Alltägliche Pflichten

The violin tucked firmly under her chin, the bow lovingly caressing the chords, she stood at the window which let her view the nightly Los Angeles, or 'L.A.', as the city was known to its natives, one of the many cities that didn't deserve their name. It didn't even deserve the term 'city'. This place was more of a living being than anything else she had yet encountered. Bursting with life at day, where the fragile kine went about their business, more often than not covering up and paying for mistakes that were made the night before by beings imcomprehensible to their tiny minds, all the while fighting and bickering amongst each other, scrambling for this pathetic vision they called the 'American Dream'.
And then, as soon as sunlight had faded, only to be replaced by even brighter electrical luminance, something else, something entirely sinister and full of mischief took control of the body that was labeled with those two silly letters. Like a spirit fighting against the chains of its host, it awakened within all those who were the real base of the daily struggle. The darkness, brutally enlightened, showed what lurked beyond the facade of what was not respectability, but rather chaos. This was the time fates were decided, often in a whim, often in large multitudes, and almost everytime without wasting a thought to them. The time where people were reduced to mere numbers, as important as the paper they were printed on, as worthy as the ink used.
It was her time, along with all the other Kindred who fed off the masses of mortals, clinging to their bodies like leeches and hiding whenever someone decided to take a closer look.
It didn't happen very often that someone actually had a guess where to look that came close to the truth. Still, it did happen, and that was why she let out a deep sigh and finally lowered her instrument.
For a few more seconds she listened to the hushed tones fading into oblivion, then turned away from the cloudy view of a sky that was sprinkled with stars as if they were dewdrops.
"Miss Baudelaire? May I disturb you for a second?"
A dark blonde man had stepped up behind her, wringing his sweaty hands, seemingly without his notice. His brown eyes, most often soothing to look at, were now only annoying her with their distressed look.
"Mister Scott," she replied monotone. "I hope you remember that you are only to ... disturb me if the matter at hand is urgent." Not that she wasn't bored, the ennui of the last days was trying her patience, to be honest, but that didn't mean she could allow herself to become lax with her ghoul. After all, if that were the case, he would surely adapt some behaviour she would not tolerate in her servants.
The concerns, however, seemed to be unnecessary. A few quick nods followed from his side while he still continued to wring his hands. Well, at least he wasn't coating his dark blue suit with sweat. "It's about Mister Davis. The sedations don't seem to work properly anymore. Hea- er, I mean Miss Poe told me to alert you that he is growing uneasier by the minute, despite her efforts to keep him dormant." He seemed to hesitate for a moment, his gaze flickering to the door through which he had entered the large living room, and then resting again on the deep blue eyes of his dormitor.
She frowned for only a fraction of a second, then let out another sigh. "I guess this is urgent, after all. Tell her I will be with her in a matter of a minute. And emphasize that she must not under all circumstances allow our ... guest to wake. The results would be disastrous. Go." A nod to the door, to dismiss the anxious ghoul, then she quickly sweeped out of the room on her own, but through a different entrance that led her to a light-proof bedroom.
She still had her violin to put back into its case - besides, there was no way she would be going through the ugly process of exsanguinating a really nosy and resilient, albeit stupid and untrained werewolf in one of her expensive dresses.

