#I need to get better at drawing blood RRRR | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theravencawsatmidnight · 4 years

Text

My last Nsfw for awhile.

A commissioned Fic .

Summary. Hero Killer Stain finds a hell hound Reader who is hard to control and takes her in .

“Easy..easy…” Stain whispered to you , reaching out to pet your head. “I know it hurts but - ow.” He chuckled looking at his arm in your mouth .

You had gotten hurt tonight during a purge , running straight for the hero without thinking, without hearing Chizome yelling for you to stop. The Hero got you on your side leaving a gash , you stumbled to the ground growling clutching the cut , blood seeping through your fingers . Chizome groaned jumping down from the building he was perched on landing on the Hero stabbing him in the throat

Chizome glanced up at your struggling body, tail going nuts setting everything on fire around you , smoke started to gather and Chizome pulled his sword free getting up walking towards you . You snarled up at him swinging your claws at him. Chizome crouched down putting his hand on your head, slowly you fought him , pushing at his chest biting him all over , “rrr!!!!! Raaaarr…!!!!!!!!” You headbutted his chest and Chizome let go of you standing up. He needed to get you home before you bled out . You got on all fours ready to pounce on him .

“Serra, Knock.It.Off.”

“RRRRrrr!!!!”

“Serrano.” He snapped his fingers watching your ears twitch and fall down, the flames dwindling.

Your legs got numb from being hunched over and gave out under you , your tail was still bright and fully formed and the fire was getting closer to you both. “Serra, come here.”

“RRRR...rrrr…”

“Now.”

It took you a very long few minutes to crawl to him , fire ears fully down , tail the size of an actual tail now instead of a big long fire. He wrapped his arms around you placing a hand over the cut . “There we go…” he petted you pulling you into his arms . “Lets get you patched up Serra.” He jumped up a fire escape onto a building running along it, heading home.

••

Chizome scratched your head watching the blood creep out from his arm , he continued to scratch watching it slowly take over you. Your eyes got heavy and your jaws retracted to regular teeth. Your ears and tail vanished and you fell into his lap whimpering. “I know.” He told you, still scratching . “Focus on me Serra, not the pain. It will be better soon.”

You dug your face into his lap whimpering more and more while Chizome lifted up your bloody shirt to look at the cut . It was directly down your side under your breast to your hip . He wrapped you up in a bandage doubling it up and pulling the shirt off you . “Stay here, ill get you a new shirt”. Chizome started to get uo but you had your arms around him, he tipped your chin up to see your face full of tears .

“Serra…”

“Ss...oor...ee..”

“I know you're sorry Serra, but you can't run off like that so recklessly when we don't know what the quirk is. “

You hung your head in shame leaning into his chest , resting your head on his shoulder.

“Since you're genuinely sorry i won't punish you so hard , but tonight you can't sleep in my bed.” He kisses your head picking you up so he could get up and set you down on the floor.

“Chi..”

“Ill be right back.” He waved going into his room.

Whimpering you crawled over to your makeshift bed that consisted of an old circle dog bed that you sunk into, a few heavy blankets and a pillow that said Angels Rest Here. It was full of teeth marks and holes. Quietly you gnawed on the pillow , waiting.

Chizome looked at the shirt in his hand thinking. He had a good hold on you but sometimes your quirk took over and you couldn't do anything about it. What could he do? He threw the shirt over his shoulder leaving his room and making a stop in the kitchen opening up a jar to grab something.

“Serra.” He said softly , returning to you.

Looking up your nose twitched and you dropped the pillow , mouth watering. “Sin..” you sat up whimpering.

Chizome put the shirt on you and held out a long cinnamon stick to you. You wiped your face and chomped down on the stick , your tail and ears popping out , wagging a mile a minute.

Chizome sat down with you pulling you between his arms looking at your tail while you ate the spicy stick. He grabbed hold of your tail not feeling any heat . “Serra, can you control the temperature ?”

