VtM: First Week of Darkness

Day 1: Fangs Out

I was nervous after just telling them… all of it. About my nature, what I am and who I have become. Thought it might be easy considering I had conversations like this… Just coming out, being true and honest to who I am. But this? I can’t feel my heartbeat, I’m cold to the touch and there is this, the thing inside me. I am risking so much by telling them, I am breaking a big rule by saying this… I just couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“So you are a vampire?” he asks.

I nod, I clench my fists tight as I look to the floor.

The anxiety and stress just build in me.

I had them feel my pulse and my heart. They felt my skin, can see my eyes not blinking or my chest rising from breathing. It feels wrong and unnatural doing so, but also the sickening relief of just not worrying about all this. I kept it in, I tried and wished it was easy, but it is not. I couldn't look in fear of how he saw me.

A monster?

A freak?

A Beast?

I shake in fear, waiting for something. Just the silence itself was unbearable. I shouldn’t have said anything, I shouldn’t have told him, I should have just shut the-

I feel his hand on mine.

I look up and see his eyes, those same eyes that saw the real me. Those same eyes were proud of me. Those same eyes understood me. Those same eyes… that loves me.

“Honey… I’m still here.”

And he is…

“Why aren’t you scared of me?”

“You aren’t scary, what you are is scared.”

He understands. Oh thank God, he understands. My body just trembles in relief, I can’t help but laugh and smile, then I see it. His eyes go wide as he looks into my mouth. I cover my mouth fast. Was it the relief that it came out? I take my tongue and feel them. My fangs… I look at him in horror. He wasn’t supposed to see my fangs out. I try to move away, but he stops by grabbing my arms.

His grip was firm, but not tight. Gentle.

He looks at me again, now just curious but careful.

“Can I see them, please?”

I always felt subconscious about my teeth. Especially when I had my braces, how ugly they looked. I hated my smiles. Hated them, but he loves them. Always saying dumb puns to get me to laugh and smile widely for pictures.

He takes my hands and pulls them away from my mouth. I open my mouth a little, his hands gently getting me to go wider. I practically hold my breath as he looks at my mouth, my fangs. Then he frowns at me.

“Just because you are part of the undead, doesn’t mean you stop flossing.”

And I just snort, this damn dork and his dentist jokes.

I laugh and laugh, he laughs with me. To the point there are tears, I wipe them away and it's… red. Blood. Then it just hits. I laugh and laugh till I am just sobbing uncontrollably.

“Oh, baby…” he pulls me in and comforts me.

“It’s okay…” he holds me as tight as can be.

The truth is out now, fangs and all.

And he still loves me.

Day 2: Sweet Embrace

I looked out to the dark endless waters of my home.

It is nostalgic, feeling the cool breeze and hearing the soothing sounds of the waves crashing at the shores. The smells and taste of the salty air hit my tongue and fill my lungs, as I take a deep breath of it. I remember the times where such breaths were harder once. I can now stand with ease, no longer feeling tired. The softness of the sand under my feet, able to hold the world without worrying about how to act carefully around it. The feeling of no more worrying about my own weak heart that once strived to survive every day to live. The silence of it in my chest… is just… strangely a joy.

And now a new sensation, that has opened my mind, is the shadows themselves. It always felt tangible to me, as a sick child bound in cold dark rooms. The darkness is ever-present in my life. Always this connection to me, till that very night.

That I’ve passed the trials of the world, that I was a true survivor. That I will be awarded for all my efforts. Crystalised for eternity in this moment of my good health. I graciously accepted their gift.

I remember.

The cold comforting acceptance of a quiet death. Feeling the shadows coil and their arms around me. Then reborn back from the void itself. As my journey began to become, unrestrained by my mortal coil.

Brought into a court of shadows amongst new friends of the night.

As I never looked back, from that dark sweet embrace.

Day 3: Where the Undead Gather

They gather under street lights. Huddling in dark alleys. Packed tightly in cars or the small apartments of our peers. Perhaps outside dive bars for a smoke break or in the lonely corner of a strip club.

They gather together to talk of news, discuss plans, aims for the night or simply talk about surviving their nights. This is where they gather for those at the bottom of it all, in the muck and grime of the city. The lowliest of Kindred in the city.

But for those much higher?

They reside in luxurious apartments, on the top floors in high-rise buildings or areas with designer mansions in the most upscale of neighbourhoods. They meet up in lounge rooms of these homes, at opulent bars, fancy boardrooms or in grand places of history and class to discuss matters that pique their interests.

