focused her attention back on the strange man, who now dipped his head down to her neck on the side where he had torn her shirt and finally grasped the back of her head, wrapping his other hand around her body, as though he meant to hug her. To embrace her.

She felt his lips touch her skin.

She couldn't help but wonder to herself why she wasn't fighting more. This stranger had a hold of her and was now grazing his teeth against her neck. She should be screaming, hitting, scratching. She should be trying to get away. She should be better than this.

But maybe she wasn't. She had meant to die tonight.

She had imagined it so many times. Her blood draining from her as she drifted away to the tunes of Lycia, sandalwood smoke wafting around her, her breaths growing more and more shallow. The aftertaste of chocolate and spiced wine still on her tongue. It wouldn't hurt. It would probably actually hurt, but in her daydreams it didn't. There was no horror at having done something she could not undo. Soon she would feel nothing more. She would be gone, forever.

In reality, though, she worried that she might regret it. That she might panic. That it would hurt. That she would try to mend the gashes on her wrists, crying as she uselessly wrapped them in towels. She worried that she would call for help only to realize that she would be gone before anyone could get to her. She worried that she would realize that she had made a mistake and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

This, however, was something different. There was pain, but only for a second. She struggled uselessly in the tall man's grasp, but he held her close, his arms never moving. Then the pain gave way to pleasure. It was like nothing she had ever experienced before. As he lapped at the open wound on her neck, she felt herself relax, as though she were melting, and his arms were the only thing holding her up. Maybe they were. She didn't care. As he drank, he grunted under his breath. She moaned softly in response. He surrounded her. His lips, his tongue, his arms, which pressed her tight against his body. The song came into her head. The song she had meant to die to, but it didn't fit anymore. “The morning breaks so cold and gray...” That song was about being alone, and she wasn't alone. He was here. Here for her. He drank her in, and knew that they would be together forever. Her heart bloomed like a crimson flower. Her body tingled, and she felt as if she might float away, but she didn't want to leave. She wanted to be here with him. She tried to lean closer, but as she became aware of her physical body once again, she realized that she could barely move. It wasn't like before. It was as if her life force had weakened. She could only give into the pleasure once again. Let him take me, if that's what he wants, she thought. Let him consume me. And so she let him. Even when her body attempted to hold on. Even when her breath quickened and her heart pounded out of control, attempting to make up for her drying veins. And then almost as quickly as it escalated, it became calm once again. Calmer, lighter, slower. So slow that her thoughts ceased to exist, and yet she perceived herself floating lightly in the darkness. Rising, climbing away.

And then something grabbed her from below. It clasped onto her ankles, biting and clawing, pulling her down until she was back where she had started. She could not see, but she could perceive a creature, forever hungry, forever bitter, forever mad, striking out, consuming and destroying and taking in whatever it could. In its desperation, the formless beast continued to chew at her legs as threads in various shades of red reached out from the dark to wrap themselves around her. One embedded itself into her heart. Another, around her neck. They spoke in whispers, each one a unique voice. The first was the strongest. And then the second spoke in a familiar voice. It was him. The one whose name she hadn't even learned before he bit into her neck. The next overlapped his, eventually passing and leading it. It twisted around it, and when the other threads appeared, one voice, a man's, another, a woman's, and five others after that, it joined them as well, twisting around them and guiding them, directing them in a particularly commanding male voice. The only one it did not wrap around was the first, strongest thread. That one remained independent, although as Asha imagined following it to its source, she perceived that the other threads all came from this one. The threads tied themselves around her wrists and ankles and then continued their twisting, covering her as though she were in a cocoon. Soon, she could see nothing but red, enveloping her, crushing the beast as it ate its way into her, whispering to her...

She smelled blood. She tasted blood. As she became aware of her body once again, she could only feel the sensation of her lips being forced open and thick liquid being poured between them. She gagged, moving to spit it out only for a hand to close around her mouth.

