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zg_shadowsThis is for Sarah, who asked me for a story about Firinne inventing herself. It's also partly inspired by Sarah's Natasha story on how she feeds. I showed Sarah a draft of this last night and it lead to a conversation about how screwed up most female vampires must be - the requirements of feeding, plus the social conditioning that most females receive about sex and sexuality does not exactly make for well balanced individuals.
The first of a thousand lovers…
I met him in a bar in Montparnasse, where he smoked black cigarillos. I chose him because he was American, and so wouldn’t notice how bad my accent was. We only spoke in French. It made it easier, somehow.
“There are a number of ways you can sustain yourself, child. I would, however, recommend that you consider the path of the succubi. Your blood is too potent for you to survive on animals alone. You lack the skill to feed on the sleeping, and to take by force would waken the Beast too soon. To take blood in the act of l’amour…”
I had only ever touched one man before. I didn’t really know what I was meant to do. I smiled at him a lot, and laughed a little too loudly at his jokes. He didn’t seem to notice.
“You will need to crop your hair. No girl of the type you wish to pass as would wander around Montparnasse with her hair hanging down her back like that. We will have it bobbed at the start of the evening.”
He bought me a drink. I pretended to drink it. He smelt of stale sweat, and I don’t think had washed recently. Oh god, I needed to drink, but I didn’t want to. Not like this. There had to be another way?
“You need to learn to apply your lipstick correctly. Have you never worn it before? You look like a child without it.”
For a long time I didn’t think he would try and seduce me. He seemed happy enough to talk about poetry, about music. He liked jazz, he said, and seemed amused when I said that I believed in free love. I had read somewhere that a Russian dancer claimed that sex should be as easy and natural as drinking a glass of water.
“You think that?” he said, and laughed.
“Your eyes as well – outline them with kohl. You are beautiful. Any man would be lucky to take a woman like you to his bed. But remember to leave when you hear the church bells sound for Matins”
“I do,” I said, and then “do you not?”
I sounded desperate.
He took a long drag of his cigarillo.
“As natural as smoking,” he said, and grinned, showing his teeth. “I don’t like water.”
I smiled and leant across the table, with a sickness in my stomach. I didn’t know if it was hunger or fear.
“I have rooms near here,” I said.
He laughed.
“You’re really that eager?” he said, and shook his head. He added in English “I guess it’s true what they say about French girls…”
And I wanted to run away.
“Don’t look so scared, child. This is the best way for you. I do not think you would be happy with a trail of dead bodies in your wake.”
The rooms that I had acquired were small and cramped, with cockroaches scuttled across the ceiling.
The man’s hands were rough, and he mauled at my breasts, kneading them like they were dough. I think I cried out when he bit down too hard, and tried to push him away, but he just laughed.
“You can’t run away now,” he said, and grabbed at my waist. “You’re the one who asked me here.”
He clamped his mouth onto my neck and sucked at my skin until it hurt. I couldn’t get to his damn neck.
“You’ll be able to take his blood from his throat, or his thigh, my child. Remember that. The throat or the thigh.”
I pushed him back a little bit, and said “let me…” whilst I fumbled with his trousers. My hands were shaking and I wanted to cry.
I never wanted to be a whore.
Still, I didn’t cry. I don’t think he would have noticed if I had. He just groaned when I buried my face in his lap, and then grunted when I first bit down.
I couldn’t find the femoral artery at first, but he didn’t care. He was snorting like a pig with all the pleasure he got every time my fangs sunk through his skin. I bit, and nibbled, and he pushed his salt smelling groin towards me every single time I tried to move away, until I found the blood at last and began to feed in earnest.
“We are all whores, one way or another. Fortune is a right bitch, that way,”
Afterwards, I walked home and cried the entire way.
No one looked twice at me; a ragged female with smeared lipstick, walking through Montparnasse in the lonely hours of the night.
“I can’t…” I said, and “I won’t…” but I think I knew then that I didn’t really have any other option. How else could I feed? I could live with being a whore more easily than being a monster.
Anton kept a house on the Île Saint-Louis. He had set aside one bedroom for me. I burnt the dress that I had been wearing in the fireplace there, and watched the sparks rise up.
In the morning, I knew, I’d look perfect again. My hair would be long, my skin would look fresh and clean. I could bathe and wash away the scent of that man from my skin. No one but me would know that I had let a total stranger maul me in a tainted bed.
But I’d still know.
“It won’t be me,” I said, and stared into the twisting flames. “Whoever they touch, it won’t be me. It’ll never be me.”
And I threw the silver locket my mother had given me into the fire to seal the deal.
The first of a thousand lovers…
I met him in a bar in Montparnasse, where he smoked black cigarillos. I chose him because he was American, and so wouldn’t notice how bad my accent was. We only spoke in French. It made it easier, somehow.
“There are a number of ways you can sustain yourself, child. I would, however, recommend that you consider the path of the succubi. Your blood is too potent for you to survive on animals alone. You lack the skill to feed on the sleeping, and to take by force would waken the Beast too soon. To take blood in the act of l’amour…”
I had only ever touched one man before. I didn’t really know what I was meant to do. I smiled at him a lot, and laughed a little too loudly at his jokes. He didn’t seem to notice.