Depending on which of the great sects they serve, they gather in certain places.

In the great ballrooms and halls of Elysium, dressed in our finest, presenting ourselves as civilised while our eyes, ears and tongues are honed to strike sharply at those who aim to speak ill will of others.

Others would not care for such pompous presentations. Heading to the loudest of nightclubs or raves. To feel free in the late hours and socialise with those of the same spirit. Both with more gentle and humane souls, who dream for better nights. While others roar with passion, speaking with such fever and excitement for justice and equity in the nights to follow.

Yet there are those away from the politics, of the rabble and the polite society. In more personal places, reminiscing of lives before or nostalgic of the things they had. Whether at graveyards, long gone neighbourhoods, derelict childhood homes or even the simplest of places like forest parks and other places where mortality finds life.

Every night, every month, every year…

No matter the weather or season…

Tonight whether in our impressive metropolis or humble town…

It is where the undead gather.

Day 4: Elysium Fashion

Tonight’s Elysium in Manhattan…

Everyone dresses up in designer outfits of all kinds. Worth more than I would feel just inadequate wearing. Before in my mortal days, my very best was a child’s formal Sunday wear for Church. It felt… weird wearing anything fancy of the sorts, the moment I was brought truly into the Camarilla.

Just the basics, big hoodies, shirts, jeans, boots, trainers, hats, scarves and all that. Didn’t care for a bit how it matched if it was clean, or in sheer disrepair… It didn’t matter anymore. I was what those above me smugly called a ‘Rat’, a ‘Leper’ or at worst a ‘Horror’.

Eroding whatever sense of self-confidence I had.

My sire didn't help in that front either, she accepted who she was.

Yet there was a sense of pride to it, for her. She enjoyed what she was and had no care for it. Meeting those who hired us in dark alleys or behind grimy bars and nightclubs. I became what they saw in me, just a killer in the muck of it all.

Yet… the one thing that I kept in good care of was my hair. I just showered twice a night from the beginning of the night to the end of the night. The one part of me that I took care of, the only thing I knew that kept me calm.

The one thing that I loved about myself. Till I began hearing a voice, musical and dulcet. Pulling me slowly out of that… toxic mindset.

The journey to get where I am, that eventually, I began to just dress nicer. Cleaner clothes and more presentable, I was still a killer for the Kindred of the city, but I found other ways to get what’s needed to be done.

Music was a factor for it, better clothes needed cash. I managed to make a decent guitar and played on the streets. Charity shops, vintage stores and later as my talents for disguises improved into proper clothing stores.

At one point, I was given a gig to just provide music and then the next, my sire tells me I am performing at Elysium. Was even sent out to a tailor! Gave me three outfits and I couldn’t believe it…

The finest things I ever had in my life, but it still felt wrong to wear such fashions…

They were even gracious to give me a mask cover for my face from the nose down. Didn’t want to horrify the people there. Later then, as I performed my songs, focused on those strings, it felt different up there in those clothes and my guitar.

I was noticed. Seen and… regarded as someone more.

Of the few people in that room, at that time…

She saw me.

And everything became brighter and colourful from then on.

From that moment on, the journey began.

I grew bolder.

Confident in my actions.

My personality came to life.

I learned who I am away from my traumas.

I discovered what I wanted to be.

Most importantly what I was worth in this city.

True, I struggled to ever feel comfortable with my scarred body. Hiding under masks or disguises, hoods, scarves and caps. I wanted to be what I was, without this curse. But I would never have been me now if I continued like this.

Hiding, in the dark and filth.

I broke out of it, absolutely secure of myself, that not even the Beast itself could stop me.

Now, I am dressed in my very best for tonight.

Who would have thought, huh?

A lowly Horror like me, dressed in the high fashions of Elysium.

Day 5: The Very First Bite

I sat on the bed, clutching at the soft fabric tightly in my hands.

Waiting.

It’s a private little room, here in the club. For patrons that wanted a secure avenue of feeding these nights.

My sire has kept me fed with her blood, keeping me stable till I learned how to… feed on my own. She taught me the many avenues of feeding for people like us. Knowing I was a boxer she thought a more aggressive approach of feeding on people would help, but… I couldn’t.

I didn’t want to hurt or scare anyone to give themselves to me. I promised I would never commit to becoming like that ever in my life. I am not a brute, I am not a monster.