“Drink it,” she heard. She twisted her head away and spat it out onto the ground. A hand clamped onto her chin and turned her head forward again. “Drink!” This time, she was ready, swallowing the cold blood from the bottle that was being shoved into her mouth. Somehow she did this without throwing it all back up.

“Repeat after me,” the voice said, more gently this time. Her mind struggled to remember what had happened before she had woken up. The rain, the car, the man, the hotel, another man, a man in red. He drank from her. He drank her blood. It was all she could think before he spoke again.

“Repeat. I, Asha Mariam.”

She couldn't resist the sudden urge to be obedient to him.

“I,” she croaked before clearing her throat. “I, Asha Mariam...”

“...hereby swear my everlasting loyalty to House and Clan Tremere and all its members.”

“...hereby—wait, what?”

“Say it.”

“But what's—” she mumbled.

“Say it.”

She didn't have the energy to refuse. She wanted to obey him.

“I, um, hereby swear my everlasting loyalty to...” she started.

“House and Clan Tremere,” he repeated.

“House and Clan Tremere...” she said the last word cautiously, unsure what it meant.

“And all of its members.”

“...and all of its members.”

“I am of their blood, and they are of mine.”

With the taste of old blood lingering in her mouth and coating her throat, she found it difficult to say the words, but she formed them as well as she could.

“I am of their blood, and they are of mine...”

Asha stood, dazed, in the middle of the hotel bedroom, the last words of the oath echoing through her mind.

“Woe to they who try to tempt me to break this oath, and woe to me if I succumb to such temptation.”

How could she swear an oath when she had no idea what it even meant? Whatever “House and Clan Tremere” was, she was surely a part of it now, whether she wanted to be or not.

The clear barrier over the carpet crinkled under her feet as she shifted her weight to watch the two men—one young, one middle-aged—as they spoke to each other quietly in the other room. The plastic clung to her shoes as she lifted her foot. The floor was sticky with blood. It had soaked into her pants and her ripped shirt. She imagined that, were she to look into a mirror, she would see her face, especially her mouth and chin, covered in blood as well.

She felt oddly calm, but uneasy. Something very strange had just happened. She wouldn't let herself think of the word she wanted to use. She had always known the difference between fiction and reality, an important skill to have as a lover of horror and fantasy. As a child, she read every book about supernatural creatures that she could get her hands on, even the books featuring true ghost stories. She believed in ghosts, but other things stayed strictly in the realm of the impossible.

Pulling herself from her uneasy thoughts, Asha focused her attention on the conversation between the two men. She couldn't make out any of it and was pretty sure they were not speaking English. Maybe more like German or something. She tensed as the voices grew closer.

The taller, older man entered the room first, followed by the other, who stood to the side.

“Asha,” he started in his calm, authoritative voice.

“Uh huh,” she said, feeling like an idiot. It was all she could manage to get out.

“My name is Maximilian Strauss.”

“Uh, hi,” she heard herself squeak.

Unlike her own, his voice felt somehow soothing. Reassuring. He leaned in close to her as he continued to speak.

“I know you must be very confused right now, and I will let you know what is happening and answer any questions you may have. However, we have very little time now. I need you to take a shower and change into fresh clothes.” He motioned toward the bed, where the other man was removing the sales tag from a gray t-shirt. “Can you be ready in fifteen minutes?”

Asha paused before responding again.

“Uh huh.”

“Alright,” Strauss said gently. “We will vacate the room. Leave your clothes on the plastic covering, and once you are in the shower, Stefan will collect your clothing to dispose of it.” He pointed again to the young man. “He will also let you know when ten minutes have passed. Do try to make sure there is no blood left over in the bathroom. Once you are dressed and I have checked to make sure that the hotel room is clean, we leave immediately.”

Asha agreed, and Strauss and Stefan left the room, closing the door behind them, only for her to realize that she had no idea where they were going after the hotel.

He said he would answer my questions later, she told herself, but why was she just doing what this Strauss guy was telling her to do? Was she really going to willingly just go with them?

Something's different now, and you know it.

She figured that if she was going to stand there thinking, she might as well do it in the shower.

