Genre: Drama/ Adventure
Title: Two Toreador and a Gangrel on a Road Trip
Author: silverfurr_lynx (me)
Summary: A flash back telling of Kaylin's adventure in the World of Darkness to British Columbia with two people; one who was a friend, the other whom was an aquaintance...and what they find when they get there.
Set in White Wolf's Vampire: The masquerade genre.
I remember the "Road Trip" Greame, Annie and myself took to Victoria, British Columbia about two years ago or so...maybe longer. My memory gets hazy on dates as I get older.
I think we'd gone because Greame had some information on someone/ something regarding his family. Not sure if he asked me to come along because he vauled my moral support, my elite gun-fighting skills or if I invited myself along (I have the habit of doing that), but either way they all came in pretty damn handy. I think it was Julian Mitchel, then Seneschal of the city, that allowed us to book the flight to Victoria on his private jet (I remember thinking how hard it was going to be to dive-bomb the cows) and Greame seemed pretty nervous. Annie, bless her heart, tried to provide some 'entertainment' for him. See, Annie was a stripper, and a damn good one at that if a Toreador thought to Embrace her for it. Silly thing was, Greame's more of a prude than I am, so he spent most of the flight trying to get Annie of his lap while I was busy laughing at him. He's a casual flirt, but when everything gets down to it..getting naked is not his thing. So at least the flight out there wasn't boring. Annie also tried to entertain us by expressing her cultured opinion on the gratuitous use of the word 'fuck' and how great the word was.
For some reason, we got diverted from Victoria International Airport, so the jet was forced to land in a small airport about an hour or so outside the Victoria suburbs. Greame wasn't at all impressed by this, and we had to locate ourselves a motel for the day when we landed. Lucky for us, about half hour outside the suburbs where we were going, there was a little 'Mom and Pop' rest stop. Greame, being the gentleman that he is, allowed Annie to sleep in the single bed in the room while he folded himself in some bizzare yoga position on the love-seat. He still to this day claims he slept comfortably. I, on the other hand, took to scouting the area and making sure that we weren't going to get chewed on by anything untoward. Problem with B.C., while it's an absolutely gorgeous province with loads of mountians and large redwood trees, is that not only is it infested with Lupines, it's also infested with Sabbat. I think that's why I had invited myself along with Greame and Annie, was because I was paranoid as all shit for their safety and I didn't want them comming back to us in Winnipeg after having been the guests of honour at a shovel party. Getting off track here...
So Annie slept in the bed, Greame on the Loveseat...and I pulled up a patch of dirt. The next night when we were all up and awake, having fed from some of the local colour, and gotten ourselves all bombed up (OK, we got -me- all bombed up, Greame and Annie refused to even look at a gun.) we secured some transportation to an area in the 'burds that Greame insised we needed to get too quickly. He let me drive thank goodness, because I am sure with his driving skill we would have gotten there in two hours when the drive should only take 20 minutes...and we won't even discuss what Annie was doing on the SUV ride out there.
Greame gave me the address that we were going to, and I managed to find the place on a road map stashed in the rental car. As soon as we pulled in, I wasn't too comfortable with what I saw. It was like driving into a scene from a post apocalypse movie. Garbage fires, homeless people (despite the number of houses on the street), thugs and whores galore and trash everywhere. It was like rolling into the Squib area of town in Los Angeles. People were also giving us the eye as well, and damn rights they should've been. Greame had Annie on look out, making sure that there were no kindred in sight as we stopped at a make-shift road block that had been set up ages ago. Basically a concrete divider, some barbed wire and wooden sticks was all it was, but I didn't want to take the chance of trashing the car in an attempt to blow past it. In my experience, the math just doesn't add up on shit like that. No sooner that we had stopped the car, mortals started advancing on the SUV, looking at it and us like we were about to become Tuesday's lunch. I think I've stated before in previous enteries of mine that I really don't do well with negotiations, so when all three of us got out of the car, I made damn sure to pull the shotgun out after me, not like it stopped them from advancing towards the car.
Greame took control at that point, because he knew damn well my hatred for anything that was Sabbat connected. He managed to convince them that engaging in a fight with us wasn't a good idea, and even though Annie tried her best to look tough and follow up his words with a "Yeah...fucker.", I think it was the action of a fairly stoic looking me pumping the shotgun once to load a round into the chamber and taking the gun off safe that lent creedence to his words. They left sure enough, but not before saying that they'd be back in typical gang fashion. Once we were clear, we hauled ass to the house the Greame had once lived in. I figured he owned it because he had the keys for it and was able to unlock the door with them. It would have been a great house, if it wasn't for the area it was in. It was definately Greame's type of place. While the furniature had long been cleared out, the faded paisely wallpaper in the main foyer with the oak trimming definately spoke of his uncanny sense of style. The one thing I noticed was that the place was clean, and remarked my observations to Greame about this. He had shrugged, saying that he did clean the place before he left about six or so monthes ago, to which I nodded slowly.
