Fandom Vampire: The Requiem - Blood Ties (Ava Janusson)

[Gravitational Force]

In a dark room fingers dance across a keyboard, multiple windows on the screen display a variety of camera feeds.

Over this a voice can be heard from the computer. Each line is accompanied by the computer's user focusing on a different feed.

"Welcome once again to Davey Jones's Talker, the only pirate radio show that hasn't sold out or sunk. Tonight I'd like to tell you about the dangers our city faces. The parasites who enslave us."

A group of people all dressed in finery raise glasses full of a liquid that isn't wine in a toast.

"Our crumbling infrastructure."

An extremely precise explosion tears through a seemingly vacant building, exposing the cellar to the sun. It's lone occupant is reduced to dust not by the blast, but by the light now streaming down from above.

"Violent crime."

What appears to be a mugging results in the gun-wielding menace being faced by a pale monster with a fang-filled mouth. Who discovers too late that his assailant's bullets are incendiary as he burns to ash.

"Cults."

Chanting figures surround a squirming victim with their face obscured by a hood. As they perform their rite a portal opens and a clicking, jerking, many-eyed thing is drawn out towards the center of the circle.

"And the so-called 'experts' who tell us there's nothing wrong and we should just 'trust in science.'"

A gloved hand pulls a lever and the lights dim even as electricity arcs around the laboratory. There's a humming sound of gathering energy and then a release, with the returning vision of the viewer revealing a wall with a humanoid blast shadow etched into it, arms raised in fear.

"The ones causing these problems tell us not to live in fear. Well, I'm here to tell you there's lots to fear. And this isn't the kind of problem you can fix by voting the bastards in power out."

Manicured hands toy with a sharpened stake as a panicking man with fangs in his mouth is slammed onto the desk in front of the owner of those hands.

"They can't take me off the air and they don't know who I am, so let me tell you: the only way to stay safe is to stay armed."

A massive shotgun is put onto a rack alongside an arsenal of other weapons.

"Stay vigilant."

The stained glass eyes of a saint on a window looks down at a praying congregation, as unseeing as the blindfolded, hideous creature in a priest's vestments leading the service.

"And don't let them get you."

The security camera that had been watching Ava Janusson goes down for the few seconds it takes for her to be pulled into an alley.

And everything goes black.



You awaken to the sound of a phone going off and an irritated voice.
"What do you mean it's not here yet?! It's not just for her, I'm going to need to top myself off after this."
...
"No, if I could just yank someone off the street I would have. I can't 'just go out and snag a hobo' because there's no telling when she's going to wake up."
...
"Why didn't you fucking say so?! I'm the one responsible for this, why wasn't I told this to begin with? Fine, if she goes overboard do I dump it or is a cleaning crew coming?"
...
"Got it. And of course I'm going to be hands-on. It's my ass if she doesn't make the cut. I got permission to go full charm offensive to start with, I've got this."

You finally manage to get your eyes open. You're lying on a table in a room where the walls, ceiling, and floor are covered in plastic sheeting. The kind you use to keep paint from staining. Or blood.

You can't breathe! Wait, why aren't you breathing? Your heart should be racing, but you don't even feel it beating. Blinking is reflexive, but there's no urge. You stare around the room, this is all wrong!

And the guy apparently responsible for it all is standing with his back to you. Only for your movement to catch his attention and turn around to face you.


He's wearing an outfit that's decades out of fashion, an asymmetrical ensemble of leather and metal with a plunging neckline. He's made the bold choice of frosting the tips of his messy blonde hair, styled his eyebrows, and altogether looks like he's about to fight the protagonist of a 90s action movie alongside a gang of similarly flamboyant men who unwisely chose to engage in violent crime over far more lucrative careers in modeling.

Somehow he manages to pull it off though. It's not that he's attractive or how he's holding himself, it's like he's got 'I actually look great and am an incredible guy despite any reason you'd have to believe otherwise' radiation coming off him.

"Hi there, Childe of mine. My name is Mark and I'm here to welcome you to the first night of the rest of your unlife."


The clearly trustworthy individual considerately takes the time to explain your situation. You've been fortunate enough to be found worthy of becoming a vampire (known among themselves as "Kindred"). It's not exactly like pop culture, sunlight will burn you and so will fire and you've got to drink blood, but otherwise there's a lot to go over.

Vampire (CofD)

Vampires are one of three main supernatural races within the Chronicles of Darkness (the "New World of Darkness"). They are the main focus of Vampire: The Requiem game, and refer to themselves as "Kindred". Vampires are a race of predators who feed on blood (or possibly several different ones...

whitewolf.fandom.com

You're only told the basics and the most important parts (above all else don't let anyone else know you're a vampire or that vampire exist), but you get the feeling he expects you to pick the rest up as you go on,

You're a member of the Daeva clan. Apparently there are multiple vampire Clans and each one has different abilities and weaknesses. In your case you've got what your Sire calls "Speed, Strength, and a fuckton of Charisma." He also says there's no weakness in the Daeva clan, you just tend to want things more than usual.

And then Mark tells you to sit there and wait patiently. You do so for a few minutes until he comes back in with someone with a bag over their head. He pushes the bag aside enough for their neck to be easily accesible and lowers them to their knees.

Then he stop using Majesty on you and you realize exactly what's happened without his powers there to numb your mind. Your thoughts and choices are your own now.

Mark continues talking.

"There are also blood bags in the fridge. You can take your first drink from those or this-"
He motions to the person he brought in.
"Personally I recommend starting with the bags so you don't risk draining this slob dry and then seeing how feeding goes, but that's your call. Either way your old life is over though. You were picked in part because of how few connections you had, but don't let that get you down. This is your chance to actually make something of yourself. Money, power, maybe not fame but close enough to it for the same high, it's all there for the taking if you've got what it takes to take it."

