Augusta Fern's Blog - Posts Tagged "love"
...Home Sweet Home.
Back at my haven, one of the last remaining warehouses along The Mississippi River in the old warehouse district of New Orleans. A dilapidated place which is deemed condemned to the populace and scheduled at some point to be remodeled by the city. I extensively cleaned and repaired everything including the elevator. The ride from the first floor to the fifth used to be a long loud one, getting the machine silently operational had been a great chore.
I reached my floor and slide the gate up.
The wide open space is especially beneficial for the upkeep of skill, I do have a small living area to the far, far left of the space. Basic comfort is my preference; I do enjoy television, when I can enjoy television. I suppose it’s my one vanity other than my weapons which I spare no expense. I purchased a 50 inch RCA, LCD 1080i flat screen TV, which is safely bolted to my ceiling, on occasion prior to day-stasis I enjoy watching it in my box.
My box; I do not own a coffin but a large pine box (synonymous with what I would have been buried in once my people started burying their dead, in the time I was turned we burned our dead) equipped with simple pad lock again to be mistaken for a storage compartment, when I am not in it I use it as a coffee table. Inside basic blankets until I utilize it then the blankets I discard outside the box, I have no use for blankets but they come in handy for my ruse. Behind the box, a Victorian couch of bright green crushed velvet, which happen to already be here, as well as a pair of matching chairs, when I claimed the place as my own. There is no kitchen; however I did have a modest bathroom erected at the site of the existing plumbing. A mud room shower with a large drain and an industrial sink. There is also a floor to ceiling mirror I placed in that area; another item found amongst the rubble, it comes in handy when making absolutely certain you’ve washed all the blood off.
I blacked out the large warehouse windows with paint and lined panels to insure I don’t get caught by the breaking dawn. I sectioned off space to where the windows remain open so that during the night I may view the Quarter. I do not keep blood here in case the local police decide to raid these old places for vagrants. If my haven were discovered it would be looked upon as a homeless person’s dwelling. I also keep various weapons needed in my profession, those also kept under lock and key in the depths of the warehouse, an area of the building so intimidating no one dare venture.
It began to get late for me, early for humans. Dawn was approaching and I began the ritual of retiring to my box. I clasped the lock in my hand and put the key in, turned and pop. I removed the blankets and climbed in, lock in hand. The same lock used outside, I used to lock from the inside. During the day hours when we are “sleeping” isn’t a sleeping like humans. Once inside our coffins, mausoleums or boxes we are suspended inside until the sun descends below the Earth, “day-stasis”. I have never been comfortable with the lack of control of myself, although I should be grateful for the time I did have in the sun. Most days I am glad to have experienced the time I‘ve spent roaming this vast Earth, some days I wished my body had been set upon a pyre in the old days, my spirit cast to the stars.
The day wore on and I lay suspended, visions surrounding me, the creature….it’s primitivism and the familiarity, my mind trails before settling on the vision of the woman in the Quarter invoked a world of emotion in me, emotion I spent centuries upon century’s suppressing. My primal instincts rear their ugly head on occasion, the need to destroy. The salacious evil in each of us; we are immortal beauty to destroy mortal beauty. The monster inside hunts her, watching her every movement, tracking her steps, careful to retain her scent before accosting her to belligerently ravage her naked body, restricting her movement, can’t move, and can’t scream. Touching her, smelling her, listlessly searching for the exact point of entry, enjoying every jerk of her delicate body beneath it; the struggle is exhilarating, humorous.
It finds admission, simultaneously raping and sinking it’s teeth into the deliciously opaque flesh, her breast releasing a most delectable flood of crimson into it’s……my mouth, cascading over my tongue, quenching an aggressive thirst….
If ever I had the notion to seek out human companionship I was reminded of the priestess words, echoing in my ears,
“What you are will be a danger, to all who are human.” Crisp and clear as first I heard them, reminding me now, to feign any desire for knowledge of her.
Have I not served? Do I not deserve?
These thoughts, are the thoughts; of a monster.
Entangled in this until the moment of release and I welcome the distraction of freedom; I quickly removed the lock, flinging the lid off it’s hinges. And if the fact that I had to now repair the fucking thing wasn’t exacerbating enough I climbed out breathless, as if the weight of the lid pushing the visions further and deeper, more and more. I emerged slowly, regaining my composure as I had a job for the evening.
Club Morte’. Owned and operated by the most infamous of vampires, Madliene. Said to be the “Mother” of all vampires and as far as research shows, she is older than me. She is my most consistent employer and when she is not in need of my skill in the field I am at her whim, her recent suspicion of unregistered immortals in the area were raised by her minions. Of course she calls me.
The arrival of an Icelandic clan, vampires from the old world, made our Queen especially uneasy. There was speculative talk that the clan met secretively in New Orleans. Her interest in why the group is concealing itself from her embrace is speculative. Knowledge of the clan’s admission into New Orleans was very public, “vampire” public and when in a ruled territory, you must make appearances. They had failed to do so after more than a week inside the city borders. I received files week’s prior, basic knowledge of various vampires in the area that had not registered or treated with the Queen, the Icelandic clan among them.
A dense portion of the contents given to me contained vampires who may or may not carry hostility toward The Queen. The majority of its contents were irrelevant and very few of these vampires still existed. I didn’t know what she was insinuating by providing me with a folder full of useless information. Regardless, I would be in her dwelling soon enough.
I gathered my components for the night’s activities while still in last night’s gear. Vampires don’t sweat; no need to launder clothes, unless you catch a bit of blood, in that scenario there are facilities at Morte’ or I dispose of them, what is the purpose in cleaning blood drenched clothes? I have a simplistic wardrobe, needing much less by way of clothing and at my age I have grown accustom to it. T-shirts and jeans, leather motorcycle jacket (infused with Kevlar), military issue steel toe boots. I’ve spent many a day in full battle gear or some pompous court attire, I truly enjoy this day and age. Men are less interested in frills and thrills of fashion. I pulled my boots on and proceeded to lace them up when I hear a sound in the far distance. I chose this area for its lack of population, so noises are troubling. I decided to quicken my pace getting myself out of my haven for the night, there was no need for bloodshed just yet, still too early. I leapt to the window sill, taking one last glance around the warehouse before jumping five stories below, landing with persistence one moment and then nonchalantly appear among the human populace the next.
The air was sweet and cool, indicating the day was less humid. I enjoyed New Orleans like most vampires. You are never at a loss for familiar company. The culture is rich and human activity is great. Tourism has improved since Katrina and the city was once again ripe with saviors and sinners, angels and demons; us. During the hurricane and the months after, the city was left a depressing wasteland. Even vampires retreated to other areas to avoid the storm and the chaos that followed. Most of the aged, meaning myself and others who have walked this Earth too long, stayed and weathered the storm in hopes of restoring our community. Madliene had also stayed; being a business owner she had more of an obligation to do so.
It didn’t take long for the vampires to return to business and once accomplished some vampire business owners anonymously helped humans return to their day to day. During the night repairs would take place and in the morning hours when the proprietor arrived to his or her business an unexpected surprise await them. That is the spirit of this city, a city we as vampires hope to cherish for the millennia of years ahead of us.
Co-habitation with humans; who are not just food for us, they are an integral part of our society, especially for vampire business. Money, well let’s face it; it makes the world go round. If they do not exist, we do not. We could drink animal blood if we want to take on said animals attributes. Besides, we were human; we must drink human blood to sustain our human façade.
I’m sure animal blood could sustain us, but the eternal satisfaction of thirst cannot be quenched that way. Human blood holds more for us, the experience is unmistakable. Human emotion and fear run at its peak when we feed direct, we feel everything. A vampire can see human memories and feel the emotion inside each memory while feeding. Most are of great fear, some are intensely sexual and on the rare occasion you encounter a human who just wants to die. At one time or another I have had the discomfort, pleasure, and regret of each. I don’t need to feed to feel emotions, I feel them regardless. Vampire and Human alike and they are easy to disregard unless I am inundated.
I reached my floor and slide the gate up.
The wide open space is especially beneficial for the upkeep of skill, I do have a small living area to the far, far left of the space. Basic comfort is my preference; I do enjoy television, when I can enjoy television. I suppose it’s my one vanity other than my weapons which I spare no expense. I purchased a 50 inch RCA, LCD 1080i flat screen TV, which is safely bolted to my ceiling, on occasion prior to day-stasis I enjoy watching it in my box.
My box; I do not own a coffin but a large pine box (synonymous with what I would have been buried in once my people started burying their dead, in the time I was turned we burned our dead) equipped with simple pad lock again to be mistaken for a storage compartment, when I am not in it I use it as a coffee table. Inside basic blankets until I utilize it then the blankets I discard outside the box, I have no use for blankets but they come in handy for my ruse. Behind the box, a Victorian couch of bright green crushed velvet, which happen to already be here, as well as a pair of matching chairs, when I claimed the place as my own. There is no kitchen; however I did have a modest bathroom erected at the site of the existing plumbing. A mud room shower with a large drain and an industrial sink. There is also a floor to ceiling mirror I placed in that area; another item found amongst the rubble, it comes in handy when making absolutely certain you’ve washed all the blood off.
I blacked out the large warehouse windows with paint and lined panels to insure I don’t get caught by the breaking dawn. I sectioned off space to where the windows remain open so that during the night I may view the Quarter. I do not keep blood here in case the local police decide to raid these old places for vagrants. If my haven were discovered it would be looked upon as a homeless person’s dwelling. I also keep various weapons needed in my profession, those also kept under lock and key in the depths of the warehouse, an area of the building so intimidating no one dare venture.
It began to get late for me, early for humans. Dawn was approaching and I began the ritual of retiring to my box. I clasped the lock in my hand and put the key in, turned and pop. I removed the blankets and climbed in, lock in hand. The same lock used outside, I used to lock from the inside. During the day hours when we are “sleeping” isn’t a sleeping like humans. Once inside our coffins, mausoleums or boxes we are suspended inside until the sun descends below the Earth, “day-stasis”. I have never been comfortable with the lack of control of myself, although I should be grateful for the time I did have in the sun. Most days I am glad to have experienced the time I‘ve spent roaming this vast Earth, some days I wished my body had been set upon a pyre in the old days, my spirit cast to the stars.
The day wore on and I lay suspended, visions surrounding me, the creature….it’s primitivism and the familiarity, my mind trails before settling on the vision of the woman in the Quarter invoked a world of emotion in me, emotion I spent centuries upon century’s suppressing. My primal instincts rear their ugly head on occasion, the need to destroy. The salacious evil in each of us; we are immortal beauty to destroy mortal beauty. The monster inside hunts her, watching her every movement, tracking her steps, careful to retain her scent before accosting her to belligerently ravage her naked body, restricting her movement, can’t move, and can’t scream. Touching her, smelling her, listlessly searching for the exact point of entry, enjoying every jerk of her delicate body beneath it; the struggle is exhilarating, humorous.
It finds admission, simultaneously raping and sinking it’s teeth into the deliciously opaque flesh, her breast releasing a most delectable flood of crimson into it’s……my mouth, cascading over my tongue, quenching an aggressive thirst….
If ever I had the notion to seek out human companionship I was reminded of the priestess words, echoing in my ears,
“What you are will be a danger, to all who are human.” Crisp and clear as first I heard them, reminding me now, to feign any desire for knowledge of her.
Have I not served? Do I not deserve?
These thoughts, are the thoughts; of a monster.
Entangled in this until the moment of release and I welcome the distraction of freedom; I quickly removed the lock, flinging the lid off it’s hinges. And if the fact that I had to now repair the fucking thing wasn’t exacerbating enough I climbed out breathless, as if the weight of the lid pushing the visions further and deeper, more and more. I emerged slowly, regaining my composure as I had a job for the evening.
Club Morte’. Owned and operated by the most infamous of vampires, Madliene. Said to be the “Mother” of all vampires and as far as research shows, she is older than me. She is my most consistent employer and when she is not in need of my skill in the field I am at her whim, her recent suspicion of unregistered immortals in the area were raised by her minions. Of course she calls me.
The arrival of an Icelandic clan, vampires from the old world, made our Queen especially uneasy. There was speculative talk that the clan met secretively in New Orleans. Her interest in why the group is concealing itself from her embrace is speculative. Knowledge of the clan’s admission into New Orleans was very public, “vampire” public and when in a ruled territory, you must make appearances. They had failed to do so after more than a week inside the city borders. I received files week’s prior, basic knowledge of various vampires in the area that had not registered or treated with the Queen, the Icelandic clan among them.
A dense portion of the contents given to me contained vampires who may or may not carry hostility toward The Queen. The majority of its contents were irrelevant and very few of these vampires still existed. I didn’t know what she was insinuating by providing me with a folder full of useless information. Regardless, I would be in her dwelling soon enough.
I gathered my components for the night’s activities while still in last night’s gear. Vampires don’t sweat; no need to launder clothes, unless you catch a bit of blood, in that scenario there are facilities at Morte’ or I dispose of them, what is the purpose in cleaning blood drenched clothes? I have a simplistic wardrobe, needing much less by way of clothing and at my age I have grown accustom to it. T-shirts and jeans, leather motorcycle jacket (infused with Kevlar), military issue steel toe boots. I’ve spent many a day in full battle gear or some pompous court attire, I truly enjoy this day and age. Men are less interested in frills and thrills of fashion. I pulled my boots on and proceeded to lace them up when I hear a sound in the far distance. I chose this area for its lack of population, so noises are troubling. I decided to quicken my pace getting myself out of my haven for the night, there was no need for bloodshed just yet, still too early. I leapt to the window sill, taking one last glance around the warehouse before jumping five stories below, landing with persistence one moment and then nonchalantly appear among the human populace the next.
The air was sweet and cool, indicating the day was less humid. I enjoyed New Orleans like most vampires. You are never at a loss for familiar company. The culture is rich and human activity is great. Tourism has improved since Katrina and the city was once again ripe with saviors and sinners, angels and demons; us. During the hurricane and the months after, the city was left a depressing wasteland. Even vampires retreated to other areas to avoid the storm and the chaos that followed. Most of the aged, meaning myself and others who have walked this Earth too long, stayed and weathered the storm in hopes of restoring our community. Madliene had also stayed; being a business owner she had more of an obligation to do so.
It didn’t take long for the vampires to return to business and once accomplished some vampire business owners anonymously helped humans return to their day to day. During the night repairs would take place and in the morning hours when the proprietor arrived to his or her business an unexpected surprise await them. That is the spirit of this city, a city we as vampires hope to cherish for the millennia of years ahead of us.