You looked back , mouth full of crumbs making him smile , he wiped your face with his thumb . “Serra make this tail hot.”

You hopped away from Chizome sitting facing him tilting your head . Your tail was regular size right now, little flames falling off it disappearing. You looked back at the tail and it flicked getting bigger , a small heat coming from it now. Slowly your tiny claws crept out scratching the old wood floor.

“Hotter.”

The tail stretched over your head and Chizome could feel himself sweating. “Serra.”

No answer.

“Hotter.”

“RRR...rrr…” the tail started to burst sending fire to the floor catching it.

“Serra.”

“rrrrRRRRR” you lunged towards him and Chizome fell back catching you holding your arms down. “So it's the .. tail..”

You struggled against him and Chizome rolled to his feet stumbling into the wall trying to keep you secure. You screamed, swinging your tail everywhere, knocking things down and burning Chizome.

“AUYGH!!!”

“Serra!!!” He rubbed your arm with his thumb slowly walking towards the kitchen . “It's okay.. i know now.”

“AAUUGH RRR”

“The tail, the bigger it gets..” he slammed into a cabinet opening it up. “The faster you lose control.. but..” He grabbed a small tin sliding down to the floor prying your mouth open. “Maybe this can help..” He dumped Altoids into your mouth, shutting it and squeezing you.

Cold, you were cold . What is this? You looked down to see little bumps on your arms , your mouth felt like you swallowed a snowball. You gulped down the mints gasping, slowly calming down, shivering. The tail shrunk to normal size and the fires on the floor went out .

“...Chi...”

“Im here.” He heaved squeezing you.

In a flash you looked back at him and your ears fell. He was burned on the face and his neck. “Chi is here” His heavy hand fell on your hand. Your ears popping out between his fingers .

“Im okay. We know now..”

“Chi!!!”

“Sshh…” gently he turned you to him kissing your forehead. “Calm down Serra, I'm okay. Right now I want you to focus on me.”

You whimpered hugging him tightly, sobbing loudly as Chizome held you with burned arms , lightly he rubbed at your back trying to sooth you. “Good girl… such a good girl..”

••

The next couple days Chizome did not go out, instead he spent his time training you, helping you get a hold on your quirk. You lost control a few times and ended up biting Chizome a few times but he didn't mind. He never yelled at you but he did firmly punish you. Usually he would put you on the leash and tie you up to the table while he went out without you.

When he came home he was always bloody and dirty. You would pull on the leash till Chizome unhooked it and you would run around his legs rubbing on him saying ‘Chi Home.’

“Yes yes, and your punishment is over so come spend time with Chi while he makes dinner. I even got you something!”

Your eyes got wide and your quirk popped out in excitement . He pulled a bone out of his pocket holding it out for you, tail wagging you sniffed up at it making a gross face.

“..no?”

“Rr…”

He brought the bone back up setting it on the counter. “Hmm… “ He glanced down at you seeing your tail flick around. “I'll think of something.”

“Rr….”

“I promise.” Gently he pet your head and turned his attention back to the dinner.

••

At the table Chizome was feeding you some blood stake from his fork. Petting you every time you took a bite. “Good girl.” He fed you more , offering you water between bites . When you were satisfied you nuzzled into his thigh and crawled to your bed to sleep, tail swaying.

Chizome watched you while he ate his food. Things were getting better , but he wanted to test it.

The next night you finally got to go out with him again. It had been so long for you the rush you felt chasing Chizome on the rooftops was enough to make your tail grow bigger and bigger. Chizome stopped on a red roof looking back at you, his long bandages flowing in the night sky. You stopped next to him panting, tail flicking.

“Chi…”

He gave you a mint watching your tail shrink a bit . Slowly you felt more control over your quirk , your vision was clearing and your senses heightened.

“There we go.” He put his hand on your head crouching down next to you, his tongue slipping out of his mouth. “Lets see what you can do, Serra.”