Mark draws a fingernail down the Human's neck, making a small cut. A few drops well out of it, but you can smell it like you were right next to it. You can feel the thirst in you like a starving beast.

"But it all starts with your first drink. I'd suggest saving any questions or comments until after that."

 

[Lucyfer]

Waking was indeed different for Ava Janusson that night. Everything felt off, and the realization of can’t breathe becoming not breathing was among them. ‘They’re talking about you.’ Someone on the phone, using ‘her’ and ‘waking up’ quite a bit. It had to be a phone, she couldn’t hear anyone else speaking to him.

The voice was unfamiliar.

Eyes opening, she took in the plastic-wrapped room. ‘Well, that explains the oddity.’ Why everything felt a bit cold, a bit hard, and a bit slick. Well, that, and she was on a table, not a bed. ‘Still clothed.’ One boon.

Inhale.

Thinking about breathing always led to doing it manually. At least Ava could, although she felt no desire to do so.

Exhale.

She sat up on the table, legs dangling over the edge, and considered sprinting to the nearest window, or the nearest door. It was that sitting up, however, that seemed to indicate there was no more time for such thoughts. She felt panic as if from a distance, before it all evaporated when the stranger with the frosted tips turned to her.

Didn’t she learn her lesson about frosted tips in elementary school?

Mark – frosted tips villain #1 – was a vampire.

So, apparently, was she. Ava took this information in, attention focused on increasingly less villainous Mark as he explained the situation to her, including why she was chosen, which did gnaw a bit on her own pride. She had connections! Admittedly, very few she’d call friend, and several of which were unlikely to concern herself too much if she went missing – many thought she’d be moving back to where her parents lived, soon, anyways.

And she’d always made a point to seem transient and keep her distance.

Inhale.

She could be upset about it, but the way he talked, Ava wasn’t. Instead, the red-head did feel a renewed lust for exploration of the opportunity. She had wanted more – here was her way to have more, forever.

Although wanting more was precisely the weakness she knew in life. She did not need Mark to elaborate on how it was, actually, a weakness. If he wanted to pretend it wasn’t, she’d let him. She’d just make a point to find out his wants, one day. He was her sire, after all…inevitably, that meant, she’d be seeing a lot of him as she learned the ropes.

Exhale.

He left for a few minutes, but the urge to defy him and run off didn’t rise. Nor did thoughts come creeping in that he might be lying about all of this as some strange, elaborate prank. Moving her hand over her own chest, and up to her neck, already proved that she had no noticeable heartbeat.

He comes back with a stranger, and then the charisma falters.

Or perhaps it’s drawn away?

Panic doesn’t slam into Ava; it is there, beating at her like her heart ought to. Further proof that this is no lie arises when the scent of blood hits – she had taken in a breath at the sight of it, and that has the power to potentially undo her.

It’s nauseating and intoxicating at once, like the smell of bacon and coffee after a night of no dinner. It’s too much, but Ava doesn’t draw a hand up to cover her nose, just forces herself to stop breathing, and slides off the table.

She couldn’t have asked a question if she wanted to. Her throat felt tight; like any sound would be a scream, any act would be to bite – and how! At the scent, her fangs had grown instinctively, digging into bottom lip a bit.

Unsightly, no doubt. She’d figure out how to control that later.

For the moment, Ava turned from the victim to the fridge, taking her sire’s advice with quick steps and almost throwing open the door. There were plenty of bags. She had no idea if types would make any difference, nor did she care in that moment, as she grabbed one from the fridge, brought it to her face and let her fangs do the work of piercing it, rather than her nails.

In life, she definitely would have used her nails.

The blood didn’t taste like the other blood smelt. It was cold, and nowhere near as tasty as she thought, but it took the edge off – although evidence of that edge was trickling down her arm from where her hand had squeezed the bag too tightly, and had broken it with her nails.

She took a second quickly, all the same, grip lighter, the blood more easily finding her throat as the first bite showed her the fangs weren’t all that important beyond tearing the bag. The goal was then to just get it down her throat, naught else mattered, so she could drink it like a broken capri sun without a straw.

Or, similar enough.

It wasn’t as tasty as capri sun used to be, either.

Ava didn’t know precisely how much blood she needed, but she understood there was still hunger gnawing at her with the second bag down, and a very alive human still in the room. ‘Top off….’ She wasn’t meant to drain him. Was he going to die either way – to her, or to Mark?

Probably.

That didn’t mean she had to do it, and it was probably better she figure out how not to kill.

Ava returned to the table, setting the emptied bags atop it, not immediately locating a trash or caring enough to dig deeper into how blood bags were properly disposed outside of a hospital. Her eyes went to the blood, before she forced them up to Mark, resisting another urge to check her neck for a wound.

She considered verbalizing the question, but what would he say other than ‘be gentle’? ‘You’re not going to find out now, are you?’

Instead, she crept forward, not sure why she even bothered trying to be silent, especially when she knelt in front of the unfortunate one and set a hand on their shoulder, announcing her presence all too clearly.

She could hear their heart. She could practically see the vein in their neck that throbbed with the blood, near the cut made, and she leaned forward, pressing down on the shoulder a bit before she let her fangs prick, and then sink in, to the human.

The vein did much of the work in pushing blood out and into her mouth, thankfully. She couldn’t just tilt and drain a human like a bag, but the heart was a willing collaborator in the scheme to get blood all the same.

And it was so much better! Warm, fresh, intoxicating – sex and coffee in one, yet better than both. She didn’t cut deeper with her fangs to get more, but she certainly leaned into it more, her grip on the shoulder tightening as she kept her balance against the human while getting the blood she needed – wanted – desperately.