Co-habitation with humans; who are not just food for us, they are an integral part of our society, especially for vampire business. Money, well let’s face it; it makes the world go round. If they do not exist, we do not. We could drink animal blood if we want to take on said animals attributes. Besides, we were human; we must drink human blood to sustain our human façade.
I’m sure animal blood could sustain us, but the eternal satisfaction of thirst cannot be quenched that way. Human blood holds more for us, the experience is unmistakable. Human emotion and fear run at its peak when we feed direct, we feel everything. A vampire can see human memories and feel the emotion inside each memory while feeding. Most are of great fear, some are intensely sexual and on the rare occasion you encounter a human who just wants to die. At one time or another I have had the discomfort, pleasure, and regret of each. I don’t need to feed to feel emotions, I feel them regardless. Vampire and Human alike and they are easy to disregard unless I am inundated.
Welcome to Morte'...
My arrival to Morte’ as an observer was as it always is, pulsating rhythms synchronized to elaborate light shows, for the time being, Porno for Pyro’s “Tahitian Moon” blasted it’s eloquence through the club, however the later the hour here, the darker and more dangerous the music becomes.
I silently slip into the hidden corridor leading to the balcony which overlooks the club and its patrons. The elusive balcony is usually where Madliene holds court, and at this moment in time she had not yet made her grand entrance as I emerged. I strode to the railed edge of the balcony overlooking the human patrons already inhabiting the club, some catching a glimpse of me, excitement overcoming them, I back away slowly. If invited to treat with the Queen atop the balcony, beware. There is a reason no human returns from the balcony. I do my absolute damnedest to avoid the patrons at Morte’.
One of the last remaining old warehouses off highway 90 by the Mississippi River. Morte’, itself, on the outside looks of nothing special. A large warehouse with a single door, the only working street lamp on the block flickers in the distance for the slightest hint of light. The sidewalk underfoot lay cracked with weeds growing between, no sign. If you weren’t hinted to the fact that it was there you would never know. Before actual entry to the club there is a sound proof membrane surrounding the interior, Once past the membrane you are met with the picture of blasphemous decadence.
Onyx floors stretch throughout encased by black and red damask plastered the walls above baroque wood paneled wainscoting, plush couches and chairs scattered around giant day beds covered in luxurious silk pillows outline a dance floor. Long and heavy black-out curtains from ceiling to floor, creating a beautiful pattern among the damask.
Gargantuan antique chandeliers rained over head and small stand only tables lined the exterior wall up to a birth on either side of the bar; a sight in its self to behold. Six, 6 foot multi-lit, multi-colored glass shelves housing any being’s preferred poison flank a granite slab on top of paneled wood. From the balcony is unseen as it lies directly under, at the bottom of a grand wrought iron staircase. The music has changed to Massive Attack’s “Angel” but there is no DJ or band visible, a laptop with a continual playlist as DJ, everything, including the lights fully controllable behind the bar.
The vampire community is well aware of Morte’ since Madliene is the authority in this area, but for humans it’s an invitation only establishment. A human must arrive with a vampire or have the name of a well known amongst the community to gain entry to the club. Hosts may share with other vampires at the human’s consent. If the consenting human so inclines, he or she may add themselves to the list of regular meals served at the club. Each night the same monotonous behavior, humans serving themselves up for vampire consumption; in hope, some sort of sick sadistic hope of being brought into our world, morbid hope to be sexually intimate with one of us. Or, sadly, a hope to die. Curious hope? Curiosity is a dangerous thing and human curiosity is that of a cat’s.
From high on my perch I could see Estella and Sophia, children of The Queen, running the bar at Morte’ and serving drinks; both women created by Madliene at the most desperate and detrimental part of their lives.
Madliene made Estella after finding her bleeding to death from a vampire attack. From New Orleans, Estella Lancaster Benoit had been the fiancée of a landowner, aged 21 years before her life was snatched from and returned to her. The daughter of a prominent plantation owner named Benoit, Estella was the picture of southern elegance, always dressed in the finest gowns and attending any and all social events. Not long after the Mexican-American war ended and her beloved returned home wounded, unlike so many others who didn’t return at all, she was dressing for his homecoming dinner. An event in the making since the boy departed. Times were still hard and in the south, very few families had the means to throw a party but the Beauregard’s adored their son and spared no saved expense when he came home from battle. Estella and the Captain (at the time, he would become a General) were to be wed as soon as his shoulder and thigh wounds healed. Unfortunately Estella didn’t make an appearance at dinner or anywhere else for that matter. Attacked inside her room and dragged out to the grounds she was fed upon by a vampire named Creighton and left for dead under a conglomerate of Magnolia trees. Madliene being omni-present felt Estella’s pain and saved the young beauty adorned with magnificent strawberry blonde hair and eyes radiantly green like moss in the forest.
Since that day she has been in debt to our Queen, forever to serve for the gracious gift bestowed upon her by her Majesty. Tonight she was dressed in her Morte’ best; pouring herself into a pair of skin tight black leather pants, my eyes flowed down her thighs to a pair of black shiny platform spiked heels before making it back up to the matching pink corset, which crushed her breasts to her chest, adorned with black lace up the torso and across her shoulders where the straps painstakingly held her in place. Estella is a bountiful creature and tonight her strawberry blonde hair curled perfectly around her uplifted breasts. She turned from the current table monopolizing her attention to peer up the balcony at me and smiled. Her beautiful gleaming K-9 teeth present as she did so.
Her Captain, who died a General, married of course. A prominent woman from a Sugar Cane family, they had 3 children. He lost her during the childbirth of the third. He re-married some years later to another daughter of a sugar cane planter, they had no children. She died four years later.
Estella speaks of her time with great fervor, truly a southern belle turned bitter by her circumstances. She is accepting of the facts these days however when you hear her speak of it, you can’t help but feel sorry for her. Her whole life planned out, gone in an instant. I don’t know if she keeps tabs on the remaining descendants of her Captain or that of her own family; but it wouldn’t surprise me.
Although I stood in deep thought I felt her presence as she graced the corridor, not to mention her heel clipping the step as she bent down to enter.
“See anything you like Cian? Can I offer you someone?” she said in jest. Estella knew of my feeding habits. I decided to make her think none the less.
“Eh, you’re working.” I said without changing my gaze at the crowd. I could feel her green eyes bore into what lack of a soul I had.
Estella and I have always had a pretty good relationship. She can talk to me and I can listen. When she and I do talk we don’t discuss me or my past. There have only been a few times she was the listener and from the way her face twisted while I spoke, I’m sure she wouldn’t want to listen to my past ever again; I am content listening to hers. She hasn’t the sexual desire for me that I have for her and in all honesty I don’t quite understand my fascination, but I have it and its present when I am in her company.
Unfortunately for me, she currently beds another female vampire, Angelique, sister to Sophia; Biological sisters to be precise. Angelique, the first to be taken by Madliene, then more recently Sophia; the sisters are not my biggest fans. Angelique resents the relationship I have with Estella and Sophia is just doing what her big sister thinks she should, I respect her loyalty.
Angelique is rarely at work due to her dissatisfaction with her position in Madliene’s court. The Queen, however is not concerned with Angelique as long as Sophia is present and accounted for. In turn Sophia holds a little of her own resentment toward her sister as Sophia has not long resided in the Queen’s court and Angelique has been in service for much longer. The sisters had very similar facial features; both have dark curly brown almost black hair and dark brown eyes. Angelique is paler than her sister and is always dressed in black; which only regards her as paler. Sophia likes to dress in the latest fashions and has an olive complexion. They are both bountifully proportioned with Sophia being slightly healthier than her gaunt sister. I can’t comprehend, nor attempt to understand the attraction Estella has to Angelique but it must be sincere.
Angelique as of late is missing, gone rogue. No one knows, Estella is visibly worried on a regular basis, yet she is counter controlled by Madliene to be the vision of eroticism, but many male patrons of Morte’ make the mistake of grabbing her and they learn very quickly to not do it again. The humans she is always cautious with, giving them a “slap on the wrist”. The vampires, who are old enough to know better, against them, she was allowed to defend her honor as she saw fit. Madliene sees everything as a sort of entertainment; everything has humor or an ironic fervor about it. Even if it involves her own children.
Madliene, The Queen of all Vampires made her grand entrance. The intense lyrics of Nine Inch Nails, “Heresy” ceases to play as the most dangerously beautiful woman in existence and the claimed, oldest of our kind; graces the club with her omnipotence. She is as shrewd in her business as she is about her children and she has millions of both, spending the vast amount of her time in New Orleans. It is said that the only vampire myth that is true from the old country is the “Death to the original vampire means death to all made vampires.” And she is speculated to be the One. If this is true I don’t know and we probably never know as she is indestructible, impenetrable, and harboring more than mere vampire powers, her ties to the Voudo underworld are also of infamy.
The Queen is a tall slender woman, almost gaunt but she is always dressed very well, for her money is no object. She has the complexion of a china doll, her hair is a wavy jet black, her eyes are black, almond shaped unless provoked or hungry; they begin to burn bright hazel with prominent green barbs, becoming wider and larger. No one knows her decent or country of origin, but it is speculated that she is of French ancestry. She has been virtually everywhere and known literally everyone.
Madliene glides across the floor, the train of her ornately beaded sheath gown following behind, everyone including the humans bow in her presence. Flanked by her minions Romeo and Damien, why she surrounded herself with humans who couldn’t protect her wasn’t beyond me.
She was making a statement, implying that she is so powerful she needs not immortals to protect her, but if need be they are not far. Sophia and Estella on alert nearby to spring into action should the situation call for it. After gracing the dance floor with her presence she and her minions made their way to the grand staircase, she floated effortlessly to the top while Romeo and Damien climbed each step behind her. Once at the top and in view of the patrons below she waved her hand and the atmosphere regained its previous debauchery.
Tonight the atmosphere was calm and neither Estella nor Sophia seemed to exude any sort of tension. I remained at my perch, observing and stalking, watching and spying…listening until the kiss of just before dawn, I made my exit through the corridor, while on the short walk to my haven, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of urge to wander into the Quarter, but time was limited and the following night I was at the whim of no one.
I only take one night a week to rest myself, not that I need to, being a vampire. The downtime is appreciated when I can get it. I had newspapers from weeks and weeks piled up around my haven and as I gathered them to take out I saw a familiarly striking face. Even in black and gray print she was beautiful.
The heavenly creature I had stumbled upon in the French Quarter was staring back at me from my newspaper, the headline reading, “Husband of Beauregard Heiress Missing.” Further down the article a picture of Griffin Benoit a healthy thirty-something father, with what looked to be sandy-blonde hair, light eyes and a kind smile.
I silently slip into the hidden corridor leading to the balcony which overlooks the club and its patrons. The elusive balcony is usually where Madliene holds court, and at this moment in time she had not yet made her grand entrance as I emerged. I strode to the railed edge of the balcony overlooking the human patrons already inhabiting the club, some catching a glimpse of me, excitement overcoming them, I back away slowly. If invited to treat with the Queen atop the balcony, beware. There is a reason no human returns from the balcony. I do my absolute damnedest to avoid the patrons at Morte’.
One of the last remaining old warehouses off highway 90 by the Mississippi River. Morte’, itself, on the outside looks of nothing special. A large warehouse with a single door, the only working street lamp on the block flickers in the distance for the slightest hint of light. The sidewalk underfoot lay cracked with weeds growing between, no sign. If you weren’t hinted to the fact that it was there you would never know. Before actual entry to the club there is a sound proof membrane surrounding the interior, Once past the membrane you are met with the picture of blasphemous decadence.
Onyx floors stretch throughout encased by black and red damask plastered the walls above baroque wood paneled wainscoting, plush couches and chairs scattered around giant day beds covered in luxurious silk pillows outline a dance floor. Long and heavy black-out curtains from ceiling to floor, creating a beautiful pattern among the damask.
Gargantuan antique chandeliers rained over head and small stand only tables lined the exterior wall up to a birth on either side of the bar; a sight in its self to behold. Six, 6 foot multi-lit, multi-colored glass shelves housing any being’s preferred poison flank a granite slab on top of paneled wood. From the balcony is unseen as it lies directly under, at the bottom of a grand wrought iron staircase. The music has changed to Massive Attack’s “Angel” but there is no DJ or band visible, a laptop with a continual playlist as DJ, everything, including the lights fully controllable behind the bar.
The vampire community is well aware of Morte’ since Madliene is the authority in this area, but for humans it’s an invitation only establishment. A human must arrive with a vampire or have the name of a well known amongst the community to gain entry to the club. Hosts may share with other vampires at the human’s consent. If the consenting human so inclines, he or she may add themselves to the list of regular meals served at the club. Each night the same monotonous behavior, humans serving themselves up for vampire consumption; in hope, some sort of sick sadistic hope of being brought into our world, morbid hope to be sexually intimate with one of us. Or, sadly, a hope to die. Curious hope? Curiosity is a dangerous thing and human curiosity is that of a cat’s.
From high on my perch I could see Estella and Sophia, children of The Queen, running the bar at Morte’ and serving drinks; both women created by Madliene at the most desperate and detrimental part of their lives.
Madliene made Estella after finding her bleeding to death from a vampire attack. From New Orleans, Estella Lancaster Benoit had been the fiancée of a landowner, aged 21 years before her life was snatched from and returned to her. The daughter of a prominent plantation owner named Benoit, Estella was the picture of southern elegance, always dressed in the finest gowns and attending any and all social events. Not long after the Mexican-American war ended and her beloved returned home wounded, unlike so many others who didn’t return at all, she was dressing for his homecoming dinner. An event in the making since the boy departed. Times were still hard and in the south, very few families had the means to throw a party but the Beauregard’s adored their son and spared no saved expense when he came home from battle. Estella and the Captain (at the time, he would become a General) were to be wed as soon as his shoulder and thigh wounds healed. Unfortunately Estella didn’t make an appearance at dinner or anywhere else for that matter. Attacked inside her room and dragged out to the grounds she was fed upon by a vampire named Creighton and left for dead under a conglomerate of Magnolia trees. Madliene being omni-present felt Estella’s pain and saved the young beauty adorned with magnificent strawberry blonde hair and eyes radiantly green like moss in the forest.
