Zombies

Okay, let’s talk about Zombies.  They seem to be popular now.

 

I don’t like zombies.  They creep me out.  I don’t like not being able to talk to a person, and, maybe part of it is that they remind me of myself when I’ve fallen to Frenzy.

 

Can I make a zombie?  Yes.  Yes I can.  It’s actually really easy to do, and can happen on accident, or intentionally.

 

An accidental zombie would be when you’re trying to turn someone.  Turning someone is kind of a process.  You need to drain them till they’re dying, and make sure you get a good hard bite in there, to make sure your venom (That’s vampire spit) really gets into the wounds.  Then, you need to feed them your blood until they actually croak.  It’s not often, but, if you don’t bite hard enough or get enough of your venom in a person, and then feed them your blood and they die?  They’ll rise a zombie.

 

We can also do this accidentally.  Say we’re making love to our partner.  We’re kind of driven to do things for reproductive reasons.  Hey, so are you.  But we need to bite our partners, and we want to share our blood as well.

 

I promise I’ll talk vampire reproduction later…

 

So, sharing your blood, in vampire guys, not using a condom, or any myriad of other ways to get vampire blood into a human, and then dying…without a bite, chances are good you’ll become a zombie.

 

I’ve never made any zombies.  I’ve also never made any vampires.  But I’ve run into other vampires who have made zombies.

 

They can control them with their minds.  Imagine having a horde of flesh eating machines at your mental command.

The zombies are infectious, but only their bite.  They’ve got the virus from our blood in their mouths, and it runs rampant.  It takes about three days to die of a zombie bite, unless, with my case, you can inject some holy water in an IV drip.  Unpleasant, but…you might survive.

You remember how I mentioned that Strigorii who aren’t related closely will try to kill another Strigorii?  Same thing applies to their Zombies.  When I encountered a hive of zombies (I don’t know why we’re called Packs and Zombies live in Hives…) it was like rage.  Fury.  I attacked, and couldn’t stop until every part stopped moving.  And there were a lot of them.  I’m unsure of if they have the same instinctive hate of unrelated Strigorii, or if it’s that they were following their Master’s wishes.

 

Overall?  Apart from the whole walking and rotting thing (Oh god the smell) they’re not actually stronger than a human.  They just don’t care if they tear their bodies apart doing whatever it is they’re doing.  That’s why they seem stronger than normal.  They’re also worse in groups.  They’ve got our hunger for blood, but can’t separate it from the flesh, so they just devour everything.  It doesn’t stop them from rotting though.  And, once a zombie’s a zombie, there’s nothing you can do to bring them back.

 

The best weapon against a mob of zombies is fire.  They’re too stupid to realize they’re on fire, and won’t try to put themselves out.  But, if you don’t have a handy flamethrower, destroy their brain, sever their spinal cord.  Anything that’s not touching their body anymore might twitch, but it’s not really productive twitching.  Also, don’t worry about their blood.  It’s not infectious if you get it in your own wounds.  Just their bites.

 

Ugh, just remembering that makes me feel like I need to take a shower.  Maybe I will.

 

Until next time.

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Story of a Hunt.

Westly stops, looking into the distance.  At first glance one could easily be mistaken for a tree in the frozen monochromatic woods.  He pauses, his eyes narrowed in the failing light as he sees the blot of warmth in the woods.  He smiles a little, and watches what the animal is doing…

( The deer is a Buck, a big one by the look of it.  It crunches through the snow with that superiority that says “I am master of this land”.   )

Westly frowns a little, he doesn’t like trying to take down healthy buck.  He looks around to see if there’s a harem following him, but when he doesn’t see one, he sighs, exhaling a slow breath that forms no vapor.

( The deer flicks its ears, hearing a sound in the distance, but it could have simply been the brush of the swirling snow.  It moves on, content that it is safe, that nothing in these woods is larger than it… )

Westly moves forward, his boots crunching softly through the crust of the snow.  He moves carefully, a dark predator in the slowly darkening woods.  He sneaks up on the beast, crouched low, his hands in the snow, uncaring of the cold against his pale skin.  He waits, wanting to see the animal off its guard, not wanting the chase to go too long, not sure if his own body would be able to handle it before it faltered and failed in the frozen night.  He wasn’t sure he should even BE out here, chancing the dangerous cold on a dangerous hunt.  Not that it would be the end of him easily, but his need to hunt had driven him here, and it was about to pay off…

( The buck is a cautious animal, though there are few predators about, it knows better than most, having survived a run-in with the other beasts of the woods before.  It exhales, breath a cloud of steam.  Something is moving out there.  Something is watching it.  It dances a little on its razor sharp hooves, trying to startle the predator it can only sense, but not see.  Another exhalation, after trying to scent fur and danger on the wind.  Nothing.  It should not be worried.  Perhaps the sensation is that of being watched by an ambitious ferret.  The stag, in an attempt to rid its self of anxiety, thrashes its antlers against a nearby sapling, creating quite the noise… )

Westly was about to think the jig is up.  He’d been trying to hunt upwind of the animal, but you came across them as you came across them.  He held as still as he could, trying to will himself in his dark clothes to match the monochromatic woods, whites and blacks in the snow and trees.  He watches the animal’s breaths, the way it raises its snout, ears rotating.  He knows it knows he’s out there.  He doesn’t think that it knows how dangerous he is, otherwise it would have begun running already…  As the animal is thrashing the leaf-less sapling, he sweeps around behind it, death on silent feet, boots crunching through the regretfully noisy snow and surface coating of ice.