You barked and your ears pointed straight up, you jumped off the building sliding down the fire escape down to the ground landing on all four.

The Heroes flinched watching you getting ready to fight , your tail stood straight up when you charged towards them grabbing on by the leg , your tail grabbing hold of the other hero by the waist sending him flying . You bit into the heroes leg crushing it causing him to fall , he grabbed your neck and you dug your claws into his arm deeply drawing blood . A crack could be heard along with a scream .

The arm fell to your feet and the hero screamed his lungs out , the last thing he saw was your happy face lunging towards him till everything went black .

Chizome walked over to you glancing at the hero who was in pieces and the other who was bended backwards against a lightpost . He crouched down next to you looking very pleased.

You panted glancing over to see his proud face. He patted your head and scratched your chin fast. “Good girl!!!!!” Your tail wagged and you yipped all excited. “Oh yes my good girl, my good little fire pup!!!” He scratched your chin more and picked you up hugging you. “So so so good!!!! You did it yes you did !!! I think someone deserves a treat!!!”

You yipped again, licking his face all over while Chizome brought you home.

••

Back at home you were sitting on Chizomes lap in your panties and underwear peppering kisses all over his face . Chizome was in his boxers grinding up into your clothed folds. “Your such a good girl for me..” he said softly into your ear . You yipped wagging your tail fast and lightly nipping at his neck.

Chizome slipped your panties off and rubbed the head of his cock against your slick slit smirking . “So wet already , just for her master .” He teased pushing into you . You giggled sliding down on his cock till you were sitting comfortably .

“Chi..”

“Hm? Yes Serra?”

You started to move up and down on his cock , your breast bouncing lightly .

“Oh you little fussy pup.” He kissed your cheek laying back, hands behind his head. “You want to please your master huh? Go ahead Serra.”

Your cheeks flushed read as you humped his cock in a steady pace , whimpering from how good he felt against your walls squeezing you just right. Slowly you got faster, louder , your tail flicking all around as you leaned forward putting your hands on his chest to balance .

Chizome held your hips, praising you the whole time you rode his cock. ‘Good girl’ ‘Your doing great’ he told you over and over while he watched you .

“Chi…” you lifted your arms up to bounce faster , chasing your release.

“Oh Serra you feel so good yes you do.” He squeezed your hips and lifted one hand to grab your collar pulling you down , the little fish tag on it jingling all around. He kissed your lips thrusting hard .

Whimpers fell from your mouth as you sped up, your ears dropping . Chizome kissed your forehead talking low. “Go ahead fire pup, cum on your master cock .”

You fell into him cumming hard, feeling it crash down on your trembling body . Chizome grunted cumming too deep inside you . “Ohh.. good girl..” he pulled you into his arms slowly sliding out of you. Lightly he pet you to calm you down . “Sshh.. guess what Serra?”

You looked up, face red and fangs growing and shrinking with each pant leaving your mouth. “Stay here, master has a treat for you.” He kissed your lips, setting you on the bed.

You snuggled his pillow gnawing on it, watching him go to the kitchen. “Rr..”

“Shh..” he looked back after opening a cabinet . “I'm coming back.” He grabbed something and made his way back to you . “Here, open it.”

It was a little bag he placed in your hands. Tilting your head at it you bit into the bag ripping it . The bone fell out but it smelled… good. You leaned down sniffing it to see little red spots all over it. Lightly you licked at the bone and your tail spiked .

“I really wanted to give you that bone fire pup, but you didn't like it.” He told you as you crawled into his arms gnawing the bone. “So I cut up some peppers and placed it in a bowl full of chunks .” You gnawed more, tail wagging. “Pepper bones, “ he kissed your head snuggling you close, smiling warmly.