The warm water felt good on her skin, especially on her hands. She had always had bad circulation and was used to her hands being cold, but under the hot water, they warmed up again. This time, it wasn't just her hands, though. It was as if she had gone numb and the feeling was returning to her entire body.

As she watched the red water flow down the drain, she thought back to the events that had just occurred. She remembered Strauss embracing her, drinking from her, her life leaving her, and then...

. ..she had awoken, sitting on the floor with Strauss behind her trying to force a full bottle of blood down her throat. What was that all about? Had she passed out?

She would have sighed, but it was then that she realized that she was not breathing at all. She waited, held her breath, hoping that she just hadn't noticed, but the urgency for oxygen never came. She simply continued to hold her breath. In fact, it seemed more natural to not breathe.

She put her fingers to her throat, feeling for a pulse. There was nothing. Her hand traveled to where Strauss had opened her vein and drank the blood from her neck. There was no wound there anymore. Only a memory.

Had she died? Had the man waiting just in the next room... killed her?

“Ten minutes!” she heard Stefan call from outside the bathroom door. Asha had wanted to take a proper shower, but she settled for rinsing the rest of the blood off of her body before turning off the water and exiting the bathroom wrapped in a towel.

The clothes that Stefan had left her consisted of a pair of black leggings and a dark gray t-shirt, and next to the bed sat a pair of bright yellow rain boots. No bra, no panties, no socks, and her own had disappeared along with the rest of her clothes. Cool. The plastic and blood on the floor was also gone.

She tried on the clothes. The leggings fit fine, though they were a little tight. The shirt was far too big. The rain boots fit her perfectly, to her absolute horror.

She entered the next room to Strauss, who had donned his red jacket once again, speaking to Stefan in what she was ninety-nine percent sure was German. The older man seemed to be dictating orders to the younger, as Stefan had his head bowed, giving only short answers and obedient nods to whatever Strauss was saying.

Asha studied them as they spoke. If they really were... vampires (she let herself think it this time) then Strauss looked far more like one than Stefan. The red duster, the gloves, the suit, the little round sunglasses all screamed “vampire” to her, while Stefan just looked like a normal guy. His button-up shirt was a light blue, and he wore it tucked into khakis with a brown belt. The most interesting thing about him was his footwear, a pair of brown boots with black soles. She looked down at her own yellow rain boots and felt a tiny wave of envy hit her before the feeling quickly disappeared almost as fast as it had formed.

She hoped they would not be going too far away for too long. If they were, wouldn't Strauss have given her time to pack before they left? Surely, he didn't expect her to wear one pair of leggings and a t-shirt for multiple days. She considered that maybe there were more leggings and t-shirts waiting for her at their destination. Also underwear, she hoped.

“Asha,” Strauss called out to her. “Put on your jacket.”

Asha walked past the two men, pulling her jacket from the closet and putting it on. She waited by the door as Stefan hoisted the strap of a duffle bag over his shoulder and Strauss checked the rooms for anything else that needed cleaning. Rifling through her pockets, she located an old hair tie she had thrown in one of them at some point. The color had faded and the elastic was stretched out, but it still served its purpose as Asha used it to tie back her hair, which was getting poofier by the minute as it dried. She reminded herself to ask about hair products when she was able to speak to Strauss about her clothes, in addition to all the vampire and blood stuff.

Look how calm and accepting I am, she thought proudly to herself. I guess all the supernatural fiction and horror novels I've read over the years prepared me for all of this. She forced herself to accept this viewpoint, choosing not to focus on how she was following a pair of strangers to an unknown destination and would probably end up on some show about unsolved disappearances and murders one day. She had been about to kill herself after all. She laughed aloud, prompting a strange look from Stefan who had joined her along with the duffle bag he carried.

Finally, Strauss emerged from the next room.

“Everything is in order,” he said, making his way to the door where Asha and Stefan waited. “Let us go.”

[vitos-ordination-song]

Le Guin’s inspired me to try to finish the novel I started when I was 18. Idk I don’t think I’m that talented of a writer but I never totally abandoned this story because I think there’s a spark to it and I would like to stick with it. Also I want to draw my OCs.

