The
Mother Of All Disclaimers:
Part
1 -- The characters Xena, Gabrielle, Ares, Aphrodite, Cupid, Joxer, Hades,
Zeus, Cerebus, Artemis, Discord are the sole intellectual property of
Renaissance Productions and MGM/UA, who retain all copyrights to the
aforementioned characters. Their appearance in this creative work is not a
challenge to their ownership by any means, but a show of my appreciation for
their work (or, as some of my friends would phrase it, ‘a desperate cry for
help’).
Part
2 -- The terms World Of Darkness, Ventrue, Brujah, Malkavian, Ravnos, Setite,
Follower of Set, Kindred, Embrace, Ghoul, Jyhad, Anarch,
and any other terms in this work of fiction remain the sole intellectual
property of White Wolf Games, a subsidiary of Wizards Of The Coast.
The quotes that begin every chapter are from The Book Of Nod and
are also property of White Wolf Games. Their use in this piece of fiction is not
intended as a challenge to their copyrights (after all, suing me would just have
you losing money -- and, have I not filled your coffers enough, my Prince and
most Dread Liege?)
This work has not been
produced with any thought or promise of financial restitution or payment (but,
Rob, or Lucy or anyone out there reading this -- consider this my ‘audition’
-- I work cheap. . . can’t beat that. . .).
Violence: C’mon --
this is Xena in the World Of Darkness. . . Of course there is violence! But
nothing that wouldn’t be seen on a normal episode (except for the blood
drinking. . . and the gun shots. . .hmm. . . come to think about it. . .). Want
a movie rating? PG-13 is a best bet.
Sexual Content: If the
idea of two adult, consenting women sharing intimate moments together goes
against your grain -- boy, are you in the wrong place.
If the metaphor of blood for sexual expression repulses you, then go on
to the next story. You won’t hurt my feelings. . . really.
If you are not 18 years old (or whatever passes for legal age in your
area), please do not read this story. Don’t
worry, it will still be here for you when you get back. Movie rating? R.
I welcome any constructive
criticism or ideas (esp. if you are familiar with the World Of Darkness) to the
following address: enoonerehwon@hotmail.com.
Negative criticism and name
calling means that I could care less how you feel and your name is off my
dedications list.
On with the show. . .
There is a
world below ours
Coiling like a striking serpent
A world of Kindred souls
A World Of Darkness
The Darker Hearts
By-
Enoon Erewhon
The Darker Hearts
Chapter
One -- Getting The Taste
“Honor
Always Your Sire”
Book
Of Nod, Chronicle
of Shadows, Proverbs
Xena drummed her hands on the
steering wheel of her pale Mustang, the thudding of her hands matching the
whisking sound of her nylon bombardier's jacket. The summoning from Ares sounded urgent. Then again, his summons were ones to never be questioned.
He called, she came.
He ordered, she obeyed.
Thus it was the way she spent
the centuries with him. As a ghoul,
then as a Kindred -- a vampire to the unenlightened -- she served her elder
faithfully. She rose to be one of
Ares’ top lieutenants, earning the nickname ‘The Warrior Princess’.
It was even predicted that she would eventually leave his service to join
the Archons under her own clan, the war-like Brujah.
He summoned and she arrived.
The light turned green, Xena
rolled the car forward slowly. The
roads at night were far from the sleepy strips of asphalt that the waking world
thought them to be after they drifted off to slumber. Teen-agers would tear down the boulevard, feeling that they
were the only immortals left in the world.
Xena, while she was a vampire and resistant to most deadly injury, still
feared fire and sunlight. An
accident on the road now could be her end -- a fiery death was nothing to take
lightly.
“JESUS! JESUS SAVE ME!”,
the shrieks were loud in the morbid darkness.
They echoed off the buildings and rang in Xena’s preternatural hearing.
She frowned, debating for a few seconds. It was only a mortal?
Why bother? Ares compelled
her.
A figure outlined in her
headlights and she stamped on Mustangs' brakes, the terrified man near rolled
across the red hood and stumbled off. The
man dashed across the road, nearly tripping over the curb.
He never gave her a second look, rather, he was focusing behind him.