#pepperbones #hero killer stain x reader #stain x reader #chizome akaguro

64 notes · View notes

missn11 · 4 years

Photo

Chapter two and three of The Devil’s Advocate, since chapter two is quite short, but these chapters are giving us some build up by introducing a mysterious woman luring people in a poorer neighborhood to the local abandoned church with her song. And we catch up with Liza and Owain and see how things are done in the Atlanta Camarilla court.

The song called. Antwuan made his excuses to his friends and left. They weren’t going anywhere. Nobody Antwuan knew was going anywhere. Nobody but Antwuan. His friends had always ragged on him. Except for Little Johnnie, Antwuan was the only one who’d stayed out of trouble, “kept his nose clean,” like his mama put it. Soon he would be old enough to work for his uncle Maurice driving a cab. He was going to save some money, buy his own place. The ladies would like that. He wasn’t going to spend his whole life in Reynoldstown.

I seen too many folks get shot down, or go crazy on drugs. None of Antwuan’s friends really thought they’d live much The Devil's Advocate 63 past thirty, anyhow. None except Little Johnnie, and he was just too scared to get himself killed. Antwuan liked hanging out with his friends, but he didn’t need them every night. And it wasn’t every night that the song called. The first time Antwuan had gone had been for other reasons. Taquanna had hinted that he should come, so he’d figured, play his cards right, he might get down her pants. Seemed worth a shot. Since then, though, there was no question. The song called, he was there.

The old church had always been a part of the scenery for Antwuan. It was there, he just didn’t mess with it. Nobody messed with it. The place had that feel to it, and people stayed away. Not even the up and coming gangstas congregated there. Hell, Antwuan reasoned, plenty other boarded up buildings to trash.

Lol, I think we have a title drop here with that street name!

Again as he approached, Antwuan heard the notes that floated through the night and sum- 64 Gherbod Fleming moned him. He had never heard the song before that first time, but now he heard it every time, no matter where he was. This past summer he’d been down at a Braves’ game, and even over the miles, the traffic, and the crowds he’d heard it and hopped on MARTA and gotten back as quickly as he could. There was no one else around as he walked up the cracked sidewalk into the shadows surrounding the church. But there would be others, he knew. The song would reach out to those who were aware, and many would come. Antwuan was glad he lived so close and could almost always make it. He reached for the door, the lofty, lilting notes pulling him more forcefully now. It was a prelude, as his mama called it when she made him go to their church, only this music was far more alluring than any church prelude, and the service was nothing he would expect from Preacher Rutherford. Antwuan chuckled at the thought, but immediately fell silent as he entered.

She stood at the front of the sanctuary before the toppled, graffiti-carven pulpit—the pale angel. Her skin was white as ivory, made more noticeably so by the dark black hair and straight bangs that framed her thin face, now lifted toward the heavens, eyes closed, lips slightly parted to allow forth the most enticing sound heard to man.

Place your bets on what Clan this woman is! I’m thinking at the moment a Toreador with a high level Presence.

Her voice brought them to her, held them there, not that they would want to tear themselves away. Antwuan closed his eyes, let the music ease his mind, carrying away thoughts of trouble, of his mama pestering him to get a job now instead of waiting till he was old enough to work for his uncle, of the long empty days since he’d dropped out of school, of wondering if the gunshots he heard at night would kill a member of his family or one of his friends. The daily concerns were washed away, replaced by soothing music, the closest thing to true contentment that he’d ever experienced. But even this contentment was not complete. At its heart was a tiny ache, the seed of desire, a rising need. The music did not erase this need, did not carry it away, but rather caressed it, cared for it. Now the music changed, shifted indescribably. Antwuan knew that if he opened his eyes he would see the others around him, ten or fifteen of them. He felt the familiar presence of Taquanna beside him, her shoulder inches from his. The angel still 66 Gherbod Fleming sang above them; her music reminded Antwuan of a song his grandmother used to sing to him as a little boy, but he couldn’t quite fully summon the tune to memory. Besides, that would only distract him from the pleasure at hand.

and then they dance and Antwuan has sex with Taquanna, which isn’t told in great detail, more tastefully really. Then later Antwuan feels super happy on the way home and he collapsed on his bed, sleeping until very late into the day.