[essie-essex]

I commissioned this amazing art of my Tremere OC Asha Mariam outside the chantry back during her VTMB days! by /u/KayimSedar on Reddit. (Plus my favorite little detail: Strauss looking down from the window)

Asha finally made it back to Downtown LA, and now she's off to go start some mischief!

[essie-essex]

Vampire the Masquerade - OC Deep Dive

(I don't remember the exact formatting of the post I saw, but hopefully this is close. I wasn't tagged by anyone. I just felt like doing this.)

Character name: Asha Mariam

Clan: Tremere. Regent of the chantry in her city. Loyal to House and Clan Tremere (obviously).

art by @crownedinmarigolds

What common/uncommon fear do they have?

Someone finding out her (and her sire's) secret.

On another note, she does not have a fear of fire. She was afraid of many things as a human, and after her embrace, she did not want to be afraid anymore and sought to find a way to protect herself from fire. She found a way. Most others believe it is the strange tattoos on her skin and sigils she embroiders on her clothing that protect her. Unfortunately, the method she chose makes her extremely vulnerable to those with the True Faith.

Losing the few friends she has, due to a conflict of interest. Especially those outside of the clan. She has done things behind at least one friend's back that he would not approve of.

Do they have any pet peeves?

She doesn't like it when apprentices sabotage each other to get ahead. She believes it weakens the clan and thinks that they should work together. She emphasizes this during orientation for apprentices. If they choose to sabotage the work of another apprentice, they had better not get caught.

Being called a witch. She's not curdling your milk or making your crops fail. She is a sorceress or a magus.

Other Tremere, especially adepts, resorting to petty insults when dealing with those outside of the clan. Surely, Clan Tremere is above this sort of childish behavior.

Mentioning Carna, House Carna, or anything about Carna or the other traitors in her presence.

False flattery.

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

A silver-colored sphere, used as a communication device.

A packet of papers including general guidelines and helpful information for neonates.

A cabinet containing the vitae of every apprentice who has ever resided in her chantry.

What do they notice first in a person?

Their demeanor and the way they say their words. She wants to know what their motivation is. She is always seeking to manipulate others into helping the clan.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how high is their pain tolerance?

Pretty high. Like an 8. Her sire put her through a lot in her early years, including physical discipline.

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure? (or freeze and fawn)

Freeze. She likes to think about what she is doing before she does it. This can be a disadvantage at times. Luckily, she's pretty resilient.

What animal represents them best?

A talking snake.

How would a stranger likely describe them?

It depends on who is describing them. For some, she is reckless and dangerous, mostly due to her actions during her first year after her embrace. Now she has learned discipline and patience from her sire and is not like that anymore, but it's hard to ditch the reputation she earned in her youth. Others may think she is manipulative. The Tremere tend to come out ahead in any city she shows up in. Some others, especially her fellow Tremere, think of her as loyal, and despite coming from the most underhanded backstabiest (making up a word here) clan, deals with her are mostly predictable. Mostly.

“Stay way from her. She may seem like she's friendly and wise, willing to break taboos and help a fledgling navigate the labyrinth of horrors that is this unlife, but remember, she's a Tremere, and the best advice you'll ever get is to never trust a Tremere.” --Nosferatu primogen

“Back when she was a neonate, she messed up bad, but for some reason she was bailed out. Now she's basically Meerlinda's bitch.” --an anonymous Tremere

Do they have any hobbies?

Embroidery, singing, and she's taken an interest in technology and surveillance.

I tag: @the-100th-witch @losieee @lacroixgrimoire @vtm-nightcity @straight-edge-hippy @ventruetower @hubakon1368 @nebula-cnidaria @vampiremood @medeaft @candycorn128 and all the vtm people. I'm so sorry I can't remember your names, but tag me if you do this!

[essie-essex]

I haven't written anything in a long time, and I've never written anything for Vampire the Masquerade, but after doing that deep dive post, I felt inspired to write about Asha. So, going back to her early years, here's her experience as an apprentice going to a new chantry for the first time. It's not your usual chantry.