Since that day she has been in debt to our Queen, forever to serve for the gracious gift bestowed upon her by her Majesty. Tonight she was dressed in her Morte’ best; pouring herself into a pair of skin tight black leather pants, my eyes flowed down her thighs to a pair of black shiny platform spiked heels before making it back up to the matching pink corset, which crushed her breasts to her chest, adorned with black lace up the torso and across her shoulders where the straps painstakingly held her in place. Estella is a bountiful creature and tonight her strawberry blonde hair curled perfectly around her uplifted breasts. She turned from the current table monopolizing her attention to peer up the balcony at me and smiled. Her beautiful gleaming K-9 teeth present as she did so.
Her Captain, who died a General, married of course. A prominent woman from a Sugar Cane family, they had 3 children. He lost her during the childbirth of the third. He re-married some years later to another daughter of a sugar cane planter, they had no children. She died four years later.
Estella speaks of her time with great fervor, truly a southern belle turned bitter by her circumstances. She is accepting of the facts these days however when you hear her speak of it, you can’t help but feel sorry for her. Her whole life planned out, gone in an instant. I don’t know if she keeps tabs on the remaining descendants of her Captain or that of her own family; but it wouldn’t surprise me.
Although I stood in deep thought I felt her presence as she graced the corridor, not to mention her heel clipping the step as she bent down to enter.
“See anything you like Cian? Can I offer you someone?” she said in jest. Estella knew of my feeding habits. I decided to make her think none the less.
“Eh, you’re working.” I said without changing my gaze at the crowd. I could feel her green eyes bore into what lack of a soul I had.
Estella and I have always had a pretty good relationship. She can talk to me and I can listen. When she and I do talk we don’t discuss me or my past. There have only been a few times she was the listener and from the way her face twisted while I spoke, I’m sure she wouldn’t want to listen to my past ever again; I am content listening to hers. She hasn’t the sexual desire for me that I have for her and in all honesty I don’t quite understand my fascination, but I have it and its present when I am in her company.
Unfortunately for me, she currently beds another female vampire, Angelique, sister to Sophia; Biological sisters to be precise. Angelique, the first to be taken by Madliene, then more recently Sophia; the sisters are not my biggest fans. Angelique resents the relationship I have with Estella and Sophia is just doing what her big sister thinks she should, I respect her loyalty.
Angelique is rarely at work due to her dissatisfaction with her position in Madliene’s court. The Queen, however is not concerned with Angelique as long as Sophia is present and accounted for. In turn Sophia holds a little of her own resentment toward her sister as Sophia has not long resided in the Queen’s court and Angelique has been in service for much longer. The sisters had very similar facial features; both have dark curly brown almost black hair and dark brown eyes. Angelique is paler than her sister and is always dressed in black; which only regards her as paler. Sophia likes to dress in the latest fashions and has an olive complexion. They are both bountifully proportioned with Sophia being slightly healthier than her gaunt sister. I can’t comprehend, nor attempt to understand the attraction Estella has to Angelique but it must be sincere.
Angelique as of late is missing, gone rogue. No one knows, Estella is visibly worried on a regular basis, yet she is counter controlled by Madliene to be the vision of eroticism, but many male patrons of Morte’ make the mistake of grabbing her and they learn very quickly to not do it again. The humans she is always cautious with, giving them a “slap on the wrist”. The vampires, who are old enough to know better, against them, she was allowed to defend her honor as she saw fit. Madliene sees everything as a sort of entertainment; everything has humor or an ironic fervor about it. Even if it involves her own children.
Madliene, The Queen of all Vampires made her grand entrance. The intense lyrics of Nine Inch Nails, “Heresy” ceases to play as the most dangerously beautiful woman in existence and the claimed, oldest of our kind; graces the club with her omnipotence. She is as shrewd in her business as she is about her children and she has millions of both, spending the vast amount of her time in New Orleans. It is said that the only vampire myth that is true from the old country is the “Death to the original vampire means death to all made vampires.” And she is speculated to be the One. If this is true I don’t know and we probably never know as she is indestructible, impenetrable, and harboring more than mere vampire powers, her ties to the Voudo underworld are also of infamy.
The Queen is a tall slender woman, almost gaunt but she is always dressed very well, for her money is no object. She has the complexion of a china doll, her hair is a wavy jet black, her eyes are black, almond shaped unless provoked or hungry; they begin to burn bright hazel with prominent green barbs, becoming wider and larger. No one knows her decent or country of origin, but it is speculated that she is of French ancestry. She has been virtually everywhere and known literally everyone.
Madliene glides across the floor, the train of her ornately beaded sheath gown following behind, everyone including the humans bow in her presence. Flanked by her minions Romeo and Damien, why she surrounded herself with humans who couldn’t protect her wasn’t beyond me.
She was making a statement, implying that she is so powerful she needs not immortals to protect her, but if need be they are not far. Sophia and Estella on alert nearby to spring into action should the situation call for it. After gracing the dance floor with her presence she and her minions made their way to the grand staircase, she floated effortlessly to the top while Romeo and Damien climbed each step behind her. Once at the top and in view of the patrons below she waved her hand and the atmosphere regained its previous debauchery.
Tonight the atmosphere was calm and neither Estella nor Sophia seemed to exude any sort of tension. I remained at my perch, observing and stalking, watching and spying…listening until the kiss of just before dawn, I made my exit through the corridor, while on the short walk to my haven, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of urge to wander into the Quarter, but time was limited and the following night I was at the whim of no one.
I only take one night a week to rest myself, not that I need to, being a vampire. The downtime is appreciated when I can get it. I had newspapers from weeks and weeks piled up around my haven and as I gathered them to take out I saw a familiarly striking face. Even in black and gray print she was beautiful.
The heavenly creature I had stumbled upon in the French Quarter was staring back at me from my newspaper, the headline reading, “Husband of Beauregard Heiress Missing.” Further down the article a picture of Griffin Benoit a healthy thirty-something father, with what looked to be sandy-blonde hair, light eyes and a kind smile.
Babet's Entourage...
Mrs. Lancaster Beauregard has positioned her daughter beside her rendition of the painting and hovers over her daughter as she takes questions sometimes interrupting Babet, even though she had no idea what she was talking about. Babet took it all very gracefully, smiling as she corrected her mother and her mother gesturing that of course her daughter knew more than she did.
I remained entranced and fixated if not on her than it’s the people greeting her. Her response to each of them, some with boredom others with animosity, but her face lights up when she gets a glance through the crowd of two couples.
A tall gentleman with brown hair, dressed in an Izod button-up collared shirt and khaki shorts and an extremely petite woman with light blonde hair wearing a brightly colored hi-lo dress and nude wedges were joined by a tall slender woman with dark blonde hair, she has on blue patterned shorts and a white button up shirt, the sleeves rolled to her forearms. Her wedges match her light blue eyes; she holds the hand of a hipster beatnik looking man. His black fedora is placed perfectly over his Buddy Holly glasses and his tan vest covers a white v-neck under shirt, his arms are heavily tattooed.
Babet breaks from the embrace of an older woman to greet the group. She immediately reaches out to hug the two women who happen to be walking perfectly side by side. The two women smile as she descends upon them, the tall slender blonde breaking hold of her hipster companion to clasp her arms around Babet.
“Babe! It is wonderful.” The petite blonde says, straining to reach Babet’s ear.
“I couldn't have done it without you, Molly, thank you so much for taking the photos.” Babet’s tone is heartfelt and appreciative.
“Well, you know. It’s what I do.” Molly is the slender dark blonde and I suddenly know this woman. She is Molly DuBois, one of the most prominent photographers in New Orleans. Her work is well known in the area my warehouse hides among the newly converted loft apartments known as the Arts district. I have to break from my inner thoughts to return to the conversation in front of me. The petite blonde is currently in control of the conversation.
“….and your mother has agreed to let me display your work in my Pardido location…” she is interrupted my Babet’s gasp, but she quickly recovers, “but only for a week.” They all respond similarly, they of course know Brigitte Lancaster Beauregard. The gentlemen are just that, they converse among themselves until they are pulled into the main conversation, but it is clear that even they are aware of Babet’s mother’s idiosyncrasies.
“It’s a start, she’s trying.” Babet says with a bright smile. I see Babet’s mother heading over to the small crowd.
“Hey, girls!!!” Brigitte Lancaster Beauregard squeals with her arms wide open to take in the three girls, but she is too petite to get her arms around them all.
“Hey Mama B!” Molly and little blonde say in unison.
“Proud of my girl? I know ya’ll are, because I certainly am, hey let me get a picture of you three together. It’s been a long time since I had one of ya’ll, all grown up…can’t believe it.” She turns to grab a camera off the podium, “Alright, get together now.” She holds the camera up zooming to capture the girls and as I watch all of this I can’t help but picture Babet and her friends as the Mythical Three Graces; the light blonde, the dark blonde, the red head. The picture is taken and the flash extinguished, the girls turn to one another again after saying farewell to Babet’s mother who waves before returning to her previous task.
“Well I have a wedding to coif in the morning, so Marcus and I need to head home.” The petite blonde takes the hand of the tall gentleman she arrived with who turns to Babet, offering a farewell smile. Marcus is the silent type. Petite blonde reaches up to kiss Babet’s cheek, “Luvies.” She says before lowering her heels to the floor. She then kisses Molly and hugs Hipster, “Good to see you again Wade.”
“You guys too. Marcus, I’ll be in touch.” Wade says and gets a nod from Marcus.
Molly and Wade, Marcus and….
“Oh, Frankie?! If you need a copy of the photograph to accompany the painting, I’d be glad to bring it this week.” Molly calls after the couple turned to leave.
…Frankie.
“Well I have nothing in the morning and there is a little over an hour left to imbibe the city,” Molly says while gazing into Wade’s eyes, “You in, Babe?” She turns her attention back to Babet.
“I can’t,” She says regretfully. “I have to get back to relieve Caroline. She has Henri tonight.”
“Where’s Scar?”
“She wanted to stay at Monica’s. After all she’s seen the presentation and she basically watched me paint the house. I was fine with it.”
“Well, give her a big hug for me.”
“I will, thanks again Mol. I really couldn't have done it without you.” Babet is once again extremely appreciative.
“Babe, I highly doubt that. We’ll be in touch.” Molly leans in to kiss Babet’s cheek. “Luvies.”
“Luvies.” Babet responds quietly. “Bye Wade, thanks for coming!” She calls happily after the departing couple. Wade simply raises his hand, his back to Babet as he takes Molly’s arm leading her toward the door.
I remained entranced and fixated if not on her than it’s the people greeting her. Her response to each of them, some with boredom others with animosity, but her face lights up when she gets a glance through the crowd of two couples.
A tall gentleman with brown hair, dressed in an Izod button-up collared shirt and khaki shorts and an extremely petite woman with light blonde hair wearing a brightly colored hi-lo dress and nude wedges were joined by a tall slender woman with dark blonde hair, she has on blue patterned shorts and a white button up shirt, the sleeves rolled to her forearms. Her wedges match her light blue eyes; she holds the hand of a hipster beatnik looking man. His black fedora is placed perfectly over his Buddy Holly glasses and his tan vest covers a white v-neck under shirt, his arms are heavily tattooed.
Babet breaks from the embrace of an older woman to greet the group. She immediately reaches out to hug the two women who happen to be walking perfectly side by side. The two women smile as she descends upon them, the tall slender blonde breaking hold of her hipster companion to clasp her arms around Babet.
“Babe! It is wonderful.” The petite blonde says, straining to reach Babet’s ear.
“I couldn't have done it without you, Molly, thank you so much for taking the photos.” Babet’s tone is heartfelt and appreciative.
“Well, you know. It’s what I do.” Molly is the slender dark blonde and I suddenly know this woman. She is Molly DuBois, one of the most prominent photographers in New Orleans. Her work is well known in the area my warehouse hides among the newly converted loft apartments known as the Arts district. I have to break from my inner thoughts to return to the conversation in front of me. The petite blonde is currently in control of the conversation.
“….and your mother has agreed to let me display your work in my Pardido location…” she is interrupted my Babet’s gasp, but she quickly recovers, “but only for a week.” They all respond similarly, they of course know Brigitte Lancaster Beauregard. The gentlemen are just that, they converse among themselves until they are pulled into the main conversation, but it is clear that even they are aware of Babet’s mother’s idiosyncrasies.
“It’s a start, she’s trying.” Babet says with a bright smile. I see Babet’s mother heading over to the small crowd.
“Hey, girls!!!” Brigitte Lancaster Beauregard squeals with her arms wide open to take in the three girls, but she is too petite to get her arms around them all.
“Hey Mama B!” Molly and little blonde say in unison.
“Proud of my girl? I know ya’ll are, because I certainly am, hey let me get a picture of you three together. It’s been a long time since I had one of ya’ll, all grown up…can’t believe it.” She turns to grab a camera off the podium, “Alright, get together now.” She holds the camera up zooming to capture the girls and as I watch all of this I can’t help but picture Babet and her friends as the Mythical Three Graces; the light blonde, the dark blonde, the red head. The picture is taken and the flash extinguished, the girls turn to one another again after saying farewell to Babet’s mother who waves before returning to her previous task.
“Well I have a wedding to coif in the morning, so Marcus and I need to head home.” The petite blonde takes the hand of the tall gentleman she arrived with who turns to Babet, offering a farewell smile. Marcus is the silent type. Petite blonde reaches up to kiss Babet’s cheek, “Luvies.” She says before lowering her heels to the floor. She then kisses Molly and hugs Hipster, “Good to see you again Wade.”
“You guys too. Marcus, I’ll be in touch.” Wade says and gets a nod from Marcus.
Molly and Wade, Marcus and….
“Oh, Frankie?! If you need a copy of the photograph to accompany the painting, I’d be glad to bring it this week.” Molly calls after the couple turned to leave.
…Frankie.
“Well I have nothing in the morning and there is a little over an hour left to imbibe the city,” Molly says while gazing into Wade’s eyes, “You in, Babe?” She turns her attention back to Babet.
“I can’t,” She says regretfully. “I have to get back to relieve Caroline. She has Henri tonight.”
“Where’s Scar?”
“She wanted to stay at Monica’s. After all she’s seen the presentation and she basically watched me paint the house. I was fine with it.”
“Well, give her a big hug for me.”
“I will, thanks again Mol. I really couldn't have done it without you.” Babet is once again extremely appreciative.
“Babe, I highly doubt that. We’ll be in touch.” Molly leans in to kiss Babet’s cheek. “Luvies.”