I was a terrible liar too and not exactly manipulative enough to get my way with others. And I am certainly not the smartest around. Just a guard for the club, at least I am aware and not slow on the draw. I know she keeps me out of most things… I’m nobody special.

She says that I at least am blessed with my good looks, always gets me flustered by the mention of it. Told me that I could put them to good use, as she says, ‘Getting a snack’. I chuckle remembering that I completely misinterpreted that and by the realisation of what I meant I was just utterly embarrassed.

Didn’t even have the stomach to eat from animals or a bag of blood.

I didn’t want to hurt anyone, I am far too awkward to manipulate anyone to give me what I need. And I just don’t know how to seduce anyone with great competence. I wanted to make sure that if I ever fed on someone, it was through consent, that they were okay and safe to give themselves like that.

The moment she understood what I meant, she got very serious about this ‘diet’ I was going to be on.

And now I am here.

Waiting for this ‘blood doll’ to enter as my sire said.

I can feel the hunger gnaw in the pit of my gut. The build-up of it, just growing inside of me.

Eventually a knock at the door, I snap out of my thoughts.

“Come in…”

They came in, dressed in shorts, a tank-top and a leather jacket. Very pretty too, which got my cheeks a little warm.

I was about to stand up to find somewhere for them to sit, but they smiled and sat down next to me.

“I was told this was your first time, huh?”

I nod, a bit shy about it.

“Feeding right?”

“Yeah, just feeding, I know about… like… well…”

I was tripping over my words when I turned to them and felt my heart race a bit.

They giggled and patted my arm.

“It’s alright… don’t you worry sweetie. My name is Angel.”

“Hi, Angel, I’m Alejandro…”

“Well, Alejandro… I can tell that it's a lot. You don’t want to hurt anybody as you do this. Or feel like you are taking advantage of them,” getting right to the point of it.

I nod in agreement with it.

“You don’t want to bully anyone, you want to make sure they are safe and that they have given consent to it.”

“Yes, and I understand that it is… dangerous to do so. To tell that to anyone.”

“That’s why you need to make sure to establish a sense of trust with the person. To be a comfortable presence and a calm front, when you do so. Along with a clear intention that you don’t mean to harm them, understood?” They say, turning their full attention to me.

“Angel,” I sat up a bit straighter, feeling a bit confident now.

“Same thing like taking any person home to cuddle, to talk, to kiss or do more… You need trust to do what is needed.” They wink at me with a grin.

I get flustered and give a warm smile.

They return the smile.

Taking off their jacket, they offer their wrist to me.

“We’ll start small… from the wrist. Sometimes it won’t always be like that, and to keep your secret you’ll need to bite in places a bit elsewhere and learn how to cover your tracks.”

I look to the wrist.

I can feel that thing inside wanting to lurch forward and bite down on it. But I hold myself back and gently take her wrist. Sure it’s as simple as biting down, but how?

Would it hurt them?

Do I bite at the vein?

Do I bite fast or pierce slow?

Then I feel a hand on my cheek, Angel turn’s my face to them.

“Oh, sweetie… It won’t hurt I promise, the Kiss, the bite is a euphoric experience.”

I feel a bit of relief at hearing that, that it won’t hurt them.

“Just bite here with your fangs. the blood will come through and drink your fill. Once you finish, just lick the wound and the vampire’s saliva will heal it.” Angel continued with clarity, seeing the worry and understanding what it means to feed.

I raise my eyebrows at the part to lick the wound, unaware that’s how we do it.

“Or you can give me a hickey, whichever works.” They wink and laugh.

I get red in the cheeks, but I laugh too.

“Ready?” They put a hand at the back of my head,

I nod.

I bring my fangs out, pull her wrist closer to my lips.

And I bite.

I feel the shiver and hear a stifled moan.

It’s a good feeling, I repeat. They aren’t hurting.

Then the blood came through, the moment it hit my tongue and started to drink. It was sheer bliss.

I can understand why they call it the Kiss.

I begin to drink.

I can feel it, the thing inside me wanting to take big greedy gulps from it.

It felt so good…

The richness, the flavour and simply the taste of them.

To take everything, but I won’t.

I hold on to my sense of will and push through it.

That hunger in me was fading. Before it felt like I was starving, now it pulls away to that bearable feel of a low craving. My sire told me to be truly full, to feel nothing, a person needed to die.