( Eyes wide, the deer stops thrashing, turning its massive array of antlers as quickly as it can jerk its head around.  It stares, registering, trying to pick out the moving form from the rest of the darkness.  It does not know what it sees, this is not a beast of the forest.  Options filter through its head, stand? Fight?  Flee?  No, the way the animal on two legs is coming for it, there is no doubt that it, with its pale front paws extended, claws hooked, means to simply startle it.  Muscles bunch beneath fur, and at the speed of thought the animal is moving, powering its self through the trees. )

Westly couldn’t stop now if he wanted to.  His instincts stab through his mind, his body, forcing him to follow the animal at speed.  He’s fleet of foot, that much is sure, and he seems to have little trouble navigating the dark woods.  Like the others who look like him should.  He reaches the beast, the deer having difficulty with its large antlers in the smaller trees, he had known to do that, to slow the animal down, the way that elk were hunted in Ireland.  He manages to catch one of its flashing hind legs, and pull the weight of the animal upward with a jerk, intending to throw it off of its feet.

( The deer brays, a high squealing sound of fear as it feels an iron grip around its rear hoof.  If slashes out with is other leg, feeling it connect with something, even as the world spins around it, and it finds its self sliding on its side until it skids to a stop.  It wastes no time trying to pull its self up once more, fore hooves planted solidly on the ground, but it takes time for the animal to do that, and the predator is still on its feet… )

Westly reels, taking a blow across the face.  He staggers back, holding his wounded nose, feeling something cold and liquid in his hand.  He’s taken a hoof across the face, scratched nastily along his cheek, and probably broken his nose.  The beast inside of him howls in fury, how dare the prey react this way!  The vampire himself draw his lips from sharp curved fangs, the growl one of pain, frustration, and anger.  He watches the animal fall, a victory on his own part, and launches himself at it.  He grabs it around the neck, settling behind it, grabbing to its antlers, pulling it’s head back at what is obviously an uncomfortable angle.  He wraps his legs around the creature’s body, before he hisses “Shh…shh…” like one might do to a child.

( It feels the weight of the predator upon him, and panics, it can smell unnatural blood on the air, its limbs giving beneath it, no longer trying to stand, but instead throw the creature from its back.  It’s lungs are billowing furiously, heart pounding madly as it struggles, but feels no pain.  It feels the monster over it pull its head back, exposing its slender and vulnerable throat.  Panic again, thrashing madly.  It hears the soft sounds, above it, even over the rush of its own blood in its ears.  It seems to know its defeated, the dance of predator and prey has reached its conclusion. )

Westly isn’t a monster, despite what the monster inside of him, raking it’s sharp claws of hunger and bloodlust across his mind is trying to force him to do.  He coos quietly to the animal, telling it to calm down, rest, even as his legs tighten around its torso.  He knows the prey is his, this battle has been won, so he lowers his head to that pale white throat.  A brief sting, and the body of the deer goes rigid, then…relaxes, pawing lazily at the ground.  It looks almost kind, a man holding a terrified beast, so that it doesn’t hurt its self anymore in its frightened thrashing.  It’s a few minutes, and the man lifts his head, the flush of stolen blood obvious across the unwounded cheek.  He pants a moment, then looks up.  He unwraps his legs, and carefully as he can, he stands, still holding to the animals antlers.  He moves as far away as he can, and then releases it.

( The deer, dazed some thanks to the potent venom hardly realizes that the feeding has stopped.  But, the movement snaps it back to the here and now.  It watches the pale hands on its antlers, listening to the new heavy panting, seeing the predator’s breath on the frozen air.  The predator releases its antlers, and, without thought, the deer staggers to its feet.  It stares a moment, as if trying to understand why it would let him go.  It then turns, moving a little drunkenly away, it taking some time to get its self together enough to run, but run it does, tail flashing white, disappearing into the darkness. )

Westly pants hard and heavy, having fed deeply from the beast.  He touches his face, wincing a little, swearing softly at the fresh dark blood on his fingers.  He’d have to get someone else to straighten his nose for him, not being able to use a mirror to be sure its set properly.  He sits down in the snow, giving his aching body some time to feel the fresh meal filter to his cold limbs, and thaw him out a little.  He seems to suddenly realize how cold it is, and he gets up once more, shivering, face a half mask of blood from his wounds.

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Chapter One (2/?)

I sat back, totally in shock. Gryphons don’t exist. And that thing was HUGE! How did they do that? Was that a costume? I got up, my joints aching in protest, and walked to the end of my chain, and tried to peer down the hall a little further, but I couldn’t see anything else.

I frowned, and went to sit back near where I was chained. What kind of place was this anyway?! I watched the door until it was opened once again. The woman from before came through the door, petting on a wiggly nosed rabbit, her laquered nails stroking through its white fur. Behind her a needly little man bearing a clip-board followed. He wasn’t as tall as she was, then again, he wasn’t wearing heels either. I’ll admit, I didn’t pay him much attention.

She smiled down at me. “How are you feeling?” She asked.

“My..joints hurt.” I admitted. “I think the cold’s getting to me. My fingertips are pinpricking…” I said, rubbing them together, trying to get the blood to them, the way I did when they were asleep.

“You’re so…honest.” She said with a chuckle. “That will come in handy if we’re to help you, twenty three.” She said.

I blinked and tilted my head. “Twenty three?” I asked, watching the rabbit struggle briefly. Something about that struggle caught my attention again, and that feeling of anticipation returned, like waiting to go on stage, or wait for your name to be called for a grand prize. I felt my eyes fix on the rabbit, I didn’t want to look away. It was going to get away from her, and when it did…

“Ah, yes.” She said, making me jump, jerking me from my thoughts. “That’s your number, dearest. Seventy one twenty three.”

I frowned a little. “That’s not my name.” I said, rolling the digits around my my head. It didn’t sound right at all. She chuckled.

“It may not be your name, little one,” her voice was cold as she stroked the rabbit’s head lovingly, her long crimson nails making it kick a little uncomfortably. “But it’s what we will call you.”

The needly little man behind her frowned, and shifted to where he could get a better look, at me, I guess.