He yelped in terror as his stumbling steps took him further into the
alleyway beyond her and the car. Xena
pushed herself up on the Mustang’s soft leather seat to peer the way the
wild-eyed man had come and what he was running from
Something slid across the
hood of her Mustang. Xena could
pick out a blur of leather, denim, earth tones and a wild swinging braid with
red and black feathers woven into it. Only Amazons -- a tribe of female Gangrel
led by the elder Kindred Artemis -- wore that braid. The Amazon's face snapped back for a second.
Xena would know those pale blue eyes and the sharp cheekbones anywhere.
It was Velasca, Artemis' second in command and a full time pain in the
ass as far as Ares was concerned. The
Amazon was far from her home within the civilized park areas and the zoo.
Divided as the city was
between the various vampire elders, territory was clearly marked and supposed to
be respected. Ares held the slums
and decaying downtown. The Gangrel
elder Artemis, as a rule preferred the country to the city and held the public
parks and the zoo as their feeding grounds.
Aphrodite held the upper eastside, reigning as an exclusive Patroness
to the artists and bohemians. While
Hades -- as all Nosferatu did -- took to the sewers, dwelling amongst the
homeless and hopeless. Zeus, the
iron-fisted Prince of the city, wiled
his hours away in the business sector, a dark puppet-master to vast fortunes and
world-spanning companies. Intrigues, coups and blatant poaching were to be
expected from elders so immersed in manipulation and power.
This is how the world turned as far as Xena, the dark-haired Kindred, was
concerned.
Until she saw a screaming man
running blindly down the alley.
Swearing bitterly to herself,
she pulled the car over and cut the engine. Vaulting out of the blood red '72 Mustang, she gave the small
of her back a quick pat with the fingers of her right hand, checking to see if
her pistol was still snugged away in its holster banded to her jeans.
Running quickly, her long strides were eating up the distance quickly
between her, the Amazon and the man. The
man came thudding to the end of the alley, his gasps taking on a wheezing,
hysterical tone. The Amazon
was stalking, shoulders bowed, arms out; a predator padding towards her cornered
dinner.
Xena reached for her pistol,
drawing it out and drawing a bead on her back. “Velasca!
What are you doing so far from home?”, Xena called out.
The light brown braid whipped
across an eternally tanned shoulder as Velasca's profile caught the strobing of
a neon sign.
“HEY! HEY! DEAR GOD HELP
ME! SHE’S TRYING TO KILL ME!”, the man panted, sinking down to his knees.
His tailored suit was stained from his flight through garbage strewn
alleyways. A thin trickle of red
crooked its way down from his cheek to his chin -- apparently he had an
uncomfortable encounter with something in his blind flight.
“Fuck off, Brujah, this
doesn’t concern you. He insulted
one of my sisters! No man insults an Amazon and draws breath.”, Her black
tipped fingers snatched the mortal up by his throat. Her canines lengthen.
The man’s eyes went as wide as saucers.
Xena grinned as she re-aimed
the sable .45 a little higher and to the right.
She wanted to plant the hollow-point in the Amazon's skull as a reminder
to who really ran things on this side of the street.
Gunshots weren't uncommon in this area at this time of night anyway --
one more would go unnoticed. The
roar echoed off of the walls. A
brick detonated near Velasca's head, sending shards
to cut into her skin, which disappeared almost as fast as they were made. She flinched dropping the human to the alley floor and turned
to snarl at Xena..
“Ares territory, Ares Law,
Velasca. My word’s just as good.
Let ‘em go.” Xena eyed the middle aged professional with stern sympathy --
tangling with the Amazons was a brutal way to spend a night, "We both know
that this isn’t your normal fare. Walk
away or --”
“Or what, you’re going to
run to Ares?”, Velasca sneered, licking at her fangs.
Xena smiled coldly, “If
only to tell him that there is one less Amazon in the city.
The next round is an incendiary. How
lucky do you feel tonight?"
The seconds dripped by,
punctuated only by the man’s hysterical breathing. The only thing that kept him from bolting were Velasca's body
blocking him and the raven-haired woman with the large gun.
Velasca jabbed her foot at
his ribs, pulling the blow back enough to scare and bruise.
He scrambled away from her, amazed he was still alive.