Asha stood outside the door of the Vineland Chantry, her clothes and hair soaked from the rain that poured from the sky, the downpour accented by the occasional distant rumble of thunder. It seemed appropriate, really. This kind of rain. It was the same type of rain that fell the night of her embrace as she walked home from work, ready to end that miserable day along with her life. A silver sedan had rolled up next to her, a strange man offering her a ride...

And that had led to this. Asha Mariam, Tremere Initiate of the First Circle, standing on the stoop of an old house in rain, waiting for someone to answer the door.

This chantry was nothing like the one she had grown used to over the years. It was a house. A moderately large, old house in a residential neighborhood. The kind with chain link fences and “Beware of Dog” signs. The only thing out of the ordinary was the cemetery across the street. Maybe that's why they had chosen the area.

She had never been to another chantry before. She had lived in Los Angeles for seven years now and hadn't left—wasn't allowed to leave—in all that time. When Asha's sire learned of her new placement, all the way on the opposite side of the country, he was less than pleased. It was probably the first time Asha had ever seen him unhappy with a decision made by the clan. Vineland was much smaller, after all. The Chantry was definitely not well known, nor was its regent. Most would probably assume that the Tremere wouldn't bother establishing a chantry there at all.

She knocked on the door again, this time louder, and let out a sigh, rubbing her arms with her hands, as though she were capable of being cold. Although she could not actually feel cold, she could certainly feel wet. Her shoes squelched uncomfortably as she shifted her weight.

She considered just trying the door, but stopped herself. Her sire had told her to be polite, to be safe, and to make a good impression, and that meant not barging into houses without being invited.

“Knock on the door, just as you would were you a guest visiting someone's home,” he had told her. “This is your first time at a new chantry, and you don't know what kinds of wards or other forms of protection may have been cast upon the building. Plus, it is the polite thing to do.”

So, here she was. Being polite. Standing in the pouring fucking rain.

The sound of an approaching engine broke her from her thoughts, and she turned to spot a single light traveling through the thick shroud of raindrops blanketing the street. She could make out the dark silhouette of a motorcycle as it slowed and finally turned into the Chantry's driveway, the engine and light shutting off and leaving them in darkness with only the sound of the ambient storm. Asha sighed in relief as the figure headed toward the front door.

“I thought I'd be stuck out here forever!” she called out, forcing an awkward smile onto her face. The figure was now close enough for Asha to see her in detail under the porch light. She had taken off her motorcycle helmet, letting it dangle from her left hand and giving Asha a glimpse of her fair skin framed by straight dark hair, which had become stringy from the wet. Dark blotches from the rain also decorated her skinny jeans and glistened on her black jacket, and a messenger bag hung down her back from a strap across her shoulder and chest. Despite the woman's petite stature, she seemed sturdy and strong—so unlike most Tremere she had known. The woman's eyes met Asha's for less than a second before disconnecting in a way that she could only interpret as disinterest.

Asha stepped back as the woman approached the door, waiting for her to unlock it, but to her surprise the mystery apprentice simply opened the door and walked through. So, it had been unlocked the entire time. Asha caught a glimpse of what looked to be a living room with couches and a coffee table. She shifted her weight to step forward, but before she was able to move an inch, the door swung shut.

Asha let out an utterance of surprise, nearly stumbling backwards off the stoop, but she managed to collect herself, acknowledging that she was, once again, staring at the closed door of the Vineland Chantry. Motorcycle woman had slammed the door right in her face!

At least now she knew that she could just walk in. Finally deducing that she wouldn't be receiving any kind of warm welcome, she turned the doorknob, entering the house with a few cautious steps.

“Hello?” she called out, closing the door behind her. The only sign of the motorcycle woman was the line of wet footprints leading across the room and out into a hallway illuminated with a weak amber light. She didn't seem to care about keeping the floors clean, although as Asha studied the room, she noted that no one seemed to care about keeping the area clean at all. Dust lined the couches, leaving the fabric a dull, dingy color, and several spider webs could be seen lining the corners and creases of the walls. Aside from the couches, table, and overhead light, it had no additional furniture or decor. The entire room looked largely unused.