After swiftly compelling Heather to leave the room, the Ventrue closed the door and locked it firmly from the inside. Only after she had assured herself of this, she turned around to face the young man who was shackled to a sickbed.
He was merely an adolescent, maybe 16 or 17 years old, and seemed to be caught in an uneasy sleep. Every now and then he would twitch or jerk at the chains that kept him in place, but otherwise he was silent. Besides him, on a small bedside table, lay his clothes, torn and tattered, no more than a bloodstained mess of dark fabric.
Warily she came closer, striving to be quiet, and stopped two feet away from him. Hadn't she shot him just a few hours ago? Multiple times, too? Her eyes couldn't find any traces of wounds, let alone scars, and since he had been washed clean of blood and dirt, there were no other hints of injuries, either. It was certainly an intriguing sight to behold; this boy could heal himself with the same skill as Cainites could, probably even faster, and this would mean his body - his still living body - could also bear much more punishment than anything she had ever heard of.
If this were the case, then there was something else to take into consideration: How potent was his blood? The human body had much of his healing capacities connected to its blood stream, and with Kindred, it was no different, except for the fact that there no longer was a 'stream'. She knew no reason why it should be different with werewolves, especially since she had assured herself that he had healed his wounds being unconscious, so there was no reason to assume he had actively done something. Therefore, it had to be something he couldn't control; the most obvious explanation, then, was his blood.
And such potent blood shouldn't go to waste, not if she had the opportunity to extract and store it. Just the thought of it was causing a stir! Given enough time, she could study it herself - and gain dozens of favors from the local Tremere if she sold them some of it, although she would have to be very, very careful with this. Just as careful as she had to be with her blood donor now. If the sedatives and tranquilizers couldn't calm him down completely, even if administered in higher doses, she would have to use force to get what she wanted. But if this was the price, she would pay it.
After taking off her coat, she reached for one of the syringes that lay beside the mess of torn cloth and also took one of the large - and empty - blood bags dangling from the bedside table. Avarice glowing in her eyes, she climbed on top of the young man, sat down straddled on his breast, and prepared herself for a long and grim struggle. She didn't expect him to go down easily, but a Ventrue could endure much more than the other Clans believed.

The phone rang, and it did so for the third time in a row. Nobody seemed to answer, though; maybe the caller would have better luck sometime else.
"Nonononono ... friggin', bloody, goddamn - ah!"
A man, dressed in a good-looking, blue suit, rushed into the living room, noticed the ringing of the telephone, and quickly picked up the receiver. A little bit out of breath, he greeted the caller with a nonetheless professional tone, much like a secretary. After listening for a few seconds, he threw a look back to the door through which he had come mere seconds ago. "Er, yes, I will inform Ms. Baudelaire that you have called, unfortunately, though, she cannot answer the phone at the moment." There was a brief silence again, in which the man stood still and stared into oblivion, obviously focusing his attention to what the speaker was saying. "Yes. Yes. Of course she will, within a few minutes' time. Yes, thank you. Goodbye."
He put the receiver down again, hesitated, and then left the room as quickly as he entered it, leaving no traces of his presence except for a few sweaty fingerprints.

"Mercurio, I am glad I was able to catch you. May I assume you already know why I'm calling tonight?"
There was a muffled laugh at the end of the line, although it sounded like it was intended to be hidden. It brought a smile to her face nonetheless.
"Yeah, guess I do. And I'm sorry I'll have to disappoint ya, but there's no news out here. The orders remain the same - lay low and don't show your face in public unless you want LaCroix after your ass, too. Sorry, kid."
The speaker didn't sound very sorry, though; in fact, he sounded somewhat amused, as if he was telling a joke only he could understand.
"Yes, yes, I know. He could lessen the strict character of his orders, though. I think he is somewhat ... overreacting, if you catch my drift." She shook her head, all the while trying to brush a black curl out of her face, then, upon realizing it wouldn't do any good without a real hairbrush, giving up and fidgeting with her perfectly manicured fingernails.
Another laugh, this time more openly. "You know how he is, don't ya? It's not like LaCroix is suddenly going to throw his paranoia outta the window and start giving slumber parties over at his tower. Well, that'd probably be a suggestion which'll get you into a helluva lot of trouble."
Snickering from both sides followed, then she cleared her throat. After all, she was not supposed to have a giggle with Mercurio about the Prince. If he found out ... no, better not to think about that possibility. "You're right. Alright then, I'll let you get back to business. Goodbye, Mercurio, and thank you."
After a nonchalant leave-taking from the side of the Prince's ghoul, she hung up and walked over to the couch. If she was to be trapped, fine, but she would at least make us of the time she had to spent in her haven. Simultaneously grabbing the brand-new book on the coffee table in front of her and the remote control of the TV, she made herself comfortable on the black leather and started to read while paying only marginal attention to the news. Apparently there was nothing new to be told on the bus full of tourists that was found empty some time ago, except for the fact that the story was still titled 'mysterious', but it didn't bother her, to be honest. Why worry about something that was very far away when she was already busy with her affairs in the present?
Concentrating on the German writing proved to be more difficult than expected. With another heavy sigh she put the book aside to massage her temples with her fingertips. Now that she had started to think about it, the whole politicking made her head hurt quite a bit, not to mention the issue with the werewolf she was only able to solve with a huge portion of good luck. If the business about the Ankaran Sarcophagus didn't cool down soon, the matter could easily take on fatal dimensions. Should this be the case, perhaps it would be wise to prepare for a passage back eastwards. If hell broke loose in Los Angeles, her sire would surely prefer her to be near him with a smaller gain in dignitas than brightening sunsets after an honorful Final Death. Lost dignitas could always be regained; lost unlife, however...
With another deep sigh she stood up to get a pencil and a sheet of paper for gathering notes on how to get the hell out of town without looking like she was running away from danger.
The appearance had to be kept, after all. At least if she wanted to return without finding herself ridiculed by the harpies because of a cowardice flight...

