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Sunday, May 01, 2005
I walk briskly in the cold night air towards the flashy, glamorous part of the city. It throbs with life, full of the human pulse, so strong it makes me water in the mouth slightly. A tall brunette walks by and flashes me a smile, I nod, careful not to grin and expose my pointed incisors. She walks by. My feet take me to the Chevalier a French imitation restaurant that charges a pretty penny for escargot and Chardonnay. I walk in to a candle lit atmosphere that smells of expensive perfume and imported cigars.
The Matre'de for tonight is a tall, elegantly dressed man, making his required uniform look comfortable. He looks up from his books, caps his gold tipped fountain pen and gives me a business smile.
"Welcome to the Chevalier, sir. Reservation under the name of...?"
I must take a moment here to emphasis the wonderful extra abilities that come with this curse. Rather like a honey covered lemon. One of my "talents" as it is, would be to read human's minds, to use that horribly incorrect phrase that cannot even begin to explain the amount of intricacy that makes up a man's mind.
I see, through his eyes, the list of reservations, scanning down until I find one I like.
"Douglas, Micheal."
The Matre'de nods, reaches for a menu and beckons for one of the lesser men standing off to the side, waiting to usher in the customers. I follow, taking in the rich colors, smells and sights. Women in silks and furs, men in black tuxedos with crisp cuffs and pearl buttons, gold and silver watch chains, pipes full of tobacco. Chandeliers, bottles of open wines, dark and light sweating in the buckets of ice next to tables with linen napkins pressed so well the creases are visible after unfolding them. Polished shoes and high heels peek out from beneath the tables, resting on fake marble floors, waxed almost too much, as the squeaking of the server's shoes would tell. This is a place where old men come and revel in their glory days, the golden eras of long forgotten wars and jazz music, of women who stayed at home and smoking was allowed in all parts of public.
Young men who imitate that lost charm, all a facade that falls off when they exit the glass plated, brushed steel handled doors and step into their normal life of car payments, demanding bosses and broken marriages.
I am seated in the back left part of the restaurant. I am not hidden, but I am not making myself and easy target, none of that out in the open, exposing myself. a woman glaces seductively at me from two tables over but breaks eye contact when her husband returns to the table. A list of wines is presented to me along with a list of entrees for the night. I nod my acknowledgment to the faceless server, who has already scurried off to assist another couple in choosing the most expensive meal possible.
While this web of meaningless bustle weaves itself around me, I must take some time to chose my meal. Such a selection tonight. Shall I have that blonde, miserable with her boyfriend's uninteresting babble about titles, promotion and future. Or the Red head, who peeks at me between pauses in the conversation between her and her husband. There is, also the Brunette who dared to glance at me while I was being seated, sitting alone and drinking away his confusion.
I'm so intent upon choosing which to play cat-and-mouse with that I forget myself for a moment and stare into space. which one? Which one indeed.
Posted at 02:50 pm by IanMckellenFan
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Monday, July 26, 2004
NOTICE:
Due to writer's block I am currently out of ideas for the next chapter. Feel free to suggest (appropriate, i.e. no sex scenes) any or all ideas you have for Vampire. (name still undetermined) I will fully credit you for any of your ideas that I use in the writing of the diary. Please place them in the comment section of this entry. Also, if I get enough feedback, I may change the style to one where people can particpate in a way of controlling what will happen next, including intruducing yourself in a character. I will however, if this happens, have to limit the amount of vampires to even out with the civilians, friends, et cetrea.
Posted at 01:14 pm by IanMckellenFan
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Wednesday, July 21, 2004
I lounge on a dirt encrusted brick wall in a forsaken, run down alley, full of dark, forboding shadows. I'm waiting for dinner. A possible entreé walks by, and backs up.
How nice. Another scumbag. A nobody that isn't noticed alive and wouldn't be noticed dead. Apparently, tonight's meal thinks he's a hotshot. He swaggers towards me.
They make it so easy that I feel almost sorry killing them. Almost. "Hey you! You're in my territory!" I roll my eyes. It must have taken him forever to pronounce a four syllable word, and then understand what it is. "Pay up and maybe I'll let you go free." He sniggers to himself and produces a handgun from the folds of his raggety overcoat. Something that the salvation army would turn down. And a gun. How quaint. I hardly think that it is loaded with wooden bullets. I draw out of the shadows and adopt one of my many disguises. Tonight I am playing Lost Boy.
"Please mister, don't hurt me," I whine piteously. Long years of practice. "I'm lost and I don't have a lot of money and oh, please help me mister." I inch toward him and the outstretched gun. He notices and cocks the gun. Click. "Not so fast smarty.You ain't leaven' till I say." his eyes drop to scan my pocket, where the idiot must think money is hanging out of my pockets.
It was a bad choice on his part. My arms come out like flashes of pale lightning. One wrenches the gun out of his weak hand and the other spins him around behind me.
Now he's backing up and whining. "Mister, please, no. Don't shoot, I've got a family and I need money to feed them and please don't shoot." He's a pathatic liar and he knows it. His back hits the wall and he's cornered, with fear in his eyes and all over his body. I take some pleasure when his fear winds me in it's embrace. And my hunger grows. I grab him by his grimy hair, yank his head to the side where I can see his pulse, now throbbing in time to his tremoring heart. It's still beating as I bite. dark crimson blood leaks out of the corners of my mouth and stain his clothes.
He is dead. sooner than I had expected, and I am still hungry. I inspect the gun. no bullets. tossing it down beside the corspe I walk away, straightening my collar. I want more of a challenge. I want something more sophisticated. I'm going up town.
Posted at 12:18 pm by IanMckellenFan
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Tuesday, July 20, 2004
I woke up sweating again.
At least I think I woke up.
These days, dreams and reality are becoming more meshed. More or less real.
The voices are becoming clearer too. They used to be in the background, just a hum of niose. A little odd at first, but I got used to it.
The voices are making more sense too. The voice I hear the most, he rules over the other voices, he told me his name is Daemon.
My dreams are strange too. it might be the pill I take now to get to sleep. I'm scared. Scared of my dreams that are full of blood and screaming and smells of fear. There is a monster more hollow than ever before. I see it in the reflection of my victims eyes.
The monster has a pale, narrow face with pale blue eyes, thin red lips and spikey black hair.. the monster that is me has a hungry look, but no food in the human sense can fill me. Food is nothing to me, it turns to ash in my mouth. Drinks are hardly beter. Caffine is what I love to get by one when I can't get one. Which is rare. The hunger is always there, gnawing at my insides.
My parents left when I was old enought to fend for myself. They taught me the ways of our kind and moved on. I am alone. A Vampire born out of wedlock, able to prowl in the day. When I am hungry nothing is safe.
Posted at 06:07 pm by IanMckellenFan
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