Bomber feedings, a series.
Bomber stood outside the goth club, debating on whether to go in. He hadn’t had much luck tonight, it was getting late, and he was famished, keeping a chokehold on the Beast.
He remembered the last time he went in there, about a week ago. He didn’t get three feet into the place when some girl was throwing herself at him, exposing her neck which had a bite mark tattoo with fake dripping blood. He couldn’t help himself, and immediately dragged her into a corner. He drank so deeply from her she passed out. He left her on the couch nearby to sleep it off.
“Comin’ in or stayin’ out?” the bouncer growled at him. He had enough piercings to set off a metal detector in the next building.
“Yeah, I guess I’ll go in.” He paid his cover and went into the bar. He wasn’t that out of place. At least he wore leather, even though he would look better in a biker bar. He chuckled to himself, remembering Lorenco’s present of a pair of red briefs to be his new “superhero outfit”. He had that in the pocket of his jacket.
The smell of humans jumped his want up a few notches. He smelled blood and sweat, pheronomes and alcohol – this was a dry club, catering to college aged kids, so the alcohol didn’t come from the bar.
Someone lithe and small jumped on his back. He put an arm around his back and the person’s small waist. He knew it was a girl by her size. He pulled her off and forward. It was the girl with the tattoo. She looked up at him, closed her eyes, and tilted her head.
His fangs dropped of their own accord. Behind him was a chair, relatively dark. He pulled her down to it, and began to feed, while she rubbed herself against his crotch insistantly. She would moan, then sigh, moan then sigh – then fell silent, as her heart beat slower and slower. She went limp in his arms.
He knew he had taken more than usual. He stopped, satisfied, and closed her wound. She threw her arms around his neck and sighed. “Do you love me?” Then she faded out.
Bomber blinked. He didn’t even know her name. He left her on the chair, getting up from it. He looked around, and a couple of kids with weird hair and pasty white makeup looked at him, small knowing smiles on their faces. He had to walk by them to get out.
As he did, he glanced at a couple of their necks. They also had the bite marks with dripping blood tattoos on their necks. He stared at them. One touched his jacket. Another grabbed his arm.
He forced himself to pull away, and headed out the door. He looked back thinking, Holy shit, these people are fuckin’ crazy!
Elysium
(an idea to propose)
Bomber sat on his bike, watching the kids across the street, at the goth club called “The Edge”. They stood around smoking something that could be cigarettes, but were probably not. His mind was working, wondering, questioning.
Lorenco had explained something called “Blood Dolls.” These were humans who searched out people who could give them the ecstacy of the Kiss. Bomber wondered if this meant a herd. And if that was so, then maybe these bite marks tattoos with dripping blood was a brand of a sort.
Which meant to him that they belonged to someone else.
Did that mean there was another Prince somewhere? This was Skyway City, far away from Cromwell’s Carnival. He needed to speak to the owner. Maybe he would know, or even be the Prince.
Finally, he kicked himself off the bike. He might as well go see the owner and get whatever punishment he was supposed to have. The bouncer with the steel sticking out of him looked him over. “You, again?”
“I want to speak to the owner.”
The bouncer smirked. “Bad experience last night?”
“Not at all.”
He grunted, and touched a button at his collar, holding it to his mouth. “Some guy wants the boss.”
There was a pause. Bomber looked up to see a small red light in the wall – a camera was trained on him. “Send him in,” came a man’s voice.
Bomber walked into the club and faced the entryway. There was a small door to his left, and a man in a suit stood in front of it. “You want the boss?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“What for?”
“To complement him on the club.”
“Her,” he said with a slight snarl. “Come in here.”
He followed the man past the door. The door slammed shut – it was reinforced metal on this side. “Give me your jacket, wallet, any weapons, and your belt.” Bomber blinked, and did as he was told. “Against the wall.”
“Don’t you think you’re going to extremes here?” he asked, assuming the position.
“You wouldn’t believe the assholes that come through here.” He frisked him, none too gently. Bomber’s hands curled into fists. He checked his crotch – thoroughly.
“Hey,” Bomber growled, and turned around.