Xena, never taking her eyes off of the Amazon, helped him to his feet
when he crawled near her. Her hand
locked around his upper arm and tightened painfully.
“There are far worse things
than dying that no one needs to know about,” Xena let her eyes drill
themselves into his, “I don't want to hear anything about this.”
And he agreed.
Shivering, he ran away into the night.
Velasca clenched her clawed
hands and stalked forward, minding the dark warrior's reach, “You will regret
this!” .
Xena smiled coldly, “I’m
sure. Now run home.”
Moving quickly, Velasca
bumped her shoulder against Xena’s. Xena’s
Beast, the predator-aspect of her personality, snarled and begged for
Velasca’s blood in her veins. She
took a minute to pause and gather herself.
She had a summons to answer.
Ares looked over the dance
floor. Primitive drums pounded a
savage tattoo over the heads of frenzied teens, gangs and the social outcasts.
The Bad Blood Club was the refuge for the unwanted, the unloved and the
unknown.
It was where Ares picked his
followers.
She looked up at the windows
high above the crowed. Ares'
silhouette was clear against the glass. he
stood impatiently, tapping a folder against his outstretched hand.
She stalked towards the stairs along the wall like a shark among fish.
The bodies parted for her like Moses at the Red Sea. As she ascended the steps, she saw Draco standing in front of
the door, a hand slipping into his denim vest.
Draco raised his lips in a
snarl, the white of his teeth contrasting with the darkness of his skin.
Draco was the number three man -- Ares best bodyguard -- who wanted to be
number two. He leaned forward, the
scent of cigarettes and dance floor sweat rolling from her nylon bomber jacket
and black t-shirt.
“You need my permission
before you go this far,” he sneered.
Xena shot him a frigid look,
“You can't give me what you don't have," she shoved him into the railing
and walked past him. He stood up
and tried to regain his menacing demeanor.
Xena looked over her shoulder and cooed, "That's a good dog."
She opened the thick door marked 'Private'.
“You’re late.”, he
said, turning away from the pane of glass and leaned on the antique oak desk
that dominated the center of his office. As
offices went, it was modest -- desk with PC, old file cabinet and a small tape
player trying to fight the ground swell of music from the club with its
underpowered speakers. The walls
were a bland light green and covered with an odd mix of band and old Soviet
style propaganda posters. A
fluorescent light pulsed overhead. This
room, as far as Ares was concerned, was the center for the revolution that would
catapult him into the office of Prince. He
tolerated Xena only as much as he would tolerate any other tool in his
possession. His eyes, the dark
pools that they were, commanded respect from anyone they ensnared.
A body of hard muscle enforced the respect, be it in an expensively-cut
suit like the one he was wearing, or faded blue jeans and a casual shirt.
“One of the Amazons was
hunting a few blocks away. I
persuaded her to leave.”
Ares arched an eyebrow as he
sat down in the leather chair, “I suppose I’ll be hearing from Artemis?”
“Doubt it, she’ll know
you’re in the right and for only a wound of pride, she’s not going to try to
chase this up to the Primogen counsel. She
can’t afford any more losses of either land or personel after the beating we
gave them over the wet-lands. It
was just some suit who picked up the wrong whore, anyway. Artemis will owe you a
small favor to keep it quiet. Even if it did get out, the Prince would back up
any punishment you deemed fit.”, Xena grinned as she sat down in the offered
plush chair, “So, why am I here?”
Ares took a last look at the
photo in the folder he held in his hand, then dropped it before her on the desk.
She dragged it to her across the varnished desktop with a pale, slender
finger. She kept her face neutral,
but deep within her soul, she wanted to do something else with her unlife.
Anything but grabbing unsuspecting people and turning them into cannon
fodder. She opened the folder and
flipped through hand drawn maps and schedules.
These she would have to look at while she was as her haven.
Once committed to memory, they would be destroyed.
Whoever this person was, she had no life beyond the mall and the Cyprus.
Great, she thought miserably,
the Cyprus means Aphrodite, which means I’ve got to fight her and her latest
boy-toy Cupid. Maybe I can arrange
a fire and get it all over with.
She flipped the last page
over and looked at the flyer at the bottom.
The flyer was a slick, three
color job, something anyone halfway competent with a computer could do.