She sucked in a deep breath. The scent of the city was unfamiliar, even strange; the exhaust fumes were like an unobtrusive layer that covered everything else, the smell of food and flowers in the shopping malls, the stench of sweat and dirt around the park, even the stink of cheap beer and cigarettes at the various bars downtown. The fumes weren't what disturbed her nose; in fact, they were a soothing touch for her mind for she had been used to them ever since she started working with the Midnighters. No, there was a certain taint to the air around here that just screamed 'wrong', one which she didn't think she would ever get accustomed to.

The taint of corpses.

Funny how she never noticed this taint around cemeteries. No, these places were indeed ones of solitude. There was nothing to scare people away or to frighten them unnecessarily. Nothing - and nobody.

It made her sick. It made her sick to the stomach whenever she had to throw her clothes away because they reeked of them - and no matter how often she washed them, the taint stayed. There was only one small relief in this: the knowledge that not only she couldn't hope to get rid of the smell - they couldn't, either.

And that made them easy to pick out, though it didn't exactly make them easy pickings. Too many people around, too many bystanders, too many idiots with plugs in their nostrils. Too many witnesses. Too many cops that they had in their pockets. Too many brainless bodyguards. Too many, too many, too many.
Not enough guys with eyes to see, ears to hear, noses to smell and minds to feel their presence. Seriously, what was it with those people? You'd rather smash your head against a wall than try to make them see what they didn't even want to see. Fools.

Corpses, corpses, corpses everywhere she looked. This whole damned city was a cemetery full of dead bodies which shouldn't walk around anymore but rather stay put in their coffins - and not just for the day! Damn it, was she the only living soul to notice this stuff?

Just across the supermarket she'd just entered, there, the guy with the black leather jacket and the huge boots. The one who had his hair loosely put in a pony tail. He was one of them. She could smell him over the cheap cleaner. As if that wasn't enough clue, he also had this grey skintone they all shared. Some masked this with make-up or whatever, yeah, but she could see it anyway. If not in their face, then on their hands - or in their eyes. Those lifeless, hardened eyes that had this glassy touch. It was impossible to overlook.

For her, at least.

Most people, on the other hand, weren't so watchful. Like the girl with the napkins in her hand. She chatted eagerly with the thing while she waited for the cashier to see her, playing around with her blonde curls, a huge smile spread over her face whenever it said something.

Goddamned, no, that friggin' corpse was so gonna miss out tonight! Stupid baby girl was going home alone, to her kid, and it'd be pushing up daisies as it should've to begin with!

She waited for them to pay their stuff, then roughly shoved the cashier her dinner knife onto the table, ignored his paranoid look, and payed. Then she followed the 'couple' out into the open night.