“It’s thin.” He said, frowning. “The other one was fit.”

The woman hissed a breath to the man. “Sh!” she snapped. She smiled back to me. “You must be hungry.” She said, looking down at me.

“Not really.” I said. Thirsty, yes, but I was more confused than anything. “I want to know what’s going on.” I was finally getting the hang of this breathing and speaking thing. “What’s wrong with me?”

The woman chuckled. “Are you going to be a good boy?” she asked. “You were hungry yesterday.” She kneeled down again. “I saw it in your eyes when I touched you.” she purred. “Come to me, let me see that again.”

I drew away, I didn’t want her to touch me again, I didn’t want her to do whatever she’d done yesterday that had left me feeling so aching and hollow. I felt my lips curl away from my teeth and I hissed. I don’t know why I did, it just felt like the right thing to do.

It wasn’t.

The woman blinked, looking at me. Her expression hardened, and she stood, took a few steps back, as if gauging a distance, and pulled a knife from somewhere behind her back and drove it into the rabbit. I must have shouted “No!” and leaped for her, because I suddenly found myself on my ass at the end of my chain, gagging and coughing. She regarded me at her feet the same way a toddler looks at a particularly disgusting insect, and dropped the still twitching rabbit carcass to the floor. “We’re here to help you, twenty three.” She said, her voice ringing in my ears. “If you won’t let us, you will find it very difficult.”

“But you were supposed to feed it…” The needly man was whining, pawing at his glasses, as if adjusting them would somehow adjust the world around him. “How am I supposed to study anything if you don’t follow project protocol?”

“I did.” She said. “We’re leaving. Now.” She snapped, and the man went with her, scurrying along like some kind of roach in a labcoat.

I looked at the rabbit’s corpse in its little puddle of blood and felt sad for it. The more I looked at it, the angrier I got. She hadn’t of needed to kill it! And for what? For a show? What did it prove? That she could kill me? I was on a chain! I felt myself get up and begin to pace at the end of the length, near the puddle of white fluff and gore. I’d show her, I thought to myself as I looked at the dark puddle once again. I’d show her she wouldn’t be able to hurt me the way she hurt that rabbit. I drew a breath to growl at it, and i smelled its blood.

It was so much richer than the scent I was used to, deeper, with things in it that I couldn’t even begin to describe. As I breathed that scent into my lungs again, I felt it touch places I didn’t recognize. That feeling of excitement uncurled in my stomach, tickling across the beginnings of pain deep in my body, an oddly suggestive tug in my stomach, almost a lurch. I was hit with the thought of burying my face in the animal’s body and biting and chewing at it. These thoughts brought on a new sensation, a near pleasurable ache across my upper jaw.

All of these new feelings were impossible to ignore, and they swept me along like a twig in a torrent, tearing any rational thoughts from me, and leaving me a shivering mess of painful lust.

It was a sight that brought me back to myself. I realized I was stretched across the floor, reaching for the corpse. I saw my hand stretched out as far as it could go, long fingers clenching, clawing, just barely touching the bloody puddle the small white body had landed in, and I felt a pain in my neck, a cutting pain that I simply hadn’t paid attention to before. The thing that really messed me up was when I noticed something had changed.

One of the things that you’re very aware of as a person is your teeth. Just get a little something stuck in them, and you’re licking and sucking at it for hours until you can get it back to normal. It was that abnormal, that I felt it without even using my tongue. I drew my hand back away from the carcass just out of reach, and pushed myself to sitting once more, using my tongue to feel the foreign shapes against my lips.

They felt huge. Two gigantic tusks descended from my upper jaw, on either side of my mouth where my eye-teeth were supposed to be. As I slid my tongue along them, I got a bit of a thrill, a sensation I wasn’t used to at all. Almost a tickle, almost a shiver inducing ache. I frowned, before I touched my teeth with my hands, feeling the slender sharp points curve gracefully.

I laughed. It was all I really could do. Nothing made sense. These teeth hadn’t been there earlier, because if they HAD they wouldn’t have felt so damn alien. I slid my fingers over them, partially because it felt good to do, and secondly because it was just too much.

And then I tasted blood. I had barely brushed the blood from the rabbit’s corpse, but I tasted it on my finger, and it was like the sweetest drink of water. I dragged my tongue over my dirty disgusting finger, the dry surface of my tongue scraping roughly. I could hear how it scraped, and I just didn’t care, I wanted to taste that flavor again. I looked to the corpse again, and rushed it. I don’t know why I did, it didn’t make any sense, my body just had a mind of its own. I put my shoulders into it, feeling the collar at my throat cut into my skin, but getting that corpse in my hand was all I cared about, tasting that blood one more time…

I lowered my head and tried to tighten the muscles around my shoulders, leaning away from where the chain was anchored. I snarled, not a sound I’d made before, and tried to pull the chain away from the wall.

I’m not entirely sure why I did it. But it felt similar to when I’d broken my hand punching a wall. Not my crowning moment of brains, and neither was this. I looked down, to push myself into the effort again, but then I realized I was bleeding. Blood was dripping from the collar. It wasn’t just cutting into my skin, it was actually cutting my flesh! That snapped me out of my stupidity, and sanity came rushing back.

I backed away from the blood, coughing, my hands at my throat, not caring how dirty they were, as I tried to stop the bleeding. I had damn near cut my own throat trying to get to a rabbit’s corpse to bury my face in it, and tear it apart with my teeth.

My willing participation in removing myself from the situation as far as I could, back against the wall with the chain’s anchor, was rewarded with another cramping pain in my gut. I groaned and curled forward, trying to wrap myself up around the hurt. I gasped raggedly, as whatever was causing the pain abated a little. It was like the worst hunger pangs I’d ever experienced, and the pain of my appendix, just before it had tried to kill me.