Chapter three starts with Liza making her way to the art museum for the Camarilla gathering

Liza took a detour through Piedmont Park. She loved the freedom of walking the city at night by herself, something she couldn’t do as a mortal. Not only did she revel in her newfound powers, she always looked for a chance to show them off, to convince herself they were real more than to impress anyone else. Liza don’t need nobody else, she told herself quite often. She hoped somebody would give her trouble, wished that some thinks-he’stough asshole would try to mug her, or better yet, to rape her. She’d leave him with his dick stuffed down his throat. I bet ol’ Dietrich give Francesca a big hard one, Liza mused.

Probably got spikes just like on his head. The Devil's Advocate 69 Strangely enough, it was Francesca that intrigued Liza more. The way she rrrolls her rrrrs. The very thought gave Liza shivers. Maybe the two women would meet again, without Dietrich. The freak. Who knew when another Sabbat mission might bring them together again? The team had worked well enough: Liza, the Atlanta native, guiding; Dietrich helping herd their prey; Francesca giving the orders and immobilizing old what’s-his-name at the end. To Liza’s disappointment, it was a slow night in Piedmont Park. After about forty-five minutes completely unmolested—not even a nibble—she headed toward the High Museum of Art and Prince Benison’s exhibit.

The Camarilla, the vampire sect that controlled Atlanta, claimed every vampire as a member. So Liza, as an Atlanta Kindred, was automatically invited, even if Benison didn’t really want her there. Technically, she was an anarch, a rebel who didn’t acknowledge the strictures of the Camarilla, at least not all of them. But since the Camarilla claimed her, there was plenty of gray area to use as she saw fit. Liza liked gray area. Gray area meant freedom. Although if Benison, or any of the 70 Gherbod Fleming other Atlanta Kindred for that matter, found out about her Sabbat connections, that would be the end of freedom, not to mention her life. She’d be staked, or beheaded, or left out for the sun, or all three.

And we get our first look of who’s who of the Atlanta Camarilla court at the gathering.

Occasionally, Benison had midnight prayer breakfasts at Rhodes Hall, his mansion just a bit down Peachtree Street. Liza avoided those like the plague. No way was she going to go listen to the crazy Malkavian prince spout scripture, pretending that God still cared about the Damned. Liza the The Devil's Advocate 71 anarch had that freedom. She could skip out on any gathering she felt like. Not so for these other Kindred. Stupid bastards. Prince Benison frowned on subjects missing his courtly functions. That was another reason to attend this relatively painless exhibit: to rub it in the others’ faces that she didn’t have to be there.

And they were all there all right, Liza noticed: Eleanor, the prince’s snobby bitch wife wearing her poofy Gone With the Wind dress; Benjamin and Thelonious, resident legal eagle and Mr. Civil Rights, brothers who bought into the white folks’ world; Owain Evans, the youthful and good-looking but boring-ass businessman; Hannah, the local Tremere grand wizard or whatever; Marlene, artist wannabe, porn queen more likely. There were others too, but Liza was distracted by the sight of Alex Horndiller, Benison’s righthand ghoul, leading two young men, mortals, toward the center of the gallery. She strutted over to them, her black tights drawing quite a few stares amidst the formal evening wear crowd.

Liza causes a stir when she feeds on two of the ghouls before the Prince has a chance for the first sip.