The first thing she saw was the grin -- wide, bright and all embracing.
Moving her eyes out from that, Xena saw a girl -- no one with a face that
round and cherubic could be a woman -- with skin the color a soft pink rose and
hair that was. . . blonde? red?
She shook her head, the hair color didn’t matter.
Eyes that were green and distant, the far-reaching look of a distracted
artist. Her arms were slender as
they were bent around a plain,
peasant looking dress and blue blouse.
Xena felt something begin to
ebb into her still heart. A dull
ache of regret. She snuck a look at
Ares, then back to the photo. She
couldn’t do this. This girl
Gabrielle wasn’t meant for this. She
deserved to get married, have children, grow old and die with a clean
conscience. Xena had no reason to
destroy everything that Gabrielle could be because Ares was short of
groundlings. She had half a mind to
toss the folder back on the desk and tell him to go fuck himself.
But, if Xena wouldn’t do
it, there would be no shortage of people below her who would do the job.
“I remember when I was in
Kiev in October of 1919. I learned
a couple of important things, then. A
revolution is a living thing, it needs a heart, a brain, muscle and a soul.
Leave out the heart, it folds when the first shots are fired.
Leave out the brain and it moves without focus -- like a wildfire.
No muscle and it stays only in the parlors and among the limp-wristed
intellectuals. But, deny it a soul
and all you have is a mute juggernaut --something to be feared, not respeted.
Soldiers need something to sing and cling to in the night.
We need that soul. I assume
you understand my philosophy. No
questions, then?”, Ares sat down in his chair, tugging his jacket straight.
“No.
Everything seems clear to me.”, she put on her best fake smile as she
shut the folder, but inside she was grimacing as if she fed from a wino drunk on
Sterno. Ares never rarely gave
official orders. He would
pontificate, bluster on any sort of topic and generally stump politic.
Only if you read between the lines could you see his will.
Plausible deniability, it was called.
If one of his agents was caught, all he had to do was say that he never
gave those orders. Then punishment
fell to him -- which he carried out quickly to avoid any deathbed confessions.
Xena gave the folder in her
hand another look through. The singer would be at the Cyprus, one of the chain
of places in the city declared Elysium, safe-zone for the Kindred of the city.
Xena wouldn’t have to worry about any others making trouble for her,
since to do anything to reveal the existence of vampires to the unwitting human
community was a capital crime. She
walked down the steps, Draco giving her wide berth for a change.
The crowds parted again for her again.
The scents of blood sweat and the musk of drunken arousal drove her
hunger to an agonizing level -- which was a double whammy considering the
infamous Brujah temper.
Once clear of the wall of
dancers, Xena breathed in the cool, dry night air. She could smell the seasons beginning to turn in the wind.
She loved the long winter nights -- nights long enough to do something,
even if it were going out to watch a movie.
She opened her car door with
a click and slung herself inside. The
Cyprus wasn’t going to be as bad as Ares’ club. The atmosphere was a bit more sedate and Aphrodite made sure
that her ‘special’ customers got something that they needed as well.
She turned the engine over, letting it rev impatiently, then glided out
into the night street.
The club, a quiet place with
a reputation for letting the artistically inclined express themselves, was a
good thirty minute drive away. Xena
used the time as wisely as she could. It
had been a while since she had been called to seduce someone into the Embrace.
Unlike some of her other contemporaries, she felt that the act of turning
someone into a vampire -- condemning them to undeath -- should be done as gently
as possible. Everytime she
contemplated it, there was a stirring inside her, something that she hadn’t
felt in recent memory. Something
the she couldn’t even clearly identify. A
strange feeling that sprung to the forefront of her mind when she though about
her. She freed her pistol and
tucked it carefully under the car seat as she parked around the back. Weapons were forbidden in any Elysium, which made her feel
nervous. She rarely went anywhere
without a weapon, even something as simple as a knife.
If she were caught breaking the few laws that the Kindred obeyed, she
could be exiled. Or much worse.
The club was dim, perfect for
those wishing solitude. The bar
stretched back, with some lonely souls seeking either absolution, oblivion or
inspiration from the contents of their thick-bottomed glasses.
The tables were sparsely occupied, even for this time of night.