“You will need to crop your hair. No girl of the type you wish to pass as would wander around Montparnasse with her hair hanging down her back like that. We will have it bobbed at the start of the evening.”
He bought me a drink. I pretended to drink it. He smelt of stale sweat, and I don’t think had washed recently. Oh god, I needed to drink, but I didn’t want to. Not like this. There had to be another way?
“You need to learn to apply your lipstick correctly. Have you never worn it before? You look like a child without it.”
For a long time I didn’t think he would try and seduce me. He seemed happy enough to talk about poetry, about music. He liked jazz, he said, and seemed amused when I said that I believed in free love. I had read somewhere that a Russian dancer claimed that sex should be as easy and natural as drinking a glass of water.
“You think that?” he said, and laughed.
“Your eyes as well – outline them with kohl. You are beautiful. Any man would be lucky to take a woman like you to his bed. But remember to leave when you hear the church bells sound for Matins”
“I do,” I said, and then “do you not?”
I sounded desperate.
He took a long drag of his cigarillo.
“As natural as smoking,” he said, and grinned, showing his teeth. “I don’t like water.”
I smiled and leant across the table, with a sickness in my stomach. I didn’t know if it was hunger or fear.
“I have rooms near here,” I said.
He laughed.
“You’re really that eager?” he said, and shook his head. He added in English “I guess it’s true what they say about French girls…”
And I wanted to run away.
“Don’t look so scared, child. This is the best way for you. I do not think you would be happy with a trail of dead bodies in your wake.”
The rooms that I had acquired were small and cramped, with cockroaches scuttled across the ceiling.
The man’s hands were rough, and he mauled at my breasts, kneading them like they were dough. I think I cried out when he bit down too hard, and tried to push him away, but he just laughed.
“You can’t run away now,” he said, and grabbed at my waist. “You’re the one who asked me here.”
He clamped his mouth onto my neck and sucked at my skin until it hurt. I couldn’t get to his damn neck.
“You’ll be able to take his blood from his throat, or his thigh, my child. Remember that. The throat or the thigh.”
I pushed him back a little bit, and said “let me…” whilst I fumbled with his trousers. My hands were shaking and I wanted to cry.
I never wanted to be a whore.
Still, I didn’t cry. I don’t think he would have noticed if I had. He just groaned when I buried my face in his lap, and then grunted when I first bit down.
I couldn’t find the femoral artery at first, but he didn’t care. He was snorting like a pig with all the pleasure he got every time my fangs sunk through his skin. I bit, and nibbled, and he pushed his salt smelling groin towards me every single time I tried to move away, until I found the blood at last and began to feed in earnest.
“We are all whores, one way or another. Fortune is a right bitch, that way,”
Afterwards, I walked home and cried the entire way.
No one looked twice at me; a ragged female with smeared lipstick, walking through Montparnasse in the lonely hours of the night.
“I can’t…” I said, and “I won’t…” but I think I knew then that I didn’t really have any other option. How else could I feed? I could live with being a whore more easily than being a monster.
Anton kept a house on the Île Saint-Louis. He had set aside one bedroom for me. I burnt the dress that I had been wearing in the fireplace there, and watched the sparks rise up.
In the morning, I knew, I’d look perfect again. My hair would be long, my skin would look fresh and clean. I could bathe and wash away the scent of that man from my skin. No one but me would know that I had let a total stranger maul me in a tainted bed.
But I’d still know.
“It won’t be me,” I said, and stared into the twisting flames. “Whoever they touch, it won’t be me. It’ll never be me.”
And I threw the silver locket my mother had given me into the fire to seal the deal.
no subject
Date: 2009-01-08 11:48 am (UTC)I often find with White Wolf games is that the stuff they describe as being horrible really isn't, but when you take what they have said, extrapolate and explore it you find yourself finding new horrors within, which quite neatly tie back into the intended theme of the game.
no subject
Date: 2009-01-08 11:55 am (UTC)But that only works if the vampire is a specific type of person; change them into a very English virgin, and suddenly it's all sorts of icky.
no subject
Date: 2009-01-08 12:00 pm (UTC)So much of their world looks very strange if you try and look at it from another PoV.
no subject
Date: 2009-01-08 12:06 pm (UTC)Though I'd be fascinated to see a breakdown of what sort of IC feeding targets are most attacked by which sort of player. Does the stereotypical White Wolf player almosty always attack the cute gothy girl?
no subject
Date: 2009-01-08 02:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-01-08 02:17 pm (UTC)"So, we know that 95% of our targets are male, a disproportionate number have goatees and they often wear badges with a clan affiliation on them. All we need to do to lure them out is send a cute, gothy girl into the club and we should have most of them mapped out."
"Oh, and kill anyone carrying a teddy-bear or inflatable hammer."
no subject
Date: 2009-01-08 02:24 pm (UTC)