“Luvies.” Babet responds quietly. “Bye Wade, thanks for coming!” She calls happily after the departing couple. Wade simply raises his hand, his back to Babet as he takes Molly’s arm leading her toward the door.
...The Surprise waiting at home.
I take one last look at her and her painting and I realize the entire night had been quite the illuminating and intriguing experience. I continued to observe until the last few people were leaving. I joined a group of four who were on their way out; I could smell their intoxication so I knew my presence would go unnoticed. As I got just outside the door I heard Babet turn to her mother and say, “You know; I got the strangest feeling tonight….” She trailed off, “like I was being watched.” She looked at her mother worriedly.
“Oh honey, of course you were being watched! You were public speaking.” Her mother said laughing as she was busy gathering glasses and plates off of the mantle and staircase.
“No, I mean like…stalked…watched.” She said while her mother scurried around the room disregarding her daughter’s comments.
“Babe, help me clean up, it’s late and I have to be back here in,” she stopped to look at her watch, the time had reached one a.m. “Oh, my Lord, five hours!” Her mother’s pace quickened and Babet gets right to work.
I made my way back to the city and perched inconspicuously in the Quarter observing the night life of this great place. I was immersed in the sounds of the accordion, banjo, fiddle and drums’ weaving a zydeco soundtrack to couple’s conversations.
Hand in hand amongst rowdy frat bothers and giggly sorority sisters roaming the cobblestone streets occupied by horse-drawn carriages and the raucousness trailing out into the night from the surrounding bars and restaurants; their French doors open. I left the area and wandered toward that place, hoping to get one last glimpse of her.
The light radiating from her gallery like an invitation in the night. I slowly walked down the alley toward the back side of the building to make sure she arrived home safe, she had. Her black Audi A6 sat parked at the back door. I placed my hand on the hood of her car, her arrival was recent as the hood of the car was warm and the engine clicked in cool down mode. The front of the building became dark aside from the Quarter lamps, she had gone to bed and my desire for confirmation of her physical presence was not satisfied by her car.
Peering in the window my curiosity began to plan a course for entering her dwelling without an invitation; I had officially lost my mind over this woman.
I had to leave this place and exceed my best ability to stay at a safe distance since I couldn’t stay away. I wanted more than just to envelop her, I wanted to help her, find her husband, anything to possibly warrant a meeting with her. I couldn’t understand my fascination with her until I reached my haven.
I threw up the elevator gate to find Estella sitting demurely on my box, like an ironic painting. It was two hours until dawn and Morte’s doors would be locked by then. I threw the newspaper I picked up on the way home on the pile I had intended to discard earlier.
“Estella? What are you doing in here?” I asked walking toward her, a hint of humor in my voice. The closer I got I could see she had been crying and I quickly changed my demeanor. Her cheeks were stained pink and her makeup was no longer existent. The paleness of her nature makes her look as though she were a porcelain doll. “This is no place for someone like you. You stand out like a sore thumb.” I said again jokingly, stroking her face then angling it to meet my eyes.
She smiled and I leaned in to kiss her forehead. Her eyes closed and she let out a long deep sigh. Vampires are very passionate creatures and I could feel the desire radiate off of Estella now. She was brokenhearted, vulnerable and hurt after the reminiscence of her intended. She wanted attention, and she knew that at home the attention she drew was unwarranted. But I knew it was the painful emotions of the evening fueling her desires. She was here because she knew I would eventually come back, she came here because she knows I’ve always wanted her and tonight she needed me to want her.
As I held her head in my hands, I leaned down, caressing my face against hers taking in her scent. Magnolia and lime filled me and my primitive nature took hold as did hers. She was on me before I could react wrapping her arms around me, one hand worked through my thick raven hair as the nails of her other hand dug into the flesh of my shoulder. We kiss passionately and she pulls at the handful of my hair. I let out a low growl, she sighs pleasantly and wraps her legs around my waist. I followed her lead and grabbed her to hold her there, my hands gripping the underside of her thighs and I could feel my nails digging into her flesh, she took a deep breath and pulled her face away from mine to look into my eyes, her fangs completely run out.
Her skirt worked itself up her thighs to reveal she didn’t bother with panties. I could feel myself rising, her tongue rolling against mine, I propped her on one arm while I broke the clasp on my belt and unbuttoned my slacks with my free hand. I also don’t bother with underwear. I slid myself inside her hard and deep, she gasped quickly letting the air out in a pleasing moan. I moved with her as she continued to hold herself using my hair as leverage and I didn’t disapprove. With my free hand I began to gently open her jacket when she protested.
“Rip it.” She begs lustfully.
I obliged, slamming her down on top of my box our bodies still connected, with one hand I tore the jacket open to reveal her perfectly pale breasts. Her bare neck and chest littered with the necklaces she wore for the ceremony, I grabbed the chains and pearls in my hand to pull her face to mine, I felt my teeth running out; she noticed this and tipped her head back to give me passage, I yanked her back to meet my gaze. I then released the necklaces from my hand to replace them with her hair, the strawberry locks curling around my hand; I tug her head back further and sink my teeth in. While I drank she continued to move her hips against mine until I felt her heel dig into my side. My head rose and I growled fiercely looking down at her, her blood dripping from my mouth.
She smiles before kissing me hard, licking the moisture from around my lips “My turn.”
She pushes me off of her, tripped me and in one swift motion, removed every button from my shirt.
I land hard on the floor and she stands over me, one leg on each side of me. She stared intently at me while she removed the tattered jacket, dropping it to the floor; she then reached back behind her to unzip the skirt. Ripping it the rest of the way down, the ensemble a tattered pink and gray mess gathered beside me as the skirt joined it. Estella stands over me and I observe every inch of her stunning flesh, her mound completely shorn of hair.
I turn my head leaving the vision of her perfection and begin kissing her delicately around her ankles, removing one of her shoes and her stance gave me the added leverage to work my way north moving up her calf and around her knee. I licked and she moaned; continuing my ascension between her legs until my lips found her sex and her moan deepened as my hands reached around to grip her buttocks and push my face deeper. She enjoys it and grabs my hair again to grind me against her middle. I stay there, working my tongue against her clitoris, bringing my hand up to cup her; I slide my fingers inside, moving them in and out her breathing matching the rhythmic current, and I remained buried in her until I knew she was satisfied.
Estella’s body began to convulse as she pulled my face away, her hands firmly planted in my hair. She then stuck the remaining heel in my chest to flatten me again; I lay staring up at her when she lowers herself down to have me inside her, all of me. She drops to her knees holding my arms down by my sides and bent to me. Her necklaces gather between us, her teeth completely run out; she digs into the flesh of my neck and drinks as I feet her fingernails enter my shoulders, I attempt to reach up and caress her while she feeds but she does her damndest to prevent this.
I can’t determine if she wants my struggle as it is primal for your prey to fight but I felt she is enjoying the domination so I gladly submit. She pulls away from me her breathing increases and she begins to growl softly while rocking back and forth. She falls forward again onto my chest, her curls covering my face. Suddenly the mass of strawberry blonde flies from my neck to reveal her fierce green eyes and bloody smile.
She released my arms from below her knees and I swiftly sit up enough to reach the conglomeration of necklaces, ripping them from her pale neck. She continues to smile devilishly as I reposition her on my lap and we were face to face. I stare into her, until I get the impression she is remorseful about the entire accord, she finally begins to kiss me. Estella is easy at first; increasing her fervor with each passing second.
We stay locked together for what seems like eternity; the massive room echoing with low growls, soft moans and groans along with the occasional whimper. I didn’t know how long we are entangled in each other but I begin to feel my body stiffen; besides the obvious region. I glance at the glowing from Estella’s cell phone. The vampire cell phone application, “Nearly Dawn” was giving it’s warning. With Estella still feasting on me I reached to grab the key from my busted belt, she felt my movement and looked down, her mouth stained, still dripping with blood, “What’s wrong?”
“Dawn.” I said nodding toward her cell phone.
Estella leapt off of me as if I were daylight itself and began to gather her belongings. I already had the box unlocked.
“Don’t bother,” I said holding open the lid to my box, nodding to it. “You’ll never make it.”
She smiles, drops her torn clothing, removes her remaining shoe and climbs in. I can’t help but marvel at the way she moves, smiling to myself. She keeps her eyes on me as she lies down and I, after discarding my tattered clothes, climbed in and lay beside her. I close the lid and locked us in for the day. She hugged her body against mine and taking the hint I slid my arm underneath her neck, our wounds almost all healed.
It felt so natural and familiar, I hadn’t held a woman in my arms in centuries and while Estella lay next to me I was pleasantly engulfed in her Magnolia scented hair. Here she was, right here in my arms. I kissed her forehead where the hair met her skin, telling her “goodnight”.
“Oh honey, of course you were being watched! You were public speaking.” Her mother said laughing as she was busy gathering glasses and plates off of the mantle and staircase.
“No, I mean like…stalked…watched.” She said while her mother scurried around the room disregarding her daughter’s comments.
“Babe, help me clean up, it’s late and I have to be back here in,” she stopped to look at her watch, the time had reached one a.m. “Oh, my Lord, five hours!” Her mother’s pace quickened and Babet gets right to work.
I made my way back to the city and perched inconspicuously in the Quarter observing the night life of this great place. I was immersed in the sounds of the accordion, banjo, fiddle and drums’ weaving a zydeco soundtrack to couple’s conversations.
Hand in hand amongst rowdy frat bothers and giggly sorority sisters roaming the cobblestone streets occupied by horse-drawn carriages and the raucousness trailing out into the night from the surrounding bars and restaurants; their French doors open. I left the area and wandered toward that place, hoping to get one last glimpse of her.
The light radiating from her gallery like an invitation in the night. I slowly walked down the alley toward the back side of the building to make sure she arrived home safe, she had. Her black Audi A6 sat parked at the back door. I placed my hand on the hood of her car, her arrival was recent as the hood of the car was warm and the engine clicked in cool down mode. The front of the building became dark aside from the Quarter lamps, she had gone to bed and my desire for confirmation of her physical presence was not satisfied by her car.
Peering in the window my curiosity began to plan a course for entering her dwelling without an invitation; I had officially lost my mind over this woman.
I had to leave this place and exceed my best ability to stay at a safe distance since I couldn’t stay away. I wanted more than just to envelop her, I wanted to help her, find her husband, anything to possibly warrant a meeting with her. I couldn’t understand my fascination with her until I reached my haven.
I threw up the elevator gate to find Estella sitting demurely on my box, like an ironic painting. It was two hours until dawn and Morte’s doors would be locked by then. I threw the newspaper I picked up on the way home on the pile I had intended to discard earlier.
“Estella? What are you doing in here?” I asked walking toward her, a hint of humor in my voice. The closer I got I could see she had been crying and I quickly changed my demeanor. Her cheeks were stained pink and her makeup was no longer existent. The paleness of her nature makes her look as though she were a porcelain doll. “This is no place for someone like you. You stand out like a sore thumb.” I said again jokingly, stroking her face then angling it to meet my eyes.
She smiled and I leaned in to kiss her forehead. Her eyes closed and she let out a long deep sigh. Vampires are very passionate creatures and I could feel the desire radiate off of Estella now. She was brokenhearted, vulnerable and hurt after the reminiscence of her intended. She wanted attention, and she knew that at home the attention she drew was unwarranted. But I knew it was the painful emotions of the evening fueling her desires. She was here because she knew I would eventually come back, she came here because she knows I’ve always wanted her and tonight she needed me to want her.
As I held her head in my hands, I leaned down, caressing my face against hers taking in her scent. Magnolia and lime filled me and my primitive nature took hold as did hers. She was on me before I could react wrapping her arms around me, one hand worked through my thick raven hair as the nails of her other hand dug into the flesh of my shoulder. We kiss passionately and she pulls at the handful of my hair. I let out a low growl, she sighs pleasantly and wraps her legs around my waist. I followed her lead and grabbed her to hold her there, my hands gripping the underside of her thighs and I could feel my nails digging into her flesh, she took a deep breath and pulled her face away from mine to look into my eyes, her fangs completely run out.
Her skirt worked itself up her thighs to reveal she didn’t bother with panties. I could feel myself rising, her tongue rolling against mine, I propped her on one arm while I broke the clasp on my belt and unbuttoned my slacks with my free hand. I also don’t bother with underwear. I slid myself inside her hard and deep, she gasped quickly letting the air out in a pleasing moan. I moved with her as she continued to hold herself using my hair as leverage and I didn’t disapprove. With my free hand I began to gently open her jacket when she protested.
“Rip it.” She begs lustfully.
I obliged, slamming her down on top of my box our bodies still connected, with one hand I tore the jacket open to reveal her perfectly pale breasts. Her bare neck and chest littered with the necklaces she wore for the ceremony, I grabbed the chains and pearls in my hand to pull her face to mine, I felt my teeth running out; she noticed this and tipped her head back to give me passage, I yanked her back to meet my gaze. I then released the necklaces from my hand to replace them with her hair, the strawberry locks curling around my hand; I tug her head back further and sink my teeth in. While I drank she continued to move her hips against mine until I felt her heel dig into my side. My head rose and I growled fiercely looking down at her, her blood dripping from my mouth.
She smiles before kissing me hard, licking the moisture from around my lips “My turn.”
She pushes me off of her, tripped me and in one swift motion, removed every button from my shirt.
I land hard on the floor and she stands over me, one leg on each side of me. She stared intently at me while she removed the tattered jacket, dropping it to the floor; she then reached back behind her to unzip the skirt. Ripping it the rest of the way down, the ensemble a tattered pink and gray mess gathered beside me as the skirt joined it. Estella stands over me and I observe every inch of her stunning flesh, her mound completely shorn of hair.
I turn my head leaving the vision of her perfection and begin kissing her delicately around her ankles, removing one of her shoes and her stance gave me the added leverage to work my way north moving up her calf and around her knee. I licked and she moaned; continuing my ascension between her legs until my lips found her sex and her moan deepened as my hands reached around to grip her buttocks and push my face deeper. She enjoys it and grabs my hair again to grind me against her middle. I stay there, working my tongue against her clitoris, bringing my hand up to cup her; I slide my fingers inside, moving them in and out her breathing matching the rhythmic current, and I remained buried in her until I knew she was satisfied.