It was way past midnight and dark clouds were brooding a storm over the heads of the city. There was tension in the air; the tension of lightning bolts to come. She knew, though, that this wouldn't be the case for the next two hours or so - exactly the time she took to pursue her plan. It wasn't really easy by any stretch of the word to pick out a lone alley to act in, but she knew just where to go. Time would take care of that problem, and it did.

Just in front of the run-down apartment building the girl lived in was a largely unlit parking lot; no security guard, no witnesses, nobody to call the police or try to be 'heroic' and ruin everything. She followed up closely as the corpse walked out of the last lantern and then drew her knife.

Just as it was to be expected, it tried to act as a protector towards the girl who seemed to pale instantly. It took a few steps towards her, its hands raised, its voice nevertheless angry, and it soon would start wrestling with her. She had only one chance to get this right, and if she fucked it up tonight, she'd most likely be dead within a few minutes. Gritting her teeth, she took a step backwards, luring it in, and then thrust the knife as hard as she could into its face.

From the sounds she heard, she'd fluked. The steel went right through his nose for at least a good three inches. It gave her sufficient opportunity to reach into the pocket of her coat, draw out the wooden stake, and plunge it in its chest. Again, she fluked, and the corpse instantly fell over. From here on, it'd be a breeze to get rid of the thing, but first, she needed to take care of the girl.

The - perhaps still from giving birth - slightly overweighed girl just stood a few steps away from her, desperately clutching her purse and her bag with the napkins, and stared at the thing with wide-opened eyes. Yeah, she had gone right into a shock after seeing her pull out the stake.
"C'mere, girl, ain't gonna do ya nothing. Just look, 'kay? Look at it! See? No blood! No blood nowhere! This ain't human. See?" She tried to sound friendly, but in the end, her voice came out rough anyway. While speaking, she pulled the knife from the thing's nose to show the unbloodied blade to the girl behind her, and continued to talk while she turned around. "Watch, girl, a'right? Ya'd best - aw, ya gotta be kiddin' me!"
Just as she took a look behind her, she saw the entrance door to the apartment building close, accompanied by a loud thump. She had probably been talking to herself all along, the girl making a dash for it as soon as she didn't look anymore. Just why didn't that wonder her at all?

She sighed, muttering to herself about the ungrateful little brat - "stupid idiot, whaddo I look like, a friggin' late-night show? Yeah, doin' this all for maself. Ain't like ya're supposed to listen! Nobody never try to. Ya're all jackasses!" - then remembered that there still was one of the corpses directly in front of her, incapacitated but waiting to be dealt with already. A quick search of its body provided her with the money of the thing, which wasn't as much as she hoped, but more than she expected, and just as she then brought the knife hard through the corpses neck and seperated its head from its shoulders, the whole thing crumbled to dust like an old sheet of paper. It simply disintegrated with all of its belongings - including the stake in its heart. Good thing she already took the money it had, pity about the stake, though. Ah, what the hell.

Now, she was left completely alone, with dirt and dust clinging to her clothing and hair. She sighed, then stood up, dusted as much of the remains of the thing off of her as she could, and quickly hurried away in case there'd be police cars showing up soon after. It had all happened before; it shouldn't wonder her anymore by now, and, frankly, it didn't. She'd given up hope in mankind. All fools anyway, only standing around and hindering her or getting killed by the corpses. What use was her work if they were of no use themselves?

With a sigh, she sat down on her bed in the cheap motel room an hour or so after her nightly hunt. Kicking her shoes off, leaving everything else as it was, she laid down and tried to find some sleep. Maybe the rest of the night would have more messages in stock for her; after turning one of them into reality, more and more tended to appear and lead her to other corpses. In the end, that was why she didn't give up, why she didn't care about mankind and nevertheless served it with an unseen hand: the messages who had to come true, even if it would mean her demise some day. Probably rather some night, but what the hell, it was all just the same.
But if - no, when she went down, she'd drag as many of those things as possible with her to hell.