I concentrated on that thought, the vague memory I had of a woman looking down at me, stroking my hair back, promising me that I’d be alright, as I, a terrified boy of 14 grabbed for her and was whisked away through a hospital. I tried to remember the woman’s name, because her face was so familar, black hair pulled back into a serious braid away from gentle hazel eyes.

“Mom.” I gasped, whimpering. It wasn’t okay now. Not at all.

It took a while for the pain to fade, and I learned to take little breaths so that I didn’t smell the rabbit’s blood, as the scent of it threatened to send me into another insane fit. Instead I huddled against the wall, and replayed the now clear memory of the scene in the hospital through my mind.

The woman’s name was Lily. She was my mother, and she had been a nurse. She’d recognized the signs of impending appendix failure, and had taken me to the hospital as quickly as she’d been able. I remember twisting in agony in the passenger seat. And then…it got better. I told her so and that just made her drive faster.

Through reviewing this lone memory, I tried to hear my name. I called her ‘Mom’ and she called me “Honey.” I seriously doubted my name was Honey, I’d remember getting teased about that.

I sorted through the memory of doctors and nurses, faces that were barely faces in the fuzzy realm of the past. A mask came into my vision, and that was the end of it.

I uncurled my body, and lifted my shirt. Something here didn’t feel right either, but, as I looked, there was indeed an appendectomy scar on my lower abdomen. I touched it, trying to associate other memories with it.

“So it tried to kill you?” She asked, laughing, her warm fingers sliding along the old wound.
“Yeah.” I said, smiling. “Okay, it’s a lot less dramatic than that. My appendix burst, and the doctors saved me. So, I’m here today” I said, trying to pull my shirt back down, and my pants back up over my hip. I was self conscious, and, nervous.
She giggled. “Lucky for me.” The girl with hair like clover honey said, nuzzling my nose gently.

I frowned, there wasn’t much of that memory either, just the ghost of lingering warmth on my skin.

I began inspecting myself for other scars. As I found them, I could identify what they were from. Like how the teeth of a saw had given me one on my left hand, and the repeated stab wounds of needle marks in my right arm from medical testing. Mom had been worried about … something.

Was that something what was wrong with me? Was that why I was here now?

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Chapter One

“I hope you didn’t damage it too badly.” I distantly heard a voice say. It was like listening through water, without the bubbles.

“Does it really matter? It’s still moving.” Another bubble-less voice said, in an almost snarl. “Long as it keeps moving, it’s still alive.”

“It’s not so much moving as reacting.” The first voice said. His voice annoyed me, it was one of those proper ‘upstanding’ voices of teachers and professors. “If you poke a dead frog in the brain, its leg will twitch.”

There was a bit of a snort, and the voices retreated, something about payment. I didn’t have it in me to groan. Or move. So, I just kind of laid there, as sensation slowly crawled back over me.

At the moment, I didn’t feel much of anything, except cold. I was pretty sure I was in shock, because I just knew I was hurt badly. There’s a sensation that you intellectually know that you’re very hurt, but you can’t identify where, because everything is just numb.

However, I did know that I was too hurt to move, so I stayed stock still. In fact, I was kind of impressed with how still I was being. I felt like a rock. I stayed where I was for some amount of time, I’m not entirely sure how long, but when I came to again, I was aware of someone breathing.

It’s a strange feeling to know something goes on every day, all the time, but suddenly be AWARE of it. I tried to move, and found my body responding to my commands. But it was thick, like trying to move under a heavy woolen blanket. I realized that I was laying on my side, so I brought the hand that was dangling around my waist down and felt ground. It was cold, wet, and a little gritty. It was uneven, cobbled. I pushed a little, and then realized why it was so dark, my eyes were glued shut. I tried to pull them open, and the effort was monumental. They suddenly popped open, with the sensation of slicing the lids open with a hot knife. I must have made some kind of noise.

“Don’t try to get up.” A voice said, unreasonably loud. I also sort of concluded at that point I had some kind of migraine. I did tend to get visual migraines that made light almost impossible to tolerate, so, why not audio migraines? “You’ve been hurt badly.” It was the voice of a woman. I nodded, and regretted it, my head swam in nauseating ways. My vision was so blurry that I couldn’t see much of anything, but I got the impression I was laying on a floor. One that was cobbled, like the floor of an ancient castle. My limbs felt so heavy, that I just didn’t have it in me to try to haul myself to my feet again. “Do you remember anything?” Came the woman’s question.

This actually caused me to look in her direction, and I realized how far away she was. She was just inside the brightly back-lit door, making it so I couldn’t make out any features with my bleary eyes. Oddly enough, I couldn’t remember anything. I closed my eyes again, and realized I had to communicate with her somehow, so I exaggeratedly shook my head, so that she could see it where she was.

I realized that this was barely a wiggle. She made some kind of affirmative noise, and then the heavy breathing retreated. I relaxed after noticing I’d been tense. I tried to work my way through everything.

My name was… That was the first question I started with. I…couldn’t remember. I tried again, filtering the phrase “My name is…” through my mind. I must have said it a million times, and I was relying on my muscle memory to provide an answer, but there was just, nothing there.

I didn’t even know my own name.

It’s frightening to not have an identity. I scrambled inside the inside of my skull, looking for anything that might have given me a clue to who I was. Everything was a blank. I knew a few things, I knew I was male, I knew I had dark brown hair. I knew that I could read, and that I liked blackberries, but not strawberries.

My stomach turned at the thought of food. And I felt my body groan. Trying to remember all of the information, and work through the nausea was just too much. I closed my eyes, and everything just kind of went away for a while.

I woke up again, and felt monumentally better. I was still stiff, sure, but I managed to get both of my hands under my shoulders, and push myself upward. I got to sitting, and had to rest back against the wall, dizzy and weak, but my eyes were much clearer, still a little fuzzy, sure, but I reached up to push my glasses up my face, figuring that was the issue, but I soon realized I wasn’t wearing any glasses.