Estella’s body began to convulse as she pulled my face away, her hands firmly planted in my hair. She then stuck the remaining heel in my chest to flatten me again; I lay staring up at her when she lowers herself down to have me inside her, all of me. She drops to her knees holding my arms down by my sides and bent to me. Her necklaces gather between us, her teeth completely run out; she digs into the flesh of my neck and drinks as I feet her fingernails enter my shoulders, I attempt to reach up and caress her while she feeds but she does her damndest to prevent this.
I can’t determine if she wants my struggle as it is primal for your prey to fight but I felt she is enjoying the domination so I gladly submit. She pulls away from me her breathing increases and she begins to growl softly while rocking back and forth. She falls forward again onto my chest, her curls covering my face. Suddenly the mass of strawberry blonde flies from my neck to reveal her fierce green eyes and bloody smile.
She released my arms from below her knees and I swiftly sit up enough to reach the conglomeration of necklaces, ripping them from her pale neck. She continues to smile devilishly as I reposition her on my lap and we were face to face. I stare into her, until I get the impression she is remorseful about the entire accord, she finally begins to kiss me. Estella is easy at first; increasing her fervor with each passing second.
We stay locked together for what seems like eternity; the massive room echoing with low growls, soft moans and groans along with the occasional whimper. I didn’t know how long we are entangled in each other but I begin to feel my body stiffen; besides the obvious region. I glance at the glowing from Estella’s cell phone. The vampire cell phone application, “Nearly Dawn” was giving it’s warning. With Estella still feasting on me I reached to grab the key from my busted belt, she felt my movement and looked down, her mouth stained, still dripping with blood, “What’s wrong?”
“Dawn.” I said nodding toward her cell phone.
Estella leapt off of me as if I were daylight itself and began to gather her belongings. I already had the box unlocked.
“Don’t bother,” I said holding open the lid to my box, nodding to it. “You’ll never make it.”
She smiles, drops her torn clothing, removes her remaining shoe and climbs in. I can’t help but marvel at the way she moves, smiling to myself. She keeps her eyes on me as she lies down and I, after discarding my tattered clothes, climbed in and lay beside her. I close the lid and locked us in for the day. She hugged her body against mine and taking the hint I slid my arm underneath her neck, our wounds almost all healed.
It felt so natural and familiar, I hadn’t held a woman in my arms in centuries and while Estella lay next to me I was pleasantly engulfed in her Magnolia scented hair. Here she was, right here in my arms. I kissed her forehead where the hair met her skin, telling her “goodnight”.
A Wonderfully Heartwarming Story...Because it's True!!
The following is a story of Love, Adoption and Selflessness. This family is VERY close to my heart...Please Read! :)
Adopting Mia: The Girl Who Stole My Heart
October 23, 2013
Seemingly insignificant steps become the tiny building blocks in God’s ultimate plan.
Last week a prayer was answered for my family. My adoption of Mia Elizabeth Poole was finalized!
The entire process has been nothing short of a miracle and for that I give God all the praise, honor, and glory!
The Planting of a Seed
I met Kristy when I was 2 years old.
My dad became pastor of a church in Wake Forrest, NC where Kristy’s family attended.
At that time, I had no clue that one day I’d fall passionately in love with Kristy and take her as my wife.
Even though I was only a toddler, God was orchestrating a plan for Mia’s adoption.
Before she was even a thought in this world, God hand-picked me to be Mia’s dad.
The Watering of a Seed
Over the next 20 years, life took us in different directions and Kristy and I lost touch.
Growing up I lived all across North Carolina, attended college at The Citadel in Charleston, and ultimately landed a banking job in Chicago.
No matter where I lived, one constant remained: I had an immense love for people–especially kids.
Looking back, it all makes perfect sense.
God was preparing my heart and my life for Mia.
The Sprouting of a Seed
When I reconnected with Kristy as an adult, I fell in love instantly.
I called my mom after our first date and to tell her that I had found my wife.
But things weren’t quite that simple. Kristy had been in an abusive marriage previously…
And she had a 4-year old daughter.
I’ll never forget the first time I met Mia. It was over lunch.
I watched on as she drowned her cabbage with Texas Pete hot sauce. The spiciness of the food didn’t seem to phase her 4-year old little body.
She was the epitome of beauty–brilliant blonde-hair, deep blue eyes, and the most perfect smile you’ve ever seen.
I don’t know exactly why, but I had butterflies that day. I was nervous to meet her. She seemed a bit nervous too.
But that didn’t last long.
The butterflies in my stomach soon became the butterflies in my heart. I was falling in love with this girl I’d soon adopt.
God had a plan…all along.
The Harvesting of a Seed
For the last 3 1/2 years, I’ve watched an energetic pre-schooler grow into a maturing, young lady. Along with her mom, she is the love of my life.
There are times when I forget that Mia is not my biological daughter. Our daddy/daughter relationship is as strong as any other.
Here’s what I’ve come to realize:
"Love is what makes a #father. Not blood. Not birth. Not even a last name."
Our love is strong because it is a love of CHOICE.
There are times when I look at her and am almost overcome by joy. It’s in those moments that the love of Christ makes so much sense to me. Ephesians 1:5 says this:
“He predestined us for adoption to sonship through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will.“
There’s no doubt in my mind that God “predestined” me to be Mia’s dad. Even when I couldn’t see it, God was working.
Thirty years ago He set in motion a perfect plan. And last week that perfect plan was completed.
I’d like to close with a letter that I wrote to Mia this week. I hope it encourages you to love on your kids just a little bit more this week.
Dear Mia,
I am proud and honored to be your dad.
God planted a seed of love in my heart for you 3 1/2 years ago. Each day, you’ve watered it with your smile, your kindness, and your zest for life.
Like your mom, you have the spirit of encouragement. Thank you for always loving me and allowing me to be a part of your life.
As long as I’m breathing or until Jesus comes back, I’ll do my best to love, protect, and provide for you.
You are one cool chick!
I may not be able to give you my blood, but I will give you my heart!
I love you,
Dad
QUESTION: What can you do to love your spouse and kids well this week?
Have you ever experienced a love story similar to mine
I am in tears as I repost this...for the entire article including pictures of Mia and her Daddy follow the link at the bottom of the post.
http://www.larrypoolespeaks.com/mia-a...
Adopting Mia: The Girl Who Stole My Heart
October 23, 2013
Seemingly insignificant steps become the tiny building blocks in God’s ultimate plan.
Last week a prayer was answered for my family. My adoption of Mia Elizabeth Poole was finalized!
The entire process has been nothing short of a miracle and for that I give God all the praise, honor, and glory!
The Planting of a Seed
I met Kristy when I was 2 years old.
My dad became pastor of a church in Wake Forrest, NC where Kristy’s family attended.
At that time, I had no clue that one day I’d fall passionately in love with Kristy and take her as my wife.
Even though I was only a toddler, God was orchestrating a plan for Mia’s adoption.
Before she was even a thought in this world, God hand-picked me to be Mia’s dad.
The Watering of a Seed
Over the next 20 years, life took us in different directions and Kristy and I lost touch.
Growing up I lived all across North Carolina, attended college at The Citadel in Charleston, and ultimately landed a banking job in Chicago.
No matter where I lived, one constant remained: I had an immense love for people–especially kids.
Looking back, it all makes perfect sense.
God was preparing my heart and my life for Mia.
The Sprouting of a Seed
When I reconnected with Kristy as an adult, I fell in love instantly.
I called my mom after our first date and to tell her that I had found my wife.
But things weren’t quite that simple. Kristy had been in an abusive marriage previously…
And she had a 4-year old daughter.
I’ll never forget the first time I met Mia. It was over lunch.
I watched on as she drowned her cabbage with Texas Pete hot sauce. The spiciness of the food didn’t seem to phase her 4-year old little body.
She was the epitome of beauty–brilliant blonde-hair, deep blue eyes, and the most perfect smile you’ve ever seen.
I don’t know exactly why, but I had butterflies that day. I was nervous to meet her. She seemed a bit nervous too.
But that didn’t last long.
The butterflies in my stomach soon became the butterflies in my heart. I was falling in love with this girl I’d soon adopt.
God had a plan…all along.
The Harvesting of a Seed
For the last 3 1/2 years, I’ve watched an energetic pre-schooler grow into a maturing, young lady. Along with her mom, she is the love of my life.
There are times when I forget that Mia is not my biological daughter. Our daddy/daughter relationship is as strong as any other.
Here’s what I’ve come to realize:
"Love is what makes a #father. Not blood. Not birth. Not even a last name."
Our love is strong because it is a love of CHOICE.
There are times when I look at her and am almost overcome by joy. It’s in those moments that the love of Christ makes so much sense to me. Ephesians 1:5 says this:
“He predestined us for adoption to sonship through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will.“
There’s no doubt in my mind that God “predestined” me to be Mia’s dad. Even when I couldn’t see it, God was working.
Thirty years ago He set in motion a perfect plan. And last week that perfect plan was completed.
I’d like to close with a letter that I wrote to Mia this week. I hope it encourages you to love on your kids just a little bit more this week.
Dear Mia,
I am proud and honored to be your dad.
God planted a seed of love in my heart for you 3 1/2 years ago. Each day, you’ve watered it with your smile, your kindness, and your zest for life.
Like your mom, you have the spirit of encouragement. Thank you for always loving me and allowing me to be a part of your life.
As long as I’m breathing or until Jesus comes back, I’ll do my best to love, protect, and provide for you.
You are one cool chick!
I may not be able to give you my blood, but I will give you my heart!
I love you,
Dad
QUESTION: What can you do to love your spouse and kids well this week?
Have you ever experienced a love story similar to mine
I am in tears as I repost this...for the entire article including pictures of Mia and her Daddy follow the link at the bottom of the post.
http://www.larrypoolespeaks.com/mia-a...
Out of the Ordinary...Poetry from Me.
Plea
Dance and flicker at the end of your wick.
Beware of the breeze that will extinguish you quick.
My sympathies are far between and few.
Be the choices good or bad, they are the reflection of you.
Right through your little façade I see.
At this rate on your greatest day, you will never be me.
Take heed and batten down your hatches.
This all began with a box full of matches.
If you maintain this ignorant mind frame you only have yourself to blame.
As far as I’m concerned, your life lessons have yet been learned.
At this game, we all experience shame.
But don’t misconstrue and point the finger of blame.
Live, my darling. And learn.
Succeed, my child. And you will have your turn.
To speak these words above, to someone you so desperately love.
Dance and flicker at the end of your wick.
Beware of the breeze that will extinguish you quick.
My sympathies are far between and few.
Be the choices good or bad, they are the reflection of you.
Right through your little façade I see.
At this rate on your greatest day, you will never be me.
Take heed and batten down your hatches.
This all began with a box full of matches.
If you maintain this ignorant mind frame you only have yourself to blame.
As far as I’m concerned, your life lessons have yet been learned.
At this game, we all experience shame.
But don’t misconstrue and point the finger of blame.
Live, my darling. And learn.
Succeed, my child. And you will have your turn.
To speak these words above, to someone you so desperately love.
See Cian...dreams really do come TRUE
I thought about Estella’s comments thoroughly and with Babet’s husband missing for so long how would she have found the time to check on something like her fuse box or wiring? A single mother of two hardly has the time to brush her hair or teeth in the morning, and that stands the test of time. I recalled as a boy my sister and me being a handful for our mother. Estella kept her focus as her beautiful green eyes go cloudy, she attempts to read energy around the building again. I watched her enviously, wishing I had the ability to read time, when I turned from her to the alley between the two buildings, “How far back can you go?”
The green returned to her eyes and she stared into me, “Depends,” her words hard. “If I go back too far, I might not come back, my mind that is; I could get “stuck” in a read.” She makes finger quotes, before sighing. “At least that is what our Queen tells me.”
She turns her gaze downward at her hands that had gathered into loose fists. Her demeanor lightened and she smiled sarcastically at me as her hands released. I couldn’t help wanting to encourage Estella to try to extend her range and lately she had been tip toeing on the less obedient side of our Queen.
“Try.” One word from my lips and a sly smile from Estella, we were in business.
Estella gathered as much pertinent information as she felt relevant to report back to the Queen while she conversed with Madliene it was apparent that she was asked how she was able to obtain so much and trepidation begins to rise as I thought about how far back Estella may have gone. Estella explained that we were able to get very close due to the emergency services activity.
Though I don’t trust the Queen believed her but was grateful none the less for the knowledge. I asked to speak to the Queen; Estella hands me her cell phone.
“Majesty,I hope you are well?” I ask. “I am glad to hear it; I have a request if I may?” She was also receptive to this. “I wonder if we should reveal ourselves to Bab…the wife.” There was silence from the Queen’s side. “I realize it’s a very dangerous situation, but I feel if we don’t intervene she will succumb to unknown intentions. Her children will die.” My tone is harsh, I realize this. Still; stifling silence from her end.
“Majesty, I can understand your haste, but it is a creature of our blood that stalks her and from what Estella has gathered her mother-in-law, hasn’t been seen…” I stop, wait. “Other than her own mother, who is on a cruise for an extended period of time, Benoit’s mother was her only other family.” I said more cautiously as I looked intently at Estella. “Majesty?”
The silence is agonizing and time altering…….Finally.
Her tone extremely serious, “Cian, I can appreciate your hasty solution….” she trailed off into silence once more. And when she spoke again, third time was a charm for me being taken by surprise, two in one day no less.
Madliene instructs us to introduce ourselves to Babet, including telling her of Estella’s connection. Convince her to accompany us to a townhouse furnished by The Queen. It would be a challenge to approach Babet and her children. What do you say to a human you, as vampire, want to help?
It was imperative we interfere, for all sakes involved. I let Estella take the lead, stashing her blades out of mortal sight and followed at a safe unseen distance, for many reasons. Number one, I am unstable in direct presence with Babet, I know this. Her scent is toweringly intoxicating. Getting to close could be too consuming, for all parties involved, even the monster inside.
Number two, I am intimidating. It’s not a conceited statement, it’s who I am. Of no fault of my own I exude certain dominance. Most vampires can, at least against humans; other vampires are bit more difficult. In this situation I don’t want to be the cause of additional fear.
Number three, I am a man. Women are more susceptible to accept assistance from other women. If I were to tell Babet that I want to take her away from all this and help her get back on her feet, not to mention, I am her long lost relative, a vampire and believe that my kind are the reason for all her downtrodden circumstances how do you think she would perceive it.