I will never let that happen. Never.

I finish my fill of what I need and lick the wound.

I pull their wrist away, and I take a deep shaky breath.

Angel rubs my back in support and smiles.

“Well done, Alejandro. We got through your first bite, practically your first Kiss!”

Angel lightens the mood, laughing at their joke, I join too, feeling comfortable with them. After that, they taught me a bit more, how to be presentable and the few key qualities to be as she describes a ‘consensual feeder’. I ask if it's normal to feed like this, they just smile and tell me to meet up for coffee to continue our lessons.

They put on their jacket, give a kiss goodbye and head away.

I sat on that bed, just meditating on what happened.

I put a few fingers to my lips.

My very first bite, sure…

But not my first kiss.

Day 6: Undead Love

Love.

Tonight in our city, love comes in many forms.

One would expect for us the undead, immortal till fate has orchestrated our or till we had enough of it. Have better things than to seek out this state of being. What is it that drags us into this state? Why do we continuously keep going after it over and over? We put all this time and effort, far more than most of our nightly schemes in this city from this high up in the court to the lowly fledgling.

Even if so… that we commit ourselves utterly to it, why do we put the effort into something that makes us so vulnerable, so fragile and open to it?

The answer isn’t that complex, but painfully simple…

It is to feel human, to feel alive and feel whole in ourselves.

This feeling has stood strong against the stranglehold of the aeons and held against equal footing with the Beast in us all. It is what helps hold tight to our souls against the claws of our curses, selfishly branding our very love for them. It hurts for creatures of the night like us, for we are hungry and egotistical, for all that we want and love can be so bountiful or scarce.

For we as immortals, how we love varies between each Kindred. And most especially now, in these modern nights, we love in more than one way. As we all fall in love with unique and different people.

There is the parent and the child, caring, supportive and protective. Whether it be as sire and child or a Kindred with a mortal connection. The love of one’s offspring is profound.

The siblings, always at each other, each competing, but there is no betrayal amongst themselves. For if one stumbles the other is always there to pick them up.

Our friends, a common one amongst us, those similar or yet opposite, whether it be of cold flesh or warm skin. This love stands strong together, rivalling that of love between those of the last two.

Our community, our people, and our home are loves that keep us rooted to where we are. It is our origin, our memories of these concepts and things that keep us still. That has us getting to stay and be obligated to where we belong.

There is the rare love of loving ourselves. Not the narcissistic kind, believing we are the very best, but the love that we acknowledge ourselves as a whole. Every flaw, the scars and all our worst parts, beyond our best-defined qualities. For before we can love another so completely, we must love ourselves as much as we should love those alongside us. To know and love that are worthy through these nights.

Now for the most obvious kind of love, a love that we are all utterly familiar with. A love that is so known and yet so strange to us. We can be flirtatious and playful, broken and traumatised, quiet and gentle, loving and affectionate, lustful and needing.

Lost in their dazzling eyes. The taste of their lips. The softness of their bodies as we hold them close. The smell of them clings to their clothes. And all the very more as our carnal desires come into action with them, bringing to fruition this need deep within us. Yet even as we are undead, though we fake it, at least for most of us, there are a few who actually can. We do this whole song and dance, to feel human.

We commit to it, time after time. No matter clan, no matter sect, no matter how much we lost ourselves to our very Beast. To which that makes our empty still hearts, feel warm and drum with rhythm From the dazzling Harpy to the newborn vampire birthed in a dark alley.

This is our love, an Undead’s love.

Day 7: Hideout

We all have a place we call home in this city.

There are a few that just prefer to call their city for what it provides is their roof and four walls. While some of us here are a little more sensible than that to live so openly. We have places of refuge where we lay our heads down to rest.

From dingy studio apartments of a local Fledgling getting by to luxury estates of those Elders residing in our home. These places all vary between Kindred to Kindred. You would think a Tremere would have a place surrounded by books and a Nosferatu making a nice dry spot in the sewers of their home. We are more than just what is immediately imagined of us to be. But one can tell a lot about where they lay their head for the day.

Even more so, when you add the Clan to the mix of things.

From a nostalgic childhood home in disrepair.

That high-end suite of minimalist design with a view of the city below.

A cosy cabin, suited up with the highest of modern technology.

Or the proud owner of many identical apartments.