And I was filthy. My hands were caked with mud and something that looked like flakes of rust. I didn’t think that this was normal for me, but, I wasn’t entirely sure about that either. I rubbed my fingers together, and looked at the rest of me.

I was wearing an incredibly dirty shirt, an equally dirty pair of jeans that were too big, and a single dark boot, the other appeared to have been lost, not even a sock remained. I reached up and touched my head where I remembered the greatest pain, and I touched a thick clot of hair and what felt like the worst mat I’ve ever had. I checked my fingertips, and they didn’t come away with any fresh blood, so I figured that whatever had happened, it was very much over. I must have been out for days.

I propped myself up against the wall, and felt an odd tug at my throat. I reached up a bit to touch it, and realized I was wearing a collar. I twisted a little, and saw that the chain was connected to the wall.

Now, even without knowing who I was, or anything about myself, I found that outrageously odd. I gave it a curious tug, and found that it was secured to the wall pretty snugly. I decided that there’s nothing I could do about it at the moment, maybe this was normal.

“Ah, good.” The same female from my previous encounter said, her voice so loud it made me flinch. “You’re awake.” She said, apparently not noticing my reaction.

I nodded weakly. “Where am-” was all I managed, my voice faltered, and failed. I couldn’t make the words, something didn’t feel right.

She watched me, waiting for me to finish my sentence. I took a breath, it felt like it took a really long time to inflate my lungs. “Where am I?” I managed this time.

“In the very best hands.” She said, but something was wrong with her smile. It looked vicious. “We’re here to help.”

“Hel-” My voice failed again. I was getting a little frustrated. I pulled another long breath, filling my lungs like a bellows. “Help? Why do I need help?” I grated, my voice rough from disuse.

She smiled another one of those vicious smiles, and approached me. I stared at her, suddenly VERY aware of the fact she was close. “Aren’t you adorable?” She said with a chuckle, kneeling by me.

She was tall, ah, maybe that was the heels and the fact I was sitting on the floor. Her hair was a color I’m sure romance novels would call ‘strawberry blond’ and it offset her skin, not too pale, not too tanned, perfectly. She had of those bodies that you get to use expressions like ‘curves next 14 miles’. She was wearing a business suit I was irrationally worried she was going to get dirty if her pointed heels gave out and she landed on this nasty floor.

She looked me over, and I self consciously wiped my hands on my grimy shirt. She leaned in, and I slowly took another breath to ask her what she wanted, and why I needed help, and in that breath I drew in her scent.

She smelled like flowers at first, then…coffee when she breathed another laugh, her pale blue eyes watching me as she reached out with her hand, and drew a line of warmth down my jawline.

Now, one of the things I knew was that I was a teenage boy, and one of the sensations I’m familiar with is lust. But I’m sure that it had never hit me as hard as it had in that simple touch of warmth scented with flowers. I actually heard my lungs breathe in a surprised sound, and my body ache in a way I was sure I should be used to by now, but was an entirely alien feeling. It made things in my stomach turn and clench. It felt like anticipation, like something was about to happen, something important, savage, and it nearly pulled my breath away with its intensity.

She chuckled softly. “With that…” She said, standing again. Something in my mind kept me rooted there, but something else told me to go for her. Told me that I should take her in as many ways as I was able. It left me shivering, and uncomfortably and intensely aroused. I shifted back away from her, drawing my legs together, looking down to the ground.

Something was really, really wrong with me.

She watched me, I could feel her doing so, even as I refused to look at her. She made a small noise in her throat. “Interesting.” She said, amusement in her voice. I felt like my cheeks should be hot with a blush, but, they weren’t. I just felt cold, and so turned on my whole body ached.

I heard footsteps retreat, but I drew up on myself, huffing a sound of discomfort. Almost a sob. I sat and shivered for some time, normally when that kind of thing got me, it was over in seconds. This was lingering, and it wasn’t as if I was actively feeding it any thoughts either. But, finally, slowly, the feeling ebbed…and faded. I panted, sitting down, covering my face with my hands.

“Jeez…” I panted, breathing felt wrong, like dragging breaths into my body was an effort. I slid down to lay on my side, not really caring about how dirty I was. I pressed my back to the wall I was chained too. Well, the chain made a lot more sense now. What had I done? Had I hurt someone? Had that intense sensation of desire overcome me, and what had I done to slake it?

I sat there, and worried, the feeling aching behind my eyes, making my vision swim a little. Eventually, though, it won, and I think I passed out.

Time passed strangely, i was never really sure what time it was whenever I passed out and came to. I groaned a little, and began thinking I was getting a fever. My joints had begun aching, and my fingertips were tingling, the same way that a sleeping limb would. I glanced across the room to the door. The door was a cell grate. My heart sank a little. I was imprisoned. The only way that made sense is if I hurt someone. I was pondering this possibility, as I was never someone to even get into a fight in school, how could I have hurt anyone?

I listened for a little while, and as I did, I noticed how noisy it was around me. There was a lot of small sounds, cloppings, wet sounds, the exhalations of huge lungs, the occasional shriek of things I couldn’t identify. I heard the soft mumbles of human voices and the more I listened, the louder it got. It became a cacophony, driving into my skull. I gritted my teeth and pressed my hands over my ears, it must have been another one of those audio migraines. “Shut up.” I hissed, irrationally. “Shut up!” I snarled louder, only adding to the noise in the prison. “Shut up!!” I shouted.

“Shut up!” Someone else echoed. I looked up, with a person to concentrate on, the din faded a little. “You’re being fucking noisy!” the man hissed. “You’re upsetting the animals.”

I drew back little, not used to the anger i the man’s voice, or the swearing he used. I’d not been sworn at like that before.