I am pulled from my inner turmoil and listen to the report between the two women. Babet is visibly and emotionally hesitant, apprehensive and lastly, frightened to accept any kind of assistance from a perfect stranger, but Estella is very persuasive and the sound of her full name in Babet’s ears was an apparent alleviation. Her brilliant green eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped before twisting up into a beautiful smile. She then threw her free arm around Estella’s neck and pulled her great (by how many?) aunt into a tight embrace. Once Babet released Estella I slowly made my way over to them. Inside, I am eager. A malicious disgustingly eager teenager, but it doesn’t show. Outside I am calm and the picture of endurance. Nothing could bring me down. It’s a gift.
I lock eyes with Estella and offer a sideways smile then turn my gaze to Babet, who, unlike most humans, is polite but not easily impressed. Though, I sensed something strange upon shaking her hand, the tension resonating from her body, while talking to Estella, had now disappeared. Even stranger, in me, the careless urge to rip her and fuck her, subsided momentarily in anticipation of her touch. I wanted to wrap her in a cocoon of safety, free from all danger or the threat of harm.
Yes, she must be unharmed…..unhurt, uninjured, unscathed; completely safe and sound, with me. I could afford her the proper protection. She would want for nothing, her children would benefit from a lifetime of security and preservation… I am pulled from my inner self by Estella’s introductions.
“Babet, this is Cian. He too is an employee of the Queen, but he is also a dear friend.” Estella, the ever gracious host, her southern belle showing.
“Hello.” Babet’s voice sullen from tears is sultry and prurient, I am transfixed once again.
I bow my head to her and say her name out loud, “Babet.” I grasp her hand delicately, taking in her silky flesh, concealed below the alabaster sheath a map of deep blue livelihood. I release her hand but the monster is conniving, staying at bay until internally I want to grasp it back and pull her to me.
Spin her around so that she is back to my front restraining her with one arm while with the other savor the warmth of her entire body and its supple softness before tilting her head giving me passage to her throat, trailing my tongue down her neck, over her clavicle, before I sink my teeth into her delicious bosom allowing her life force to fill my gullet, tantalizing crimson flow exciting each and every taste bud and salivary gland….STOP!!!
“…we are going to take you somewhere safe and get you all things you need. You are in our care now.” Estella explains to Babet while I am far gone.
Babet nods her head sullenly wary, then looks behind and around her; stopping only to adjust her hold on her son who by now had fallen back to sleep in his mother’s warm soft arms. Her face and demeanor are of slight fret, before finally laying her eyes on her daughter who had wandered off during Babet and Estella’s dialog.
She tilts her head for the girl to come. The sulky teenager is disheveled and dressed in a pair of matching owl print pajamas. Her hair is short, red and messy from the late hour. She jumps down from a parked ambulance, removing the flame retardant blanket from around her and tossing it behind her into the vehicle. She walks slowly, glancing back at her former home for a moment and upon turning back toward her mother she catches my stare.
The green returned to her eyes and she stared into me, “Depends,” her words hard. “If I go back too far, I might not come back, my mind that is; I could get “stuck” in a read.” She makes finger quotes, before sighing. “At least that is what our Queen tells me.”
She turns her gaze downward at her hands that had gathered into loose fists. Her demeanor lightened and she smiled sarcastically at me as her hands released. I couldn’t help wanting to encourage Estella to try to extend her range and lately she had been tip toeing on the less obedient side of our Queen.
“Try.” One word from my lips and a sly smile from Estella, we were in business.
Estella gathered as much pertinent information as she felt relevant to report back to the Queen while she conversed with Madliene it was apparent that she was asked how she was able to obtain so much and trepidation begins to rise as I thought about how far back Estella may have gone. Estella explained that we were able to get very close due to the emergency services activity.
Though I don’t trust the Queen believed her but was grateful none the less for the knowledge. I asked to speak to the Queen; Estella hands me her cell phone.
“Majesty,I hope you are well?” I ask. “I am glad to hear it; I have a request if I may?” She was also receptive to this. “I wonder if we should reveal ourselves to Bab…the wife.” There was silence from the Queen’s side. “I realize it’s a very dangerous situation, but I feel if we don’t intervene she will succumb to unknown intentions. Her children will die.” My tone is harsh, I realize this. Still; stifling silence from her end.
“Majesty, I can understand your haste, but it is a creature of our blood that stalks her and from what Estella has gathered her mother-in-law, hasn’t been seen…” I stop, wait. “Other than her own mother, who is on a cruise for an extended period of time, Benoit’s mother was her only other family.” I said more cautiously as I looked intently at Estella. “Majesty?”
The silence is agonizing and time altering…….Finally.
Her tone extremely serious, “Cian, I can appreciate your hasty solution….” she trailed off into silence once more. And when she spoke again, third time was a charm for me being taken by surprise, two in one day no less.
Madliene instructs us to introduce ourselves to Babet, including telling her of Estella’s connection. Convince her to accompany us to a townhouse furnished by The Queen. It would be a challenge to approach Babet and her children. What do you say to a human you, as vampire, want to help?
It was imperative we interfere, for all sakes involved. I let Estella take the lead, stashing her blades out of mortal sight and followed at a safe unseen distance, for many reasons. Number one, I am unstable in direct presence with Babet, I know this. Her scent is toweringly intoxicating. Getting to close could be too consuming, for all parties involved, even the monster inside.
Number two, I am intimidating. It’s not a conceited statement, it’s who I am. Of no fault of my own I exude certain dominance. Most vampires can, at least against humans; other vampires are bit more difficult. In this situation I don’t want to be the cause of additional fear.
Number three, I am a man. Women are more susceptible to accept assistance from other women. If I were to tell Babet that I want to take her away from all this and help her get back on her feet, not to mention, I am her long lost relative, a vampire and believe that my kind are the reason for all her downtrodden circumstances how do you think she would perceive it.
I am pulled from my inner turmoil and listen to the report between the two women. Babet is visibly and emotionally hesitant, apprehensive and lastly, frightened to accept any kind of assistance from a perfect stranger, but Estella is very persuasive and the sound of her full name in Babet’s ears was an apparent alleviation. Her brilliant green eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped before twisting up into a beautiful smile. She then threw her free arm around Estella’s neck and pulled her great (by how many?) aunt into a tight embrace. Once Babet released Estella I slowly made my way over to them. Inside, I am eager. A malicious disgustingly eager teenager, but it doesn’t show. Outside I am calm and the picture of endurance. Nothing could bring me down. It’s a gift.
I lock eyes with Estella and offer a sideways smile then turn my gaze to Babet, who, unlike most humans, is polite but not easily impressed. Though, I sensed something strange upon shaking her hand, the tension resonating from her body, while talking to Estella, had now disappeared. Even stranger, in me, the careless urge to rip her and fuck her, subsided momentarily in anticipation of her touch. I wanted to wrap her in a cocoon of safety, free from all danger or the threat of harm.
Yes, she must be unharmed…..unhurt, uninjured, unscathed; completely safe and sound, with me. I could afford her the proper protection. She would want for nothing, her children would benefit from a lifetime of security and preservation… I am pulled from my inner self by Estella’s introductions.
“Babet, this is Cian. He too is an employee of the Queen, but he is also a dear friend.” Estella, the ever gracious host, her southern belle showing.
“Hello.” Babet’s voice sullen from tears is sultry and prurient, I am transfixed once again.
I bow my head to her and say her name out loud, “Babet.” I grasp her hand delicately, taking in her silky flesh, concealed below the alabaster sheath a map of deep blue livelihood. I release her hand but the monster is conniving, staying at bay until internally I want to grasp it back and pull her to me.
Spin her around so that she is back to my front restraining her with one arm while with the other savor the warmth of her entire body and its supple softness before tilting her head giving me passage to her throat, trailing my tongue down her neck, over her clavicle, before I sink my teeth into her delicious bosom allowing her life force to fill my gullet, tantalizing crimson flow exciting each and every taste bud and salivary gland….STOP!!!
“…we are going to take you somewhere safe and get you all things you need. You are in our care now.” Estella explains to Babet while I am far gone.
Babet nods her head sullenly wary, then looks behind and around her; stopping only to adjust her hold on her son who by now had fallen back to sleep in his mother’s warm soft arms. Her face and demeanor are of slight fret, before finally laying her eyes on her daughter who had wandered off during Babet and Estella’s dialog.
She tilts her head for the girl to come. The sulky teenager is disheveled and dressed in a pair of matching owl print pajamas. Her hair is short, red and messy from the late hour. She jumps down from a parked ambulance, removing the flame retardant blanket from around her and tossing it behind her into the vehicle. She walks slowly, glancing back at her former home for a moment and upon turning back toward her mother she catches my stare.
Babet; Lost and Found...Just the Facts Cian...
I approach the palatial two story Garden District house of Babet’s friend, located on Felicity, not far from highway 91 and my warehouse. I run my hand across the top of the wrought iron fence posts before pushing the gate aside to pass into the landscaped front garden; the cobblestones beneath my feet meet the tread of my boot conspicuously.
The house is unfathomable and expansive from the side view. The front is wide, with help from its giant wrap-around front porch. Scrolled wrought iron connects pillared columns to support the vast awning above which is intricately designed. I look up further, the upstairs is blessed with the same treatment, and it is also adorned pillars and scrolled wrought iron to hold up the balcony. The house is painted white, the shutters are green downstairs. The trim around the French doors upstairs matches and there are four green rocking chairs painted the same green look down from up there.
Along the roof, I notice three chimneys protruding it. The closer I get to the front door I see to my far right another door leading to sitting sun room, high-end wicker furniture with brightly colored throw pillows sit arranged inside.
My attentions are diverted back to the front door where I see Babet through the thick glass fumbling with the knob and a muffled angelic voice, “Just…a minute, uh…..” I look down, at my feet a mat with an elaborate W printed in the fibers, the lock clicks back into the carved notch in the door and the knob turns. The heavy wooden door flies open and Babet stands cradling her son in a towel, attempting to balance the sopping excited baby. She is dressed in a brand new pair of jeans and gray V neck man’s undershirt, her black cherry hair pulled up to a ponytail. She staggered backwards allowing me entry.
“Good Evening.” I said looking into her brilliant green eyes as I cross the threshold. She was waiting for me, watching for my arrival. I present the little bath toy.
“Come in.” she said still smiling.
She laughs and holds out a hand to take it from me, our fingers graze and I feel the spark radiate. “Ah-ha, see Henri…here is ducky.” She says to the little boy squirming in her arms apparently unaffected as I. “Could have used this, where did we leave it?” She directs her attention back to me. She plays into Henri’s game, swinging him around before securing him, closing the door to face me.
“I found it in the bathroom upstairs at Audubon. By the way, it’s good to see you smiling,” I said as I stepped foot onto the dark wooden floors into the heavily crown molded foyer, immediately I see the first of three fireplaces, this one is marble with a heavy white mantle. This house is very old to have a fireplace in the foyer. I turn back to face Babet and as I do my head scathes the chandelier overhead.
“Yeah, no matter what’s going on in my life, the kids always make me smile.” She said snuggling her nose into the baby’s neck, nuzzling him until he cooed and then cackled. “Especially this one.” And she snuggled the boy again before saying, “Uh, so….what information do you need from me? I mean, of course I told Estella everything I know and remember about the night Griffin left...disappeared.” She seemed flustered as she corrected herself. It is clear to me she is not interested in discussing her reasons for leaving our safe house.
For a brief awkward moment we were both silent, I can’t help but stare, she becomes as fidgety as the little one in her arms. She hikes the boy further onto her body. “Well, make yourself comfortable I’m going to dress him for bed.” I watch as she turns down a small hallway and strode up a narrow staircase, like the first night I saw her at her shop in the Quarter. She clutched the boy, who stared back down at me over his mothers shoulder until his chubby hands carelessly gripped and examined a lock of her black cherry hair.
She had no idea of the effect her mere presence had on me, her very smell an intoxicating plethora of Lavender and Rose hips, hinted only to my ancient nose, mixed with the smell of fresh paint.
I stepped into this room and that room, all decorated precisely to Frankie’s obviously specific modern style, I smile internally at the same yet egregiously larger print of the Moonwalk photo as Audubon framed and mounted on the wall and I deduce that Frankie and Marcus don’t have children. The house is too immaculate and seems as though it stays that way.
I wander into a long drawing room where the second fireplace sat center two couches on either side facing each other, adjacent to a much modernized kitchen; cream, off white antique style French farmhouse cabinetry surround stainless steel appliances and black granite countertops.
A surprise to my old ears I hear the soothing melody of the 1940’s hit, “I’ll be seeing you” plays from an under the cabinet radio and I decide to sit on one of the overstuffed cream colored couches, I move the orange and blue pillows to one side while I enjoy the blend of the digitally restored song and Babet playfully dress Henri overhead, I can heard the baby squeal with delight from upstairs.
Babet comes down with the boy saddled to her hip, I can hear her padding through the house, possibly looking for me but I observe as she passes me by, she found what she was looking for, a baby cup in her hand. Her mood seemed determined and unwavering. I watch meticulously as she moves about the kitchen.
Open the refrigerator, pull out the milk, untwist the cup top, and place it on the counter. Pour the milk, return it to the refrigerator. Replace the cap on the cup. All while balancing Henri on her hip. She smiles at me when she returns with the baby, the cup now residing in his little hands, he grips the blue and red cup adorned with cars, turning it until finally placing the sipper in his mouth. He settles into his mother’s lap as she sits on the opposite couch; across from me.
I was glad, she was as far away from me as possible, her scent stronger than I had anticipated. She made herself comfortable and propped Henri up as he was clearly enjoying his beverage. Once she had the baby situated she turned her gaze expectantly for me to instigate conversation. I oblige her.
“Are you aware of what our purpose is here, in your life?” I asked keeping my tone indifferent.
She focuses on me, “Yes, and I appreciate all you both… you all, have done for us, but I have to ask, Why? Which is kind of why I bolted last night…this morning” and her gaze went from me to Henri, and back to me again, waiting for an answer.
“I thought…..How much did Estella make you aware of?”
She took a deep breath and rattled off the list from memory.
“I would assume everything. Firstly, which originally got my attention, other than the fact that she is absolutely stunning; she said my husband’s disappearance may be more than that, something supernatural. That she is my descendant. And Griffin’s. Which is rather creepy but interesting. She explained her connection to PGT Beauregard; which is kind of tragically romantic. She also mentioned she was a….” Babet’s intense focus on the conversation was disturbed as she glanced down at her baby who had fallen asleep, the sipper of the cup teetering halfway out of his heart shaped mouth.