She sauntered quietly to a table in the far corner, deep in the shadows.
The current act -- an empassioned reading of an obviously amateur poet --
was eliciting polite attention.
Xena waved down a waiter and
asked for the house brand. The
waiter nodded knowingly, one of Aphrodite’s ghouls, a human who regularly
drank of the blood of their vampire masters for the dizzying highs and the pale
reflection of the Kindred’s powers. Addictive,
the ghoul would have to have regular doses to maintain the sweet buzz of his
mistress, and after the normal lifespan of the person was finished, more blood
would be needed to keep him alive. It
insured loyalty in the rank and file.
Xena settled herself down for
the show. The waiter came back a
minute later with a goblet of a thick red, warm liquid, with the scents of
copper and cinnamon -- the house brand was vitae spiced with various flavors.
She sipped it slowly as the act left the stage, thanking the patrons
politely. Willing her stubborn
muscles to relax, her leathers creaked as she shifted in her chair.
“Well, well, well. . . look
who’s graced us with her presence.”, the voice was mocking, male and silky.
Only one person owned a voice like that.
Cupid grabbed an empty chair and spun it around on a leg, plopping down
as if he were sent by God to visit a lowly serf.
Blue eyes that could look piercing one minute, then soft the next.
He dressed in the very best clothing that Aphrodite could buy -- khaki
slacks that were tailored to suit him and him alone. A buff colored button down shirt sans collar that lay in such
a way to betray the movement every muscle in his torso. Skin that defied death by staying a light tan.
Xena hated every inch of him
-- his face was too planar, looking more like a cut diamond or a person who was
shaped by a Tzimisce to look like a giant Ken doll than a mortal being. To
mortal women, and apparently Aphrodite, who Embraced him, he was the hottest
thing on two legs. To Xena, he was
nothing more than a bug to be tolerated only because the Tradition of the
Elysium dictated otherwise.
What made it ever worse was
that he knew it. He reached over
and took Xena’s glass, swigging back a healthy swallow and setting it down.
Had this happen anywhere else in the city, Xena would have taken
Cupid’s face to a stove burner and held him down for hours.
She rubbed her thumb against the bottom-most knuckle of her index finger
-- a habit from long ago. A waiter
appeared unbidden, handing Cupid a goblet of vitae and switching a full glass
for Xena’s half-empty one.
“Cupid,” she said that
name with a snarl, “I’m not here to hunt.
Even is I was”, her voice was flat, “I have that privilege from
Aphrodite.”
Smirking, he took another
pull from his glass, “Hey, I’m just looking out for us.”
Xena’s lips thinned at the
‘us’. She certainly wasn’t included.
Love among the immortals was at best fleeting, rarely lasting out the
centuries. Aphrodite would replace
her Childe as soon as new playmate came along with the right ‘attributes and
attitude’.
He’d find that out on his
own.
“So, if you’re not
looking for a warm snack, why are you here?”, Cupid asked as his blue eyes
flickered slyly over her throat and chest.
“There is more to life than
food. When you’ve been around for
a while, you’ll learn that, pretty boy.”, she turned her attention back to
the stage, “Who’s next?”
“Not your type.” He
leered, “Some woman guitarist, she plays a couple of tunes and leaves.
Doesn’t sing, talks a little on stage.
Oddly enough, she’s quite the draw.
Cute, too. I’ve been
angling for Dite to let me ghoul her. Maybe,
if I’m good, the Prince will give me permission to Embrace her.”, Cupid’s
grin widened. Xena felt her neck muscles tighten. Not a chance in hell, she thought.
The crowd hushed as the
lights dimmed partially. A lone
figure crossed from behind the stage, holding a guitar case. She was petite with hair the color of faded copper in a dying
sun. Her eyes were luminous green
life dancing with a frenzy that bordered on the religious. She opened the case, pulling out a well worn acoustic guitar.
She gave it a strum, twisting the pegs once or twice.
The woman cleared her throat once and self consciously picked a threat
off of her simple blue and green flowered skirt.
She leaned into the microphone
“Hi, my name is
Gabrielle.”, she introduced herself, then began plucking out a small tune.
Her hands flowed across the frets and strings, a look of sublime
concentration on her face. The crowd, who were lightly conversing during the previous
act, were stone silent for her.