“I’m…sorry.” I said. “It’s so loud in here.” I said, my voice meek. The man leaned back, before he checked a clipboard and sneered a little. “Dinner soon.” He called.

“Wait!” I barked. “Why am I here? What did I do?” I called after him. But he walked away. I fell back against the cell wall, frowning. I pondered quietly about what kind of food they were going to give me. I hoped it was something hot. I was still so very cold…

I watched the cell door and the strangest thing I’d ever seen in my life walked by. A man had a leash, and was tugging on something that slowly came into view. It was a huge eagle’s head, a white one, well, dirty white. It screamed loudly, not the sound of a bald eagle, but the high keening of a redtail hawk. The man pulled it, and it beat its wings, drawing back. Another man got involved, pulling on the giant thing, and drew it past my door. It’s back half was that of a tawny lion. I blinked, and rubbed my eyes, STARING at the door.

I couldn’t possibly have just seen a Gryphon…could I?

I sat back, totally in shock. Gryphons don’t exist. And that thing was HUGE! How did they do that? Was that a costume? I got up, my joints aching in protest, and walked to the end of my chain, and tried to peer down the hall a little further, but I couldn’t see anything else.

I frowned, and went to sit back near where I was chained. What kind of place was this anyway?! I watched the door until it was opened once again. The woman from before came through the door, petting on a rabbit.

——————-This is a WIP——————

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The holidays.

Holidays are hard for someone like me.

I don’t do well around religious articles. I was born and raised Christian. I slid into a more agnostic role when I was in my teenage years. When I died, I was also agnostic.

I think those beliefs backfired on me.

See, Strigorii don’t do well around holy things. The more faith is in an item, the more powerful it is towards something like me. A priest holding out a cross and a bible can take the strength from my legs, and force me back with the sheer force of his will. An athiest waving a cross as me has…next to no power, and is actually kind of funny. My OWN faith in religious symbols is also turned against me. That’s why I can’t do things like pick up crosses without burning myself.

People have asked me if things like their faith in science is enough to bring me to my knees, I have to say no. Basically, someone like me is ‘owned’ by Anusia, the goddess who created my species is a jealous goddess. The reason Faith turns me away is because she doesn’t want me converting, on threat of physical pain.

So, holidays, with religion everywhere, is actually physically painful. Then, there’s the whole family thing too…

My family isn’t around anymore. So, holidays are just kind of difficult all around.

I hope it’s happier for everyone else. Ugh, sorry for the downer of an entry. Any suggestions about what I should write about next? Anything you’re curious about?

Let me know.

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Shifting Shapes, or…Shapeshifting!

Bats.

That’s what most vampires are really known for. Turning into bats. Less so, they’re known for turning into wolves, groups of spiders, misty clouds, a haze with crimson eyes…

Okay, some of these I can do.

Each vampire of my species comes with two default forms. What those forms are are up to the individual vampire. But generally they’re a ‘flight’ form and a ‘running’ form.

My first successful shapeshift was into my ‘running’ form, which was a Wolf.

Now, the thing about vampires is that we do try to conserve mass as we shapeshift. I’m a big wolf. I’m a wolf that’s the same color as my hair, and I keep my eyes. (Which I have been told is kind of creepy.) I’m also leaner, taller, and just…bigger than a regular wolf. A vampire wolf standing beside a regular wolf doesn’t really dwarf it, but there’s a noticeable difference.

My default ‘flight’ form is a raven. A big, dorky, black bird that’s good for manipulating small tools, blending in, and, well, I walk a lot faster than a bat.

V. my asshole friend, is also a wolf, but he has a hawk form as his default flight form.

So, now I hear the favorite question.

What is it like to shapeshift?

Well, the process helps kind of explain it. Generally, the way I do it is to start with the hands. I imagine what great big paws feel like, down to how the air moving against them would make the fur feel. The thickness of the claws against the ground. And then, I work my way up, along the body, how the chest is narrow, and made for running, the snout, the big twitching ears on top of my head.

Honestly, the change happens so quickly that I don’t really have time to think about the actual ‘sensation’ of changing. It feels, a bit like leaping into a cool torrent of air, rippling down your body. Same with the Raven, but there’s the feeling of imploding.

When I need to lose mass, the theory is that I shed motes of matter. Like, dust.

It’s a theory, I really have no idea, but, ultimately, we try to maintain our mass. But we can get bigger or smaller if we really need to.

I’ve got quite the repertoire of animals to my shapeshifting portfolio.

As I’ve already mentioned, the Raven and the Wolf.

I’ve also got an Amur Leopard, a large Rat, yes, the Bat. Mist too, if you count turning into a puff of dust a ‘shape’. I’m in the works on a Spotted Hyena, a horse (Just to see if I can!) along with a more predatory bird, something with sharp claws. V. Suggests a hawk, but I think that’s because he’s one.

I can also do partial morphs, so when I go to anime conventions, I do the cat ears/tail thing. It’s kind of a big hit. Except for the confused looks when folks try to take photos of me.

I can fly, without assistance from a pair of large bat wings, but the winging it is a LOT easier and a lot less taxing on my appetite.

When I do a lot of supernatural stuff, like shapeshifting or flying, it wears me down pretty badly, and I need to replenish my energy in the same way people do. Rest, and food.

Anyway, it’s early for you, late for me, and I need some rest. Still have a lot of topics to talk about!

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Fangs for the Memories?

Alright, here’s a fun topic.

Let’s talk about my fangs.

Yes, they’re retractable. I don’t have to show them if I don’t really want to. They retract into normal looking human canine teeth. Yep, canine, eye-teeth. The third back from the middle line. If I get ridiculously hungry my lower canines will sharpen, as will my second upper incisors, but I don’t think those work like my primary fangs, I think that’s more shape-shifting than a biological issue.