A crash that shook the floor sounded out from above her, followed by a cascade of expletives streaming from the voice of an agitated male. A woman's voice answered in a sharp tone, followed by the raised exclamations of both actors. They seemed to be having an argument.

Asha watched as a winding stream of gray mist wafted its way into the downstairs hall, bringing with it a pungent but sweet scent that reminded her of burnt sugar. As she made her way up the nearby stairs, the mist turned to a dark smoke, the sweetness overrun by the unmistakable aroma of blood and ash. She followed the smoke to an open door just by the stairs, her eyes drawn to the source of the burning smell, a mess of broken glass and unidentifiable smoldering lumps, all coated in a boiling black substance spilled over the old wooden floor. Fresh blood spatter coated the nearby wall. The rest of the room featured tables and shelves piled high with books, papers, jars, and various unrecognizable objects.

“Dammit, Winnie! Why didn't you warn me?” A pale, skinny man with disheveled hair faced the motorcycle woman as she glared back at him. He wore a pair of faded blue jeans and battered leather house shoes, along with a dirty gray t-shirt under what looked to be an open Regent's robe.

“I was about to tell you, but you just grabbed it and threw it in!” yelled the motorcycle woman, Winnie. “They didn't have what you wanted, but they said you could substitute—”

“Substitute? No! I told you what I needed! You can't just substitute—These kine 'witches' will tell you that you can just substitute rosemary for anything from sage to sulfur to fucking human flesh! They don't know shit about shit! You—you know what? Just get the hell out! You've ruined it!”

“You're the one who just chucked it in there without checking it first!” Winnie stepped forward, her nostrils flared.

Asha cleared her throat, and opened her mouth to speak, drawing in two pairs of angry eyes.

“Are you Regent Burberry?” she asked, feeling a kind of insecurity she hadn't felt since before her embrace.

“It's Nick, and who the fuck are you?” Regent Burberry exclaimed in a strained falsetto, his eyes widening. “Don't tell me they're sending another one of you novices. I can barely keep up with all these damned kids running around!” He let out an exasperated sigh.

“You got a letter, remember?” Winnie rolled her eyes in clear view of the Regent, not bothering to hide her annoyance with his rampant disorganization. “They said they're sending an apprentice.”

Asha took a step forward. “My name is Asha Mariam. I'm from the Los Angeles Chant—”

“But I don't need another apprentice,” Nick complained, cutting her off. He threw his hands in the air and groaned, gesturing toward the senior apprentice. “Winnie, go show her around or something. Introduce her to the others,” the Regent said dismissively.

Winnie sighed and rolled her eyes again. “There are no others. It's just us.”

“Really? What about—what's his face—Jason?” Nick inquired.

“He disappeared a while back.”

“Oh, right. Well, what about Sam? Samantha?”

“Dead,” Winnie replied.

“And Rosie?”

“Rosita? She disappeared, too.”

Nick shrugged. “Well, nevermind then. Just show her to her quarters.”

Winnie glared at Asha with murderous eyes, but she gestured for the novice to follow her before the Regent spoke again.

“Wait!” he called. “There's something...” He trailed off into silence for a moment before starting again. “Something I'm forgetting.” He paused again, his face scrunching as he searched his mind, which, Asha imagined, was just as chaotic as the room in which they all stood. Finally, Nick snapped his fingers. “Oh, right, your key,” the Regent said, patting his pockets. He turned toward one of the cluttered tables, gingerly pushing around various magical supplies and sifting through disorganized papers and scrolls, careful not to upset the delicate balance that kept the mound of junk on the table instead of bringing it all crashing to the floor. “Key, key, key,” he muttered to himself. “Where the fuck—oh! Here, wait—no that is a chicken foot dipped in silver. Now why would I dip a chicken foot in...” he trailed off, throwing the foot back into the pile and focusing on a new section of table.