Babet removed the cup from Henri’s listless grasp, placing it on the giant teak coffee table between us. She readjusted the baby’s position and continued her thought. “She was, is, a…vampire. And, that you are also a vampire.”
The words escaped her lips and her facial expression morphed from humor at the thought of such a concept and then distress of said concept. Although her face showed these emotions, her body language indicated complete comfort. She didn’t exude the fear I usually detect from humans when in my presence. So much so, that she carefully scooted herself to the edge of the couch cradling the sleeping baby and excused herself to put the boy upstairs. She returned, falling into the overstuffed couch, with a heavy sigh.
“Does it frighten you?” I said as I turned my head from staring down at my hands.
“Should it? Estella said I was completely safe with you.” She replied confused but not fearful, her radiant green eyes boring into me.
“No…I mean yes, of course you are safe.” I paused after a tiny laugh, thinking as my brow furrowed and I changed the subject. “Why? You asked, correct?” I twisted my body on the couch to give her my full attention and took a deep breath preparing to not only frighten this woman beyond recognition but to caution her to the situation. But tonight she was different; she was curious and inquisitive; not horrified like most humans. Maybe she’s slowly accepting of this situation, Estella and her story. Maybe it’s the familiar surroundings; she has me on her “turf”. Whatever it may be I was thankful for the small beginnings, the tiny fibers of trust slowly come together to weave my quilt of defense. I will shelter her.
“Yes.” The word stung like a dagger in my heart.
“First, you are a direct descendant of a living, well, existing vampire. A vampire that has kept distant watch over her family for generations and will continue to do so for future generations.” I say matter-of-factly, but in the back of my mind I think, “If we survive this.”
“Second, we believe. That is our Queen, has reason to believe that you are the target of a vampire’s desire.” I had never spoken words more true, but I was thinking only of myself when I said them, not the creature stalking her every move.
“Desire?” her face squeezed up as she took it in.
I nodded and begin to elaborate.
The house is unfathomable and expansive from the side view. The front is wide, with help from its giant wrap-around front porch. Scrolled wrought iron connects pillared columns to support the vast awning above which is intricately designed. I look up further, the upstairs is blessed with the same treatment, and it is also adorned pillars and scrolled wrought iron to hold up the balcony. The house is painted white, the shutters are green downstairs. The trim around the French doors upstairs matches and there are four green rocking chairs painted the same green look down from up there.
Along the roof, I notice three chimneys protruding it. The closer I get to the front door I see to my far right another door leading to sitting sun room, high-end wicker furniture with brightly colored throw pillows sit arranged inside.
My attentions are diverted back to the front door where I see Babet through the thick glass fumbling with the knob and a muffled angelic voice, “Just…a minute, uh…..” I look down, at my feet a mat with an elaborate W printed in the fibers, the lock clicks back into the carved notch in the door and the knob turns. The heavy wooden door flies open and Babet stands cradling her son in a towel, attempting to balance the sopping excited baby. She is dressed in a brand new pair of jeans and gray V neck man’s undershirt, her black cherry hair pulled up to a ponytail. She staggered backwards allowing me entry.
“Good Evening.” I said looking into her brilliant green eyes as I cross the threshold. She was waiting for me, watching for my arrival. I present the little bath toy.
“Come in.” she said still smiling.
She laughs and holds out a hand to take it from me, our fingers graze and I feel the spark radiate. “Ah-ha, see Henri…here is ducky.” She says to the little boy squirming in her arms apparently unaffected as I. “Could have used this, where did we leave it?” She directs her attention back to me. She plays into Henri’s game, swinging him around before securing him, closing the door to face me.
“I found it in the bathroom upstairs at Audubon. By the way, it’s good to see you smiling,” I said as I stepped foot onto the dark wooden floors into the heavily crown molded foyer, immediately I see the first of three fireplaces, this one is marble with a heavy white mantle. This house is very old to have a fireplace in the foyer. I turn back to face Babet and as I do my head scathes the chandelier overhead.
“Yeah, no matter what’s going on in my life, the kids always make me smile.” She said snuggling her nose into the baby’s neck, nuzzling him until he cooed and then cackled. “Especially this one.” And she snuggled the boy again before saying, “Uh, so….what information do you need from me? I mean, of course I told Estella everything I know and remember about the night Griffin left...disappeared.” She seemed flustered as she corrected herself. It is clear to me she is not interested in discussing her reasons for leaving our safe house.
For a brief awkward moment we were both silent, I can’t help but stare, she becomes as fidgety as the little one in her arms. She hikes the boy further onto her body. “Well, make yourself comfortable I’m going to dress him for bed.” I watch as she turns down a small hallway and strode up a narrow staircase, like the first night I saw her at her shop in the Quarter. She clutched the boy, who stared back down at me over his mothers shoulder until his chubby hands carelessly gripped and examined a lock of her black cherry hair.
She had no idea of the effect her mere presence had on me, her very smell an intoxicating plethora of Lavender and Rose hips, hinted only to my ancient nose, mixed with the smell of fresh paint.
I stepped into this room and that room, all decorated precisely to Frankie’s obviously specific modern style, I smile internally at the same yet egregiously larger print of the Moonwalk photo as Audubon framed and mounted on the wall and I deduce that Frankie and Marcus don’t have children. The house is too immaculate and seems as though it stays that way.
I wander into a long drawing room where the second fireplace sat center two couches on either side facing each other, adjacent to a much modernized kitchen; cream, off white antique style French farmhouse cabinetry surround stainless steel appliances and black granite countertops.
A surprise to my old ears I hear the soothing melody of the 1940’s hit, “I’ll be seeing you” plays from an under the cabinet radio and I decide to sit on one of the overstuffed cream colored couches, I move the orange and blue pillows to one side while I enjoy the blend of the digitally restored song and Babet playfully dress Henri overhead, I can heard the baby squeal with delight from upstairs.
Babet comes down with the boy saddled to her hip, I can hear her padding through the house, possibly looking for me but I observe as she passes me by, she found what she was looking for, a baby cup in her hand. Her mood seemed determined and unwavering. I watch meticulously as she moves about the kitchen.
Open the refrigerator, pull out the milk, untwist the cup top, and place it on the counter. Pour the milk, return it to the refrigerator. Replace the cap on the cup. All while balancing Henri on her hip. She smiles at me when she returns with the baby, the cup now residing in his little hands, he grips the blue and red cup adorned with cars, turning it until finally placing the sipper in his mouth. He settles into his mother’s lap as she sits on the opposite couch; across from me.
I was glad, she was as far away from me as possible, her scent stronger than I had anticipated. She made herself comfortable and propped Henri up as he was clearly enjoying his beverage. Once she had the baby situated she turned her gaze expectantly for me to instigate conversation. I oblige her.
“Are you aware of what our purpose is here, in your life?” I asked keeping my tone indifferent.
She focuses on me, “Yes, and I appreciate all you both… you all, have done for us, but I have to ask, Why? Which is kind of why I bolted last night…this morning” and her gaze went from me to Henri, and back to me again, waiting for an answer.
“I thought…..How much did Estella make you aware of?”
She took a deep breath and rattled off the list from memory.
“I would assume everything. Firstly, which originally got my attention, other than the fact that she is absolutely stunning; she said my husband’s disappearance may be more than that, something supernatural. That she is my descendant. And Griffin’s. Which is rather creepy but interesting. She explained her connection to PGT Beauregard; which is kind of tragically romantic. She also mentioned she was a….” Babet’s intense focus on the conversation was disturbed as she glanced down at her baby who had fallen asleep, the sipper of the cup teetering halfway out of his heart shaped mouth.
Babet removed the cup from Henri’s listless grasp, placing it on the giant teak coffee table between us. She readjusted the baby’s position and continued her thought. “She was, is, a…vampire. And, that you are also a vampire.”
The words escaped her lips and her facial expression morphed from humor at the thought of such a concept and then distress of said concept. Although her face showed these emotions, her body language indicated complete comfort. She didn’t exude the fear I usually detect from humans when in my presence. So much so, that she carefully scooted herself to the edge of the couch cradling the sleeping baby and excused herself to put the boy upstairs. She returned, falling into the overstuffed couch, with a heavy sigh.
“Does it frighten you?” I said as I turned my head from staring down at my hands.
“Should it? Estella said I was completely safe with you.” She replied confused but not fearful, her radiant green eyes boring into me.
“No…I mean yes, of course you are safe.” I paused after a tiny laugh, thinking as my brow furrowed and I changed the subject. “Why? You asked, correct?” I twisted my body on the couch to give her my full attention and took a deep breath preparing to not only frighten this woman beyond recognition but to caution her to the situation. But tonight she was different; she was curious and inquisitive; not horrified like most humans. Maybe she’s slowly accepting of this situation, Estella and her story. Maybe it’s the familiar surroundings; she has me on her “turf”. Whatever it may be I was thankful for the small beginnings, the tiny fibers of trust slowly come together to weave my quilt of defense. I will shelter her.
“Yes.” The word stung like a dagger in my heart.
“First, you are a direct descendant of a living, well, existing vampire. A vampire that has kept distant watch over her family for generations and will continue to do so for future generations.” I say matter-of-factly, but in the back of my mind I think, “If we survive this.”
“Second, we believe. That is our Queen, has reason to believe that you are the target of a vampire’s desire.” I had never spoken words more true, but I was thinking only of myself when I said them, not the creature stalking her every move.
“Desire?” her face squeezed up as she took it in.
I nodded and begin to elaborate.
What a difference a night makes...
I released Babet’s hand and got to my feet anticipating Estella’s entry. I had successfully comforted Babet without baring the monster. But her scent; so captivating to me, it takes quite the restraint to keep him at bay. It radiates off of her like lamplight in the dark. I am the careless moth to her flame.
Estella stood impatiently in the doorway, she had changed from her Morte’ cat-suit to a lime green cotton sundress and tan sandals.
“Why didn’t you answer when I called?” She says her hand on her hip.
“When did you call?” I asked.
“Uh, just now?!”
“Sorry, Henri is asleep.” I reply with bad attitude.
Estella crouched and grabbed her mouth, “I’m sorry honey that will take some getting used to.” She says to Babet who forgives her aunt instantly.
“It’s okay, he sleeps like a rock. He plays hard and he sleeps hard.” Babet is still in quiet mode.
“Are you okay?” Estella says rushing to Babet’s side nearly knocking me down to get to her. Estella sits down like a stone and brushed the stray hairs off of Babet’s face. “I ask, because Cian can be a little stiff.” Estella said in jest. I smiled at the two beautiful women, taking the joke.
“No…He’s…Cian has been great.” She looked over to me and then back to Estella. I take in the chimes of her voice as she says my name, it is ecstasy. “We were just talking.”
“Oh? Do tell.” Estella, ever the gossip queen.
Estella observed our exchange of glances and instructed the young woman that it was late and asked if she had eaten and if she wanted anything. Babet is gracious and smart; she takes the hint and makes her way upstairs to check on sleeping Henri. Once Babet is out of sight, Estella swats me with the back of her hand. I look down at my arm and then to Estella. She is smiling her bright gleaming smile. For a moment I thought Estella was angry but her smile indicates that she is impressed with Babet and her demeanor.
“Pleased, I take it?”
“Of course. You can go now.” She says folding her arms under her breasts.
“I will as soon as I say good bye to Babet.” The ‘T’ I absentmindedly accentuate.
Estella turns to me at the sound, “Do I need to check her for marks Cian?” she jests but I am not amused.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” My tone is instantly angry.
“Lighten up, it was a joke.” She rolls her eyes at me.
I hear Babet descending the staircase; she is smiling when she rounds the corner to the long drawing room. Estella and I are carefully watching her until she notices and explains her happiness.
“Henri is dreaming; it must be a good one because he was giggling in his sleep.”
“Aw, so cute!” Estella should have been a mother; she clasps her hands together and looks so thoughtful at the notion of a giggling sleeping baby. If only she were always this sweet and agreeable.
“I’m off then.” I say to Estella and then glance over to Babet, “So I will see you at Audubon tomorrow night?”
Babet is silent but nods her head to agree to her whereabouts.
“Until then,” I bow my head to Babet and then turn back to Estella, “Call me if you need.”
“You, going home?”
“Aye, I’m looking forward to my own familiarity. Goodnight ladies.”
I make my way through the house and out the front door, taking one last look at the palatial Garden District home once I am through the wrought iron gate. Wish I had gotten the tour. I smirk to myself.
I reach my haven and mindlessly make it to the fifth floor. I am too engrossed in the night’s events, conversation and revelations about Babet Benoit to pay close attention to my surroundings. Born with a silver spoon in her mouth and raised as a proper southern lady until the mysterious disappearance/death of her father. Her mother painstakingly maintained their position in society, regardless of her daughter’s reluctance and suffering at the hands of her peers.
She escapes out of state after high school to avoid further social misery in her life only to return with child and boyfriend in tow. She’s an extraordinarily strong independent woman who is philanthropic and reflective, a loving mother. There is more, I know, so much more to her and I divulged more than I should. I know it is the first baby steps to a trusting relationship with Babet and hopefully in time and over time, her children; their children and their children’s children.
I vow after tonight to devote my life the remainder of my existence to this cause, to her. Finally, a worthy cause has reached me once more. Father I hope you can again be proud of me. Although as I lay in day-stasis I can’t help but think of her dreams and my visions and if the two are the same, the monster is all assuming and pretty fucking pleased with himself and a certain, almost human side of me is also pleased.
The following evening I arrive at Audubon and instantly I see Babet’s car and bright lights from the front of the townhouse. I hear music, a much harder genre of music than the previous night. I stand outside placing the song. I recognize the lead singer and deduce it to be Korn, who often use bagpipes in their songs. An aspect of their band I truly enjoy but this song particularly is unfamiliar to my ears. I approach the door, which had of course been replaced, and knock hard enough to penetrate the music. I see Babet approach the door, unlock it and pull it open to allow me entry.
“Hi.” She says as I pass her, she closes the door behind me. She’s wearing a baby blue sundress; her hair is wavy and flowing down her back, she smells exquisite. I look down and see her signature bare feet.
“You look nice; did Estella finally show you the clothes?” I ask.
“Thanks, yeah she went a little overboard and I told her so but she wouldn’t hear it. Scarlet really liked the pieces for her and Henri’s little wardrobe is uber cute.” She directs my attention to the little boy playing with cars on the living room floor who squeals in delight as the cars crash into each other.