In me, because I had them ripped out a bunch when I was a fledgling vampire, they don’t really work properly. In my fangs, there’s a muscle that retracts them fully, and mine are kind of weak, so, when they’re ‘relaxed’ they’re at a half extended state. I know the muscle works because I can retract them, but it doesn’t work ‘normally’ like how they’re supposed to in other Strigorii like myself.

My fangs work a lot like those little telescoping cups, but the segments are so small that fangs feel solid when you touch them. Mine also happen to be serrated at the back, as I use the tips to peirce, and the serrations to slice.

On the other side of things, my fangs extend generally fairly involuntarily. They’re filled with erectile tissue, yes, the same erectile tissue in a penis and nipples. So, when I get aroused, hungry, you pervs, get your mind out of the gutter… (I’ll get into reproduction and at attempts at reproducing when I’m more comfortable writing this!) My fangs get longer, sharper, and more sensitive.

No kidding, if you want to take a vampire out, punch him in the mouth. He’ll go down faster than if you punched him in the junk. Having had it done to me, yeah. Getting my testes crushed doesn’t compare to getting my fangs knocked around. In the world of most painful things, yeah, that’s one of them.

As for why they’re sensitive? Well, I’ve got a bit of a theory on that… Not only because they’re full of erectile tissue, but because I’ve got a bit of venom. My venom glands are at the back of my canine teeth, up in my skull, not too unlike a rattlesnake’s. It’s a neat Venom, one that can produce feelings of orgasmic euphoria, or skull shearing pain. It all depends on how it’s injected.

My fangs aren’t hollow tubes like a rattlesnakes, they’re solid, or at least full of tiny muscles and erectile tissue, so, there needs to be a way to get the venom from the gland to the length of the fang. There’s spit, sure, but my spit is, by default, an anticoagulant. Not a very powerful one, but, one enough to do the job. So, because my fangs are sensitive, and it feels really good to rub them with something…(Uh huh, okay, I’ll admit, it can be almost sexual in its intensity…Jeez..) it feels really good to run my tongue down the back, and up the front, spreading the venom all over the full length of the fang I’m attending to. Of course, drooling, I both drool anticoagulants and venom. Lovely, huh? Hey, you drool when you’re hungry, too.

I’ve also got a hyper-coagulant that’s only produced after I’m fed. It makes sure my prey doesn’t go bleeding out, and will also heal a wound on a human pretty quickly, within hours. Not that the wounds I leave are usually very big, but an arterial nick isn’t something you’d want to mess with. So, I’ve got this, so my human… Victims? Prey? Blood-buddies? Ugh, IS there a good word for it? So the people I bite can walk away from it with two bandaids and a glass of orange juice. Maybe some cookies.

Are there problems with this?

Yes, apart from them being ridiculously sensitive, they’re also difficult to grow back after they’ve been pulled out. A small finger I can regenerate in a night, my fangs? It takes up to a WEEK to get them back after they’ve been pulled or knocked out.

Also, with the venom, I’ve had people get addicted to it. The Bite Junkie is kind of pathetic, and hang out in vampire bars, hoping to be picked up. Generally, they don’t last very long, as safely, a human can only really give a pint every few weeks. And…well, self control isn’t our strong suit.

Oh, yeah…when they extend is entirely up to our stupid reptile brain. When it thinks ‘Food!’ or ‘Sex!’ or ‘Attack!’ our fangs are there, and we have very little control over that. I’m fairly fortunate that I’ve got angular lips so that I can hide even my fully extended fangs. Some vampires aren’t so lucky. Of course, some vampires also have fixed fangs, or…no fangs at all. I can’t imagine that not having fangs would be extremely annoying.

I’m looking at you, Twilight.

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Alright, sorry about that… Let’s talk about Bloodlust.

Talking about food makes me Hungry. I’ve got a nice patch of woods just down the street from my apartment, so I’m able to slink off into the woods and pick myself out a bunny, or a deer. I try to avoid stray dogs and cats, I feel bad about killing them, if I make a mistake.

Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes, Hunger.

Hunger hurts…a lot. Like I mentioned before, I can semi-comfortably go a day without feeding. The longer it goes, the bitchier I get. I’m in pain, I don’t want to be friendly, I want to eat you, because that will stop the pain.

At about two days, I wake up hungry, bitchy, in pain, and around mid evening, that’s when the cramping starts. It feels like my stomach’s trying to turn its self inside out. I’ve been told that it’s because in a vampire, the stomach’s just sort of a storage place for blood, and when the veins start to empty, the stomach squeezes and pushes a bit more along through a one way valve. The problem is.. if I don’t have anything IN my stomach, there’s nothing to push along, and my stomach just sort of twists up, cramping. The good thing is that it doesn’t last very long in the beginning, but the longer it goes, it can be totally incapacitating. Like, when my belly’s cramping, I can’t even stand up. I just have to sit and wait for it to pass. But, at two days, I’m not ready to break and start feeding off of the huddled masses. Spilled blood though is enough to start a predatory reaction in me.

See, hunger’s not just physical, but mental too. The pain wears down my defenses against the more savage predator that seems to live in the back of my mind. Normally, the desire to hunt, the desire to kill, is something I keep deeply buried. I, as a being capable of compassion and understanding, don’t want to kill things. But there’s always that part of me that wants to tear into the nearest warm creature and bathe in it’s blood.

Ugh, even thinking of it both disgusts me, and excites me in ways that disturb me.

So, two days, the vampire’s close to the surface, the barest scent of blood makes my fangs ache. Oh, yeah, I’ve not mentioned that I have retractable fangs yet, have I? Well, I do. I can always tell when they’re extended (Outside of the fact that my teeth are twice as long as normal!) is that they ache a bit. They’re really sensitive to touch too. One of the easiest ways to check to see if your boyfriend or girlfriend is a vampire is to give them a nice kiss, and slide your tongue along the back of their canine teeth. If they try to nibble, or you notice that they’re longer and sharper than you’re used to, congratulations, you’re probably dating a vampire.