Winnie came up next to Asha, nudging her with her shoulder and holding out her hand. A key marked with a strange sigil shimmered in her palm, and Asha took it, bringing it to her eyes to study the symbol.

“It'll be marked on your door,” Winnie said flatly, before turning to leave the room. “Nick,” she called. “Chill, I had the key.”

“You—what? Why?” the Regent stammered.

“Because I knew you'd lose it.” Winnie turned to him, crossing her arms.

“And you just let me search for it for how long before you said anything?” he exclaimed, more out of embarrassment than anger, it seemed. “Why are you still here anyways? I thought I told you to get the hell out.”

Winnie scoffed.

“Okay, whatever,” she said, and without another word, she strode out the open door.

The Regent left the cluttered table, making his way back to his burnt experiment.

“You, Aisha—” he started.

“Asha,” she corrected.

“Yeah, whatever. You've got your key, so you're all set now, right?”

Asha paused, her brain attempting to make sense of the situation.

“But, aren't—aren't you going to give me something to do?” she finally managed to sputter out.

“What? No? Yes! I mean, just—” Nick rubbed the back of his head, looking left and right distractedly before turning back to his ruined project. “There's a bunch of shit in the basement. Equipment and supplies and all that, I don't know. Shit left by other apprentices,” the Regent said, waving her off with an idle gesture. “Go—just go find something there to do. Whatever, as long as you don't start any fires or blow the place up,” he added without a hint of humor in his voice. Asha hesitated. It wasn't as if her last Regent hadn't allowed her to be independent—once she finally gained his trust—but Regent Burberry—or Nick—didn't seem to care at all.

“Is there a library somewhere?” she asked quietly.

“There are books,” the Regent replied. “Lots of them. Around. Go find them if you want.” He paused, glancing up at her briefly as he noticed her still standing there. “Off you go,” he said, shooing her away as if she were a fly. “Go—go, go, go, go go!”

She left the room, feeling out of place as she wandered the Chantry's maze of hallways. It was as if she were freshly embraced once again, navigating a new world filled with strange surprises. Surely, this house was much larger inside than it was on the outside. Though most of the rooms she passed were unlabeled, she finally arrived at a group of seven doors, sigils scribbled on their exteriors with what looked to be black permanent marker. She could hear music and shuffling coming from the first room on the left. Winnie. She must have gone to her quarters after her argument with the Regent.

The fact that the Regent allowed her to speak to him in such a manner seemed unreal to Asha. Her own Regent would have found it to be extremely disrespectful.

Her old Regent, she reminded herself. Nick was now her current Regent.

She found the door matching the sigil on her key and unlocked it, reaching for the light switch on the wall, flipping it on and flooding the space with dull amber light. The room was simple, as she expected, but even more so than her previous quarters. A bare bed sat in the left corner next to a plain wooden desk and chair. A large, old chest sat on the opposite wall. And that was it. No bookshelf, no dresser or mirror, no trash can. Only simple essential furniture, and all of it covered with a thick layer of dust. Of course.

Clearly this was not a popular chantry to inhabit. She couldn't help but wonder if this was all just another extension to her punishment. Or was it simply because of a lack of trust from her superiors? Maybe they just wanted to put her somewhere where she couldn't cause any problems, but she thought that her good behavior would at least have somewhat convinced them that she had changed. That she was now worthy of the clan.

She sighed. What would her sire do? He would make the best of the situation. It was not all about her, after all. It was about the clan.

Asha expected that her stay here would be pretty quiet and uneventful. The Regent seemed to be mostly hands-off, so she reasoned that it would be best to just do some studying and decide on a project to keep herself busy. Maybe she would discover something that could help the clan. She did owe them, after all. It had been six years since that first disastrous one, and she had learned since then how to be a model apprentice of Clan Tremere. So, that's what she would show them.

She would be polite, she would be obedient, she would be humble, and she would not, under any circumstances, cause any trouble.

Unfortunately, in those early years, she had not yet learned that trouble would always find her.