"Where's the dust then?" I remember asking, and I watched him as he took his finger and ran it against the edge of to crown moulding in the front hall with a frown, rubbing his fingers together as a frown had creased on his feaures. There was a staircase to the right that led up to the second floor, which Greame explained contained the bedroom, guestroom and bathroom, and a door to the left which he said was the living room. Those sliding type of den doors that come together in the middle by pulling the two ends together. I was a little leery about not being able to see beyond the wood that was in there, so I waved Greame off so I could open the door. I can take a fair ammount of shit and abuse, and better for me to get hit with a blast of something than he or Annie. I passed the shotgun off to him and pulled out my 9mm, and readied myself to go in. Sliding the door open and standing aside quickly enough to not get hit by anything, it was a good ten seconds before I realised that there was no one in the room, before I peered around the corner...
and my jaw dropped...
I think Greame had caught the expression on my face as he pulled back the other sliding door to see what the hell I was gawking at, and I swear out of the corner of my eye I could see him pale slowly and a single blood tear form at the corner of his eye and trickle down his cheek. The living room was spacious even if there was a couch on the far side of the wall and the curtians were drawn closed on the bay window. It was also covered in fairly graphic photos that would have made even the most hardened cop loose his lunch. I faintly remember hearing Annie gasp and clutch her hands to her mouth before she bolted up the stairs to the second floor to vomit. Someone that Greame had eventually identified to me as his mortal persona was in those pictures, his body displayed in several stages of his slow and brutal torture before his death. It was a little disconcerting to see someone who looked almost exactly like Greame played out horrifically in a macabre imitation of photographic art, either stapled to the walls, thumbtacked, taped or pinned. Had I a Crime scene kit, I might have been able to pull a thumb-print and run it against the known database, but in the haste to leave Winnipeg I hadn't thought about it. Greame had to turn away and go check on Annie upstairs as I nodded that I'd keep looking. In that instant I had felt so sorry for Greame, if only because I knew exactly what he was going through. I don't think I ever told him, but his discovery of his mortal contact in this state was almost the exact same way that I had discovered the mutillated bodies of my family when I came home from France in 1945. It looked to me like someone had taken feindish delight in causing so much anguish, and knew full well how much the twisted visage of the man he killed would affect Greame. Either way, my attentions were disrupted when I caught the sound of movement from the kitchen.
Perhaps I was a bit hasty in my movements and had completely thrown caution to the wind at that point, because I practically bulled my way through the livingroom to the door on the other side that led into the kicthen with my gun poised and ready to pop off a few rounds. Itchy trigger finger? Yeah, damn rights I do, espcially when in regards to the Sabbat, and in my mind I had no doubt that this was the work of the Sabbat here. Someone from that sect had a real beef with Greame, and it showed. I found nothing in the kicthen save for a few dirty dishes and another door leading downstairs to the basement where the laundry facilities were kept. It was also locked from the inside with one of those flimsy chain locks, something that I easily kicked my way past as my ears caught the sound of movement in the basement. I hauled ass, only to find a pair of feet crawling out the small window in the basement.
"GREAME!!" I screeched out, bolting up the basement stairs three at a time to shoulder check the kitchen porch door off it's hinges, catching the sight of a fast moving individual...too fast! There was no thought in my mind at this point, and Greame gave me supremo shit for this when we got back to Winnipeg, but I imemdiately lept off the porch and started running in persuit of the trespasser. It was obvious to me that he was Kindred, because he kept getting ahead of me despite that I can run pretty damn fast. I'd get within near arms reach of him and he'd get a sudden boost of speed to get out of my gasp. I still ask myself to this day why the fuck I still play by the Camarilla's rules when dealing with the Sabbat, because they sure as fuck ignore it. So I did the only thing I could do; stopped, took aim and fired off a round. I know I hit the bastard square in the back...a hit that normally drops mortals like a newborn baby giraffe, but the numb nut kept running. I shot him a total of four times before he finally fell to the ground. I suppose I was lucky the area was as slummy as it was that no one took notice of gunshots being fired in the street. Eventually I grabbed the miserable shit by the back of his neck with my claws and hauled him back to the house...about a block and a half away.
I brutally tossed him down on the floor in the living room as Greame and Annie came to see what the very perturbed Gangrel had caught. The kid couldn't have been more than 18 at best, dressed in one of those standard black band hoodies and a pair of black jeans. He tried to appear to Greame and Annie's humanity, but I certianly was having none of it, espcially as his body began to reject the bullets I had riddled him with. Eventually through careful questioning we were able to get the fact that he was basically sent to make sure that Greame had found what he was supposed to, that being the message hidden in the living room. We all frowned in confusion at the kid, and when I emptied the contents of his back and pockets, we found a black light bulb. I glanced down at it in my hand, before I looked up to the glowing 60 watt lightbulb above us. Using me to stand on, Greame turned off the light and screwed in the blacklight bulb. Given the word Go, Annie turned on the light, and a redish glow game from the far side of the wall above the couch, only enhanced by the glossy surface of the photos, written in a childish looking script.
© of Silverfurr Lynx, 2006