Wow, fang-tangent.

Anyway, two days. I’m basically a huge prick to anyone close to me, and am twitchy, with way too much energy, stomach cramps, and feeling sick. I can basically still function, but…imagine the worst stereotype of PMS out there. Yeah, that’s me after two days without tasting blood. Except, I might actually kill you.

Three days is as long as I can go and still remain rational around spilled blood. I can’t safely be around people, as I don’t have the ability to block out the sound of their minds like I normally do, instead, I’m trying to function AND keep my fangs out of the nearest human being. Everything is more intense. Sights, sounds, light… However, if a large quantity of blood is spilled…I will lose it.

Speaking of losing it. I pretty much black out. When my control snaps entirely, I’m ‘here’ as in I can see some of what’s going on…most of the time, but my body does what it wants. It’s like it’s being controlled by the vampire, a creature of base instincts and lusts. I don’t like losing control. In vampire lingo, we call that loss of control a Frenzy. If someone falls to a Frenzy, it means that we totally flip the fuck out, and start merrily slaying or stealing whatever we may want. A Frenzied vampire is one of no morals.

After four days, the pain is so bad that…I’m not even a rational creature anymore. I’m just a creature, who will do anything, and hurt anyone for the blood I need.

After that, well, it’s about a week, and I’ll stop moving entirely and go into some kind of hibernation. I’ll sleep and sleep and sleep until something gets close enough for me to grab. Then there’s a promise I will kill whatever I get my claws on.

So, that’s Hunger. And, how long I can go without eating. Kind of crazy, huh? I mean, I can go on without eating…as far as I know forever. But to remain the happy perky guy that I am, I need just a pint a day. That’s not too bad, huh? So much for being monsters.

We’ll see what I feel like talking about tomorrow.

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First off, Who Am I?

My name is W.

Why am I being secretive about my name? Well, I’m sort of a wanted man.

I’ve been a vampire for…a little more than ten years. I was killed on July 25th, 1998, and I got up three days later, after crawling out of my own grave.

I’m an Anusian Strigorii. That’s to say, I’m an Old World Pagan vampire. At least, that’s the classification I’m given by the Government. I don’t tell them I’m a Strigorii, because, well, the Anusian Strigorii is one of the more violent and dangerous types of vampire, and I don’t want that hanging over my head, so on my ID card it just reads ‘Species: Unknown’.

Speaking of Species, I guess I should talk a little bit about that. You see, not all vampires are the same. Some can walk in daylight, others don’t have fangs, some have fangs that don’t retract, some are affected by holy items, others can breed with humans, some have horrific monstrous forms, others are made more beautiful by the transformation.

Oftentimes, a breed or species of vampire is named after the vampires that they most represent. There’s Anusian Strigorii, such as myself, Les Blanche Dames, and the Baobhan sith, and the most recent, vampires who’s mostly named for who is famous for writing abut them, such as the Ricean vampires, and what I call Smyers ‘pires. Hardly vampires at all, that lot.

So, what about me?

I’m an Anusian Strigorii. That means that my bloodline, species, breed, whatever, were created by a Goddess called Anusia. She’s an old Romany Goddess, and there’s a world creation myth to go along with her. I’ll tell that some other time, right now, we’re talkin’ about me.

Every Strigorii has their own ‘animal’ and mine is the wolf. It’s a fairly common one. Strigorii tend to form ‘packs’ out of other Strigorii that are closely related to them. Not by family lines, but by blood lines. For example, my Sire sired Childe A, and Childe A sired Childe B, I’d be related to Childe B. Of course, I’d be kind of bitchy towards Childe B because their blood wouldn’t be scented as closely to mine as, say, my Sire and Childe A’s. Strigorii do a lot through scent, such as marking our territory, our prey, and our lovers. I actually know a Childe C (That’s…someone my Sire’s Childe’s Childe’s Childe sired) and we hardly get along at all.

But partially, we don’t get along because he’s an ass. I’ll refer to him as asshole, or… V. Because that’s the first letter of his name.

What about blood?

Okay, to be honest, I’m not the best vampire in the world. I tend to feed on animals, and get my rampant desire to hunt out by attacking deer, rabbits, and generally terrorizing the local wildlife.

But, my biggest issue is that I DO need human blood. I’m the WORST at seducing humans, or outright attacking them. I’m…well, I guess the best term in the world for me is a reluctant vampire. I suck at this, no pun intended. Typically, I try to buy my blood, but blood is really expensive, often upwards of $200 a pint. Animal blood will only hold me over so long before I start craving human. And let me tell you, until you’ve experienced a vampire’s bloodlust, you don’t know what a craving is.

Hunger, not in the human way, but the vampire way, capital H, hurts. A lot. In humans, you might get some pangs in your stomach, feel weak and a little shaky. If you let it go your stomach might churn and growl, and you’ll get depressed and disoriented. If you let it go from there you probably get stomach cramps, and eventually die. Sucks, yeah, but…there’s the ropes.

In a Strigorii, I can almost always feel it. Typically, I need to eat every night. I don’t need much, just a pint of blood. When I wake up in the morning it’s with the whisper of pain in my fingertips and toes, a bit of an ache deep in my veins. I can usually ignore that, but, I don’t like to, because I know that the pain, a burning sensation, will just get worse. It feels, almost like having the flu, the way it affects the way you move and your joints.

Typically, I can still function at a day without blood. I can carry on the charade that I’m human pretty easily. I can go to work, smile, and provide excellent customer service… But, I’ve got a high pain tolerance.

More later…I’m hungry.

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Hello world!

I kind of wanted a place to share what I know about the Anusian Strigorii.

I’ve got a wealth of information, because of certain…circumstances.

Let me move in here, and then I’ll tell you all about it, at great personal risk!

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