The havens to which we are the proud owners that keep us safe. Whether it is just a place of residence. A comforting home to relax and relieve the stress of the nights. Perhaps a fortified hide-out, deep in the bowels of one’s fair city. Sometimes we live to the stereotype the world sees ourselves with great dark looming castles like those of old pulpy horror films.

Some of these places are strange with rumours of hauntings, of ghosts attached to these places or any other peculiar thing connected to them. Some however you just know feel wrong…

We may be monstrous undead, but some like to reflect that part of their nature on their very homes. Blood spatters across the walls, insane scribblings scratched on the walls to well things that are left unimagined if you wish to still retain your sanity.

All these places are our homes, our refuge and hideouts from the greater world. Always make sure to knock, to be invited in, as this is the tradition for guests. We intend for those to feel welcome, but be careful though. A home is very much the extension of its owner, watch where you step in.

Day 8: This Clan of Mine

I am a Brujah…

As I was embraced into this Clan, brought into their fold and welcomed into the ranks of the ‘Rabble’ as they call it. Defined as the first revolters, the first to truly break out from the abusive hold of supposed old masters from before. Seeking out to eliminate all the injustices to which that plague our world, leading the uprisings for a better future.

That’s what is commonly said about us. The young rebels fighting the noble cause, angry at the corruption of the world around us tonight. It is what is expected of us, the main drivers and leaders of the Anarch Movement. Raging against the machinations of the Elders in the Camarilla. But all we do is be enraged, full of hatred and malice against anything that will get in our way, in the name of a cause or for the revolution.

It is all we do, just fight and beat down against any that disagree with us. That is our blood we will lash out at anyone for any reason that pisses us off. That’s what they think of us, by the sheer mention of our clan’s name, a bunch of revolutionaries itchy for a fight.

To be honest about it… I hate it. This culture will forever define us all as this malicious rebel waiting to use force at any given chance. It is what has defined the youngest generations of our Clan for most of the modern nights. There are those even claiming that we were more than just petty squabbling rebels with bloody fists and intimidating auras. We were once a group as they claimed as ‘Philosopher Kings’, ‘Prometheans’ or now as they call themselves ‘Hellenes’. Proclaiming of older ways to act as critical thinkers, positive agents of change and passionate fighters who seek to tame their raging blood.

Those folks are few in between amongst the young, but the oldest of us are stuck in ways that aim to bring back outdated ideals tonight. So what does that make me?

Am I a furious rebel who constantly seeks an authority to topple down?

Am I an enlightened scholar who seeks to revitalise an old dead dream?

Truthfully I am neither of these extremes.

Embraced out of mercy by my sire, just bleeding out on the street outside my sire’s club. And to be fair, I kind of expected this was how my end would be. She says it would be a waste of a good worker like me, but she’s holding back the truth of why.

I’m certainly no rebel, I immediately professed my guilt and felt immediate shame when I snuck out. Bad at peer pressure, when my best friend told me to chug a beer. I am no educated academic, the school was a tough time at the orphanage, I passed what I needed to pass. The highest grade was a ‘B’. I’m passionate about poetry and those I care about, far more than any supposed cause that would be sold to me. Each of them claims to be something bigger than themselves, icons of a cause. Me? I’m a bouncer to a club in the ‘Red-Light’ district of my city, I am nobody special, just a humble guard caring for his sick mother. It’s kind of disappointing to those who look at me when I announce I’m a Brujah.

Yet the one thing that does tie me to this clan, is something I would never be proud of. Something I try to work against, tirelessly every night. The doctors said I’ve got a temper, a nasty violent one, even before I was a vampire. A fury that blocks me out from my own body, a fury that causes me to blackout from those same experiences. Now amplified to the extreme with this… curse inside me, boiling and burning me inside. I went into dark social circles, amongst people who want me to use my strength for whatever they wish, to fight endlessly for them in bare-knuckle brawls. Acting as their big cat on a chain, ready to unleash out at their beck and call.

I got out of that world, saving me from a place that would do me no kindness. I had people who taught me to do and be better, my adoptive mother, my trainer and… someone just close to my heart. They have kept and ensured for me to go on better roads than the last. Even tonight, for the underdog that I am, I hold on to it tightly, to still be human, to never fall in being monstrous. Ensuring I can help and support others, take care of those I care about, and just simply be a good man.

Perhaps… this is what my blood stands up for in these endless nights.

To be human, to rebel against the monstrous nature inside me.

For that, I am proud to be this Clan of mine, a Brujah.