The guy glared. “Quite a package there.”
“So I’ve been told. Now, if you’re finished…”
“Follow me.” Bomber could tell the man’s anger was coming off him in waves. They went down a hall. Bomber could hear the thump of music through the walls. In the back were assorted cleaning supplies, electrical generators and storage for beverages. He led him up a set of stairs to a second floor, and then knocked on another steel-reinforced door.
The door swung open on its own accord. The man stood aside and let Bomber go in first.
Bomber smelled incense, sweet and flowery. He adjusted to the relatively brighter light in here and saw a woman dressed in a clinging light blue gown that showed everything, her dark hair cascading straight down her back. She wore a medieval tiara like acrown and had long nails, colored the same as her gown.
“Greetings, Kindred,” she said, and walked to him with a swing of her hips. “I am called Anilia.”
With something like that coming toward him, he should have felt some sort of arousal. Or awe. Or something. He felt, if anything, confused and wary.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Anilia caressed his face with her long nails, gently scratching his jaw. “Don’t think I can’t tell.”
He wondered if she was like Lorenco a thin-blood caitiff, a damphir. She came up close to him, and tilted her head. She had the tattoo also. “Go ahead, drink your fill.”
His fangs dropped. So what if Anilia knew what he was – he bent and did as she suggested. At the first taste, he knew she wasn’t Kindred, but human. This time, though, he stopped himself before she would have passed out. He didn’t only want his hunger satisfied, but his curiosity as well.
He gently led her to the chair behind her desk and sat her down. She had a small smile on her face and sighed with utter pleasure. “Oh, it’s been so long…”
“What’s going on here?”
She looked up at him, blinking. “What? You mean Jacmes didn’t send you?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She focused. “Oh. Oh.” Anilia put her hands on the desk and righted herself. “I, uh, oh.” She didn’t look at him.
“Tell me what’s going on.”
She bit her lip and focused on him. He sat down in a chair across from her. “Jacmes Heliot was my boyfriend. He was Kindred. He told me all about the war between the Camarilla and the Sabbat. He wanted this club to be an Elysium for the Prince.”
“Who’s the Prince?”
“He was Lavassar, but I don’t know who it is now. I don’t think there is any, anymore.” Anilia looked down. “Jacmes disappeared about five months ago. We were blood bonded. I haven’t felt him.”
“Maybe he’s met Final Death.”
She said nothing.
“And those tattoos?”
“We’re his herd, his Dolls, he called us. We were for the Kindred to feed from in Elysium.”
“How many are there?”
“Thirteen. He didn’t want any more than that. Some leave, I find others.”
“And they know about Kindred?”
“They know about the Kiss. They think it’s some kind of subdermal drug.”
“Nobody knew about this Elysium or tried to take it over?”
Anilia shook her head. “He’d just started building it. He hadn’t even presented it to the Prince. I was his first one. I gave him the idea, to have kine to draw from. He said we should share the wealth, and Kindred would come to him knowing he had the best stock.”
A Kindred wine cellar. Now he understood where the term “Rack” came from. “What did he provide you? Money?”
She nodded. “Some, but I had most of it. I come from a family of restaurant owners, so this wasn’t much of a stretch. We couldn’t get a liquor license, being so close to the University.”
“Liquor’s finding its way in here anyway. I could smell it.”
“We’re still responsible if they get drunk and get in an accident.”
He nodded sagely. “You’ve been in business how long?”
“Six months.”
“How is business?”
“We’re slightly in the red, but nothing that can’t be corrected with a little more advertising and different DJ’s. Jacmes picked the DJ’s. He had a love for music.”
“Let me guess, Toreador.”
Anilia smiled slightly. “Yes.”
He stood up and pulled out his wallet, taking out a pile of bills and setting them on the desk. “There’s five hundred dollars. I can get you more. I want to buy rights into this club.”
“Interest,” she said. “You want to buy interest.”
“Whatever. I’d like to continue the idea of an Elysium, but I want to be sure that I can come in here whenever I want. To have access to the…stock.”
She bit her lip again. “I don’t know.”