“Wow, he’s…” I walk toward the living room as it’s the first time I have been in Henri’s presence while he is awake; truly awake. I lean against the door frame and watch him coo and cackle.
“He’s a handsome one, for sure and a spry wee bearn.” I look over at Babet who is having difficulty with my terminology.
“Spry wee bearn? Translate please.”
“Happy Little Baby.” I retort.
“Ah, that he is. A very happy boy. I’m glad he is oblivious to all of this, it’s a shame Scarlet’s not.”
“How is she?” I ask.
“Fine, she’s upstairs. She really likes her room here.”
“I’m glad; I hope to spend more time with her also. I would like to get her take on all of this. Is that wise?” Since I haven’t had much time with a teenager, not since Maggie was young; my sister the handful.
“You may ask, but, don’t expect her replies to hold any merit, she’s a teenager. At most you will get major sarcasm or nothing at all. You may have better result with Henri here.”
“He must favor his father; I don’t see much of you in there. Maybe the chin?”
“Yes, he is Grif’s boy for sure. Looks just like his daddy, especially his big blue eyes.” I look over and feel her internally cherishing the tiny boy, she then looks up at me, “Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you.” I say my tone is sarcastically appreciative.
“Of, course, I apologize, it’s something that will take some getting used to.” I recall Estella’s exact words last night regarding sleeping baby Henri.
“Do you mind?” I turn to Babet.
“Hmm?”
“Sit with Henri?”
“Sure, be careful though, sometimes he is less than receptive to new people.” She says over the granite bar into the living room.
I slowly approach Henri, kneeling down to the floor. He immediately looks up at me then to his mother who is busy in the kitchen. He is watching me closely. I feel tension rise in the baby and must squelch it before Babet notices.
“Do you have a car?” I say sweetly to the boy.
“Ca-h!” He responds holding a blue car up for me to take. I oblige; he picks up the red car in his chubby little digits. “Red!” He says.
I look up to the bar and Babet is watching our exchange, clearly surprised by his acceptance of me. “He likes you.” She says smiling.
“I like him right back.” I roll the blue car across the floor parking it next to Henri’s red car.
“So, I went to the grocery store today, since there is obviously no food in the house, which is understandable. I’m going to cook dinner for the kids, that won’t bother you will it?”
“Not at all, in fact the smell of human food is quite pleasurable. What’s for dinner?”
She laughs, Christ I love her laugh, “Breakfast sausage, pancakes and eggs.”
“Sounds delicious.” I reply as Henri is crashing his red car into my blue car, he is quite proud of himself as he looks up at me. I smile and he smiles back. Babet goes to the bottom of the stairs and calls up to Scarlet, “How many eggs do you want!”
A muffled reply wafts down the stairs, “Two!”
I watch as Babet nods and roll her eyes at teenage insolence. She catches me and smiles, quickly returning to the kitchen. While there is a break in conversation I inquire about the music when I arrived as it ceased after I knocked on the door.
“You were listening to something when I arrived, what was it?”
“In Scarlet’s opinion they are considered old, but I believe what was on when you knocked was Korn’s “My Gift to You”, I love the bagpipes and his anger is relatable. Molly introduced me to them way back in the day. You like?” She says while moving about the kitchen preparing, mixing, and stirring.
“I did, I do. I know Korn, they play it regularly at Morte’. “Life Is Peachy” is a good album, I can relate to that one.”
She smiles, “Yeah, I love that one. What else do they play at Morte’? Sounds like my kind of place.” She feigns embarrassment, “Sounds like it used to be my kind of place.”
“I would hope to never see you there, but they play a wide range of heavy music. Do you gravitate more toward that genre?”
“No, I like all kinds of music, but in my younger days, I could relate more to the angry heavy stuff. Now I listen to it, because I truly enjoy the music instead of dwelling on what I have in common with the lyrics.”
“Lyrics can be powerful and the lyrics in heavier music are definitely more relatable to a vampire…”
Suddenly I hear the distinct sound of the same genre with an entirely younger feel coming from upstairs, I turn to look at Babet, she pauses to listen to the path for feet from the bedroom to the bathroom back to the bedroom, the door closes and the music is more difficult to hear.
“Well, I thought she might come down, but I guess not.”
“Give her time; she’s lost a lot too.”
“I know and her dad being so far away doesn’t help her, I don’t mind it but I can understand missing your father, especially at such a young age.”
“Where is he?” I ask.
“He’s in North Carolina, or last I heard that was where he was. Scarlet said his mother moved back up north, Ohio I think. It’s where they are originally from.”
“Does she talk to him often?”
“I wouldn’t know, she has her own cell and he and I don’t talk unless it’s something dire with her. Which is rare, she’s a great kid. She’s just…a teenage girl.”
“I understand.” I say but I can tell she isn’t convinced.
“Really?”
“Yes, I have…had a sister, Maggie. She was fifteen when were separated and a handful to say the least.”
http://www.amazon.com/Revelations-Cia...
Revelations of Cian
Estella stood impatiently in the doorway, she had changed from her Morte’ cat-suit to a lime green cotton sundress and tan sandals.
“Why didn’t you answer when I called?” She says her hand on her hip.
“When did you call?” I asked.
“Uh, just now?!”
“Sorry, Henri is asleep.” I reply with bad attitude.
Estella crouched and grabbed her mouth, “I’m sorry honey that will take some getting used to.” She says to Babet who forgives her aunt instantly.
“It’s okay, he sleeps like a rock. He plays hard and he sleeps hard.” Babet is still in quiet mode.
“Are you okay?” Estella says rushing to Babet’s side nearly knocking me down to get to her. Estella sits down like a stone and brushed the stray hairs off of Babet’s face. “I ask, because Cian can be a little stiff.” Estella said in jest. I smiled at the two beautiful women, taking the joke.
“No…He’s…Cian has been great.” She looked over to me and then back to Estella. I take in the chimes of her voice as she says my name, it is ecstasy. “We were just talking.”
“Oh? Do tell.” Estella, ever the gossip queen.
Estella observed our exchange of glances and instructed the young woman that it was late and asked if she had eaten and if she wanted anything. Babet is gracious and smart; she takes the hint and makes her way upstairs to check on sleeping Henri. Once Babet is out of sight, Estella swats me with the back of her hand. I look down at my arm and then to Estella. She is smiling her bright gleaming smile. For a moment I thought Estella was angry but her smile indicates that she is impressed with Babet and her demeanor.
“Pleased, I take it?”
“Of course. You can go now.” She says folding her arms under her breasts.
“I will as soon as I say good bye to Babet.” The ‘T’ I absentmindedly accentuate.
Estella turns to me at the sound, “Do I need to check her for marks Cian?” she jests but I am not amused.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” My tone is instantly angry.
“Lighten up, it was a joke.” She rolls her eyes at me.
I hear Babet descending the staircase; she is smiling when she rounds the corner to the long drawing room. Estella and I are carefully watching her until she notices and explains her happiness.
“Henri is dreaming; it must be a good one because he was giggling in his sleep.”
“Aw, so cute!” Estella should have been a mother; she clasps her hands together and looks so thoughtful at the notion of a giggling sleeping baby. If only she were always this sweet and agreeable.
“I’m off then.” I say to Estella and then glance over to Babet, “So I will see you at Audubon tomorrow night?”
Babet is silent but nods her head to agree to her whereabouts.
“Until then,” I bow my head to Babet and then turn back to Estella, “Call me if you need.”
“You, going home?”
“Aye, I’m looking forward to my own familiarity. Goodnight ladies.”
I make my way through the house and out the front door, taking one last look at the palatial Garden District home once I am through the wrought iron gate. Wish I had gotten the tour. I smirk to myself.
I reach my haven and mindlessly make it to the fifth floor. I am too engrossed in the night’s events, conversation and revelations about Babet Benoit to pay close attention to my surroundings. Born with a silver spoon in her mouth and raised as a proper southern lady until the mysterious disappearance/death of her father. Her mother painstakingly maintained their position in society, regardless of her daughter’s reluctance and suffering at the hands of her peers.
She escapes out of state after high school to avoid further social misery in her life only to return with child and boyfriend in tow. She’s an extraordinarily strong independent woman who is philanthropic and reflective, a loving mother. There is more, I know, so much more to her and I divulged more than I should. I know it is the first baby steps to a trusting relationship with Babet and hopefully in time and over time, her children; their children and their children’s children.
I vow after tonight to devote my life the remainder of my existence to this cause, to her. Finally, a worthy cause has reached me once more. Father I hope you can again be proud of me. Although as I lay in day-stasis I can’t help but think of her dreams and my visions and if the two are the same, the monster is all assuming and pretty fucking pleased with himself and a certain, almost human side of me is also pleased.
The following evening I arrive at Audubon and instantly I see Babet’s car and bright lights from the front of the townhouse. I hear music, a much harder genre of music than the previous night. I stand outside placing the song. I recognize the lead singer and deduce it to be Korn, who often use bagpipes in their songs. An aspect of their band I truly enjoy but this song particularly is unfamiliar to my ears. I approach the door, which had of course been replaced, and knock hard enough to penetrate the music. I see Babet approach the door, unlock it and pull it open to allow me entry.
“Hi.” She says as I pass her, she closes the door behind me. She’s wearing a baby blue sundress; her hair is wavy and flowing down her back, she smells exquisite. I look down and see her signature bare feet.
“You look nice; did Estella finally show you the clothes?” I ask.
“Thanks, yeah she went a little overboard and I told her so but she wouldn’t hear it. Scarlet really liked the pieces for her and Henri’s little wardrobe is uber cute.” She directs my attention to the little boy playing with cars on the living room floor who squeals in delight as the cars crash into each other.
“Wow, he’s…” I walk toward the living room as it’s the first time I have been in Henri’s presence while he is awake; truly awake. I lean against the door frame and watch him coo and cackle.
“He’s a handsome one, for sure and a spry wee bearn.” I look over at Babet who is having difficulty with my terminology.
“Spry wee bearn? Translate please.”
“Happy Little Baby.” I retort.
“Ah, that he is. A very happy boy. I’m glad he is oblivious to all of this, it’s a shame Scarlet’s not.”
“How is she?” I ask.
“Fine, she’s upstairs. She really likes her room here.”
“I’m glad; I hope to spend more time with her also. I would like to get her take on all of this. Is that wise?” Since I haven’t had much time with a teenager, not since Maggie was young; my sister the handful.
“You may ask, but, don’t expect her replies to hold any merit, she’s a teenager. At most you will get major sarcasm or nothing at all. You may have better result with Henri here.”
“He must favor his father; I don’t see much of you in there. Maybe the chin?”
“Yes, he is Grif’s boy for sure. Looks just like his daddy, especially his big blue eyes.” I look over and feel her internally cherishing the tiny boy, she then looks up at me, “Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you.” I say my tone is sarcastically appreciative.
“Of, course, I apologize, it’s something that will take some getting used to.” I recall Estella’s exact words last night regarding sleeping baby Henri.
“Do you mind?” I turn to Babet.
“Hmm?”
“Sit with Henri?”
“Sure, be careful though, sometimes he is less than receptive to new people.” She says over the granite bar into the living room.
I slowly approach Henri, kneeling down to the floor. He immediately looks up at me then to his mother who is busy in the kitchen. He is watching me closely. I feel tension rise in the baby and must squelch it before Babet notices.
“Do you have a car?” I say sweetly to the boy.
“Ca-h!” He responds holding a blue car up for me to take. I oblige; he picks up the red car in his chubby little digits. “Red!” He says.
I look up to the bar and Babet is watching our exchange, clearly surprised by his acceptance of me. “He likes you.” She says smiling.
“I like him right back.” I roll the blue car across the floor parking it next to Henri’s red car.
“So, I went to the grocery store today, since there is obviously no food in the house, which is understandable. I’m going to cook dinner for the kids, that won’t bother you will it?”
“Not at all, in fact the smell of human food is quite pleasurable. What’s for dinner?”
She laughs, Christ I love her laugh, “Breakfast sausage, pancakes and eggs.”
“Sounds delicious.” I reply as Henri is crashing his red car into my blue car, he is quite proud of himself as he looks up at me. I smile and he smiles back. Babet goes to the bottom of the stairs and calls up to Scarlet, “How many eggs do you want!”
A muffled reply wafts down the stairs, “Two!”
I watch as Babet nods and roll her eyes at teenage insolence. She catches me and smiles, quickly returning to the kitchen. While there is a break in conversation I inquire about the music when I arrived as it ceased after I knocked on the door.
“You were listening to something when I arrived, what was it?”
“In Scarlet’s opinion they are considered old, but I believe what was on when you knocked was Korn’s “My Gift to You”, I love the bagpipes and his anger is relatable. Molly introduced me to them way back in the day. You like?” She says while moving about the kitchen preparing, mixing, and stirring.
“I did, I do. I know Korn, they play it regularly at Morte’. “Life Is Peachy” is a good album, I can relate to that one.”
She smiles, “Yeah, I love that one. What else do they play at Morte’? Sounds like my kind of place.” She feigns embarrassment, “Sounds like it used to be my kind of place.”
“I would hope to never see you there, but they play a wide range of heavy music. Do you gravitate more toward that genre?”
“No, I like all kinds of music, but in my younger days, I could relate more to the angry heavy stuff. Now I listen to it, because I truly enjoy the music instead of dwelling on what I have in common with the lyrics.”
“Lyrics can be powerful and the lyrics in heavier music are definitely more relatable to a vampire…”
Suddenly I hear the distinct sound of the same genre with an entirely younger feel coming from upstairs, I turn to look at Babet, she pauses to listen to the path for feet from the bedroom to the bathroom back to the bedroom, the door closes and the music is more difficult to hear.
“Well, I thought she might come down, but I guess not.”
“Give her time; she’s lost a lot too.”
“I know and her dad being so far away doesn’t help her, I don’t mind it but I can understand missing your father, especially at such a young age.”
“Where is he?” I ask.
“He’s in North Carolina, or last I heard that was where he was. Scarlet said his mother moved back up north, Ohio I think. It’s where they are originally from.”
“Does she talk to him often?”
“I wouldn’t know, she has her own cell and he and I don’t talk unless it’s something dire with her. Which is rare, she’s a great kid. She’s just…a teenage girl.”
“I understand.” I say but I can tell she isn’t convinced.
“Really?”
“Yes, I have…had a sister, Maggie. She was fifteen when were separated and a handful to say the least.”
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Revelations of Cian
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