Xena sat in rapt attention.
The music wound its way to her still heart, opening a fissure in her
hardened soul. Fractured images of
a simpler life bubbled up. A life
when the sun was loved and warmed her skin and the night was a cool blessing of
love. Grass, so green it dazzled
the eyes. Bumblebees lazily roving
from flower to flower, with nary a care for time.
These were the days Xena forgot, the days before Ares.
The days Gabrielle was invoking for her.
Time jumped forward, and
pleasurable thought dashed by the sound of scattered applause.
Blinking she glanced around. The
audience was clapping and whistling loudly.
She caught Cupid out of the corner of her eye. He was still in the trance
that afflicted his kind -- their art was both their love and their paralyzing
weakness. Xena drained her glass,
slipping quietly from her seat and slipping towards the small door that led to
the backstage. then quietly moved to the backstage area.
She had to meet Gabrielle.
Slipping quietly past the
chaos that was performers, stage hands, Xena caught the flash of copper blonde
hair bobbing towards the back alley exit. Fighting
the irrational urge to toss the bodies milling about between her and her quarry,
she drew a tight rein on her impatience and just pushed through.
The blonde head grew steadily larger and closer.
“Wait. Hey, Gabrielle!”,
she called out. The name rolled off
her tongue, comfortable. Natural.
The slender form in blue and green paused at the primer painted metal
door, then turned to the call of her name.
Xena raised a hand to wave,
but three performers blocked her view. She
hissed venomously and shoved the three out of her way, only to see the door
swing open and begin to close. She
ran for the door, catching it with a slamming palm
She willed her senses to open
to their full predatory state. The
night air became a bloom of gas exhaust, cigarette smoke, musk and rain water.
One scent, lilacs, was buried under the trash vapor of the city.
Xena homed in on it, following it down the street with long purposeful
strides. She had to find her.
Failure was not something she forgave herself easily.
Gabrielle popped back into
her vision. She was gently placing
her guitar in the back seat of her car, a beat-up Grand Am with a sense of noble
purpose.
“HEY! GABRIELLE!”, she
hollered, jogging to her side. Gabrielle
looked up at the woman, smiling brightly.
“Hi.”, Gabrielle stuck
out her hand. Xena took it, willing
the still warm blood to rush to her hand to give it a life-like feel,
“You’re. . .?”
“Oh! Silly me.”, Xena
gushed. A voice bubbled up to the
back of her mind, Get a grip! You’ve faced down the Sabbat, the Prince and a
couple of Inquisitionist without so much as a toe twitching in nervousness!
Relax! It’s only a human!
She tried to bend her will to stillness and composure, “Xena.”
I’ve screwed up!
I should have given her that fake name I used.
Now I’ll never see her again, and that last thought filled her with a
foreign sensation of panic.
“Xena?
Never heard that name before.”, Gabrielle’s eyes never left hers.
They seemed to soften in the dusky light over head.
“Yeah, Greek name.
My parents were from a city called Amphipolis.
They moved shortly after I was born.”, she smiled shyly, “I wanted to
say that I heard your show and you are the best one I’ve heard yet.
Are you playing here again? Are
you selling any tapes?”
Gabrielle reached into her
car and pulled out a cassette, “Here, it’s my demo tape.
Doubt any hotshot record producer will ever get it, so here.
I’ll be playing here as long as Ms. Aphrodite will have me.
Tuesdays and Thursdays at night. She
pays good, but not enough to quit the day job.”, another dazzling smile.
Xena would have melted had she been alive.
“Good. Good to hear that I
can hear you again. Thanks for the
tape. I’ll guess I’ll be seeing
you on Thursday, then.”, Xena wanted to say more and do more.
She wanted to cup Gabrielle’s sweet face in her hands, feel the warmth
of living flesh under hers.
“Umm. . . yeah.
I’ll see you Thursday.”, Gabrielle awkwardly climbed into her car.
As she started up the engine, she gave a final wave to Xena.
The car rolled sedately away.
Xena memorized the license
plate number. She had a few friends
in the police force to run a check on the plate number. From that, she could discover where Gabrielle lived and what
her history was like. Soon after
that, she could give her the gift of immortality.