“Why let this stock go to waste? Why make them wait for something that might never come? Give the customers what they want, isn’t that the golden rule?”
“You can take care of them all?”
“The Kiss doesn’t mean I have to feed off of them. I’ve learned to just let the blood flow. It makes them just as happy.” He motioned to the money. “I want 50% interest in The Edge. I’m prepared to pay for it.”
“Twenty-five percent. In case Jacmes comes back.”
“You really think he’s going to come back?”
Again, Anilia bit her lip, thoughtful for a long time. Then she reached for his arm.
He pulled his arm back. “You know what’ll happen if you do that.”
She nodded. “You’re right, Jacmes isn’t coming back. I want to forget about him.”
“I know what it’s like, Anilia. I was a blood-bonded ghoul. I don’t want you to go through that.”
“Please.”
He stared at her. She actually wanted to be blood bonded. She wanted him to be her master. It would be no different than if she asked him to put a collar and a leash on her, or asked him to order her around. Some people liked that. He was going to have to start getting used to these strange kinks.
He gave her what she wanted. She drank deeply from his wrist, chewing on his arm with strangely sharp teeth. Finally, he pulled his arm back, and she almost fell forward to try and keep a hold of it. He looked closely at her mouth – although bloody right now, she had filed her eye teeth down to fine points.
She gazed at him, and smiled. She climbed over the desk, that gown still clinging to her, and she reached for his belt. He said, “Sorry, that’s reserved.”
Anilia felt him up anyway, then looked at him, a little surprised. “How big is it?”
“Never you mind.” He picked her up and pulled her the rest of the way across the desk. “I’ll bring the money tomorrow.”
“Don’t worry about the money. I’ll draw up the papers. Come back tomorrow night?”
“Count on it.”
She put her head on his chest. “I’ll want more.”
He sighed. He pushed her away gently. “If that’s what you want.”
She smiled, and kissed him full on the lips. He didn’t receive her. “I’m committed, Anilia.”
She looked down. “James will be happy to hear that.”
“James? The guy outside?”
“Yes. We’ve been lovers since Jacmes left.”
He picked up her head. “Oh, and better advertise for some new DJ’s. You’ll have to pick ’em out cuz I have a tin ear.”
She laughed. “All right.”
He started to leave.
“What name do I put on the lease?”
He thought for a minute. “Will you need me to be there?”
“No, I have a Notary paid off.”
“Bruce Bombardier, then.” He knew Anilia wasn’t her real name, so he thought he might as well give a fake one too.
He opened the door, and then went downstairs. He found James at the opposite end of the hallway. He held out his hand for his things. James handed him a paper bag, and Bomber looked inside it to make sure they were his things.
“Oh, by the way,” he said, “Anilia’s all yours.”
He glared at Bomber. “Thanks.”
“Welcome.” He went out into the club, getting nearly smacked in the face by the music. As he went outside, he started laughing.
Bruce Michaelaine, vampire pimp.
Words: 2261 (both stories)
Inspiration: Something mentioned last night, and the idea of a Rack.
Music: War Machine – AC/DC
Comments: At first, I thought Bomber would buy a hotel/motel and gather up people. Then I thought of the idea of what if someone branded their herd? What would be a brand but a tattoo? And what kind of tattoo other than an obvious bull’s eye on someone’s neck?
At first I had Jacmes as the owner of the club, and have him very pissed at Bomber. Then I had him grudgingly accept Bomber since he was an elder. Then I had Bomber kill him off – that certainly didn’t work at all. Finally, I had him disappear – met Final Death – but his girlfriend carried the torch.
I was also making the assumption that most of the Camarilla have disappeared or gone underground (which would explain WoD SG’s, as they seem to play within their own groups and in the D which I refuse to go to). Bomber has no clue about this, and once he announces an Elysium, it’ll either be a bastion for others to come or a target for the Sabbat – both via stories, maybe RP. My plans are to not necessarily participate with other WoD SG’s, as they all have their own respective Princes and I don’t want to step on toes.
Also, I hope Keen doesn’t mind my using Las Sombras as a stage.