She slapped the ghoul on the shoulder, hard enough that he almost stumbled. “Corndicker, what you got for me?” Without another word, Liza took the forearm of the first young man, tall, blond, maybe in his early twenties, and sank her teeth in. He flinched only slightly; the collective gasp that arose was from the onlookers. Liza tried not to 72 Gherbod Fleming laugh—she hated when blood ran out her nose— but it was so like the courtly Kindred to be shocked…like she knew they would be. The two men were the refreshments for the evening, common vessels, but of course the prince should have enjoyed the ceremonious first sip. Liza wasn’t hungry, not after feeding on that vampire sap with Francesca and the Elephant Man, but this was almost as much fun as ripping apart muggers in the park would have been. She let go of the first man and grinned at the irate Horndiller, red splotches forming on his face. “Not bad,” she said as she winked and pinched the blond vessel’s ass. “And I like the Dixie cup.” Before Horndiller could form his indignant sputterings into words, Liza sank her teeth into the second man, stockier and more darkly complected than his counterpart.

She had drunk only a little when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Corndicker’s got more balls than I…but before she could finish the thought, she was spun roughly around, and to her shock, it was not Horndiller who held her. Instead, it was J. Benison Hodge, prince of Atlanta. Liza stumbled backward in surprise, but the prince’s iron grip held her upright, his fingers pressing down to the bone of her shoulder. He towered above her, his massive dark red beard inches from her face, his green eyes ablaze with more anger than Liza had ever seen in them.

She tried to speak but The Devil's Advocate 73 could only wince at the pain as he squeezed her shoulder more tightly. The prince spoke in a low, throaty growl. “I offer hospitality, and you mock it.” The words were meant for her, but Hodge’s forceful baritone easily carried across the chamber to the onlooking Kindred, about whom Liza had very nearly forgotten. The prince released her shoulder and quickly drew back his hand to strike her backhanded across the face…but he stopped, spotless white glove raised, arm trembling with rage. His stiffened jaw forced his beard forward. “I will not tolerate this.”

Liza could do nothing but cringe at this awesome display of barely controlled ferocity. One swipe of his gloved fist would likely crush every bone in her face. She suddenly felt very young and weak and small confronted with this force of nature that was the prince. Benison took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. Just as slowly, he lowered his arm. Not for one moment did his severe gaze release Liza from scrutiny. “For one year and one night, I do not want to see you, I do not want to so much as hear report of your name.” A savage, psychotic glint flashed across the prince’s fiery green eyes, as if he wanted to end it now, as if he wanted nothing more than to strike her down this instant for her affront to his honor, but the brief wavering passed, and though his wrath was undiminished, restraint held the day. “If I do, 74 Gherbod Fleming you will find final death.” The prince turned his back to her. “Begone.” It took Liza a second to realize that she had not been struck down, that he had not snapped her neck as surely he could have. She swallowed her wounded pride and slunk away

Then we switch over to Owain’s POV, who’s still thinking about the chess game he lost.

Owain probably had never been to a courtly function in a fouler mood. Three hundred years of strategy and planning abruptly catapulted to hell, he kept telling himself. It was not a misfortune he could lightly set aside and forget. How? How could it happen? Overconfidence? Carelessness? The art exhibit was hardly a sufficient distraction. At least it’s not one of those damnable prayer breakfasts. Prince Benison, through his contacts on the board of the High Museum, had commandeered this gallery to show the artwork of one of the Atlanta Kindred, Marlene. Marlene fancied herself something of a sculptor, and though she was Toreador, Owain did not feel that the term “art” accurately described her accomplishments. Apparently ceramics or clay were too subtle media; Marlene had taken to welding together various shapes and sizes of scrap metal and then attaching somewhat grandiose titles to the resulting monstrosities. What her work lacked in vision it certainly made up in magnitude. No mantlepiece The Devil's Advocate 75 collectibles in this portfolio.

Not a big lover of modern art is he? XD

As usual at these functions, Owain attempted to stay out of the way. There was much more to be learned from watching and listening than from taking a lead in most endeavors, a fact that Owain had learned well over his centuries of vampiric existence. And one that anarch rabble would do well to learn, Owain thought as Liza was shown the door. Her little outburst had been entertaining. Owain had to admit that, although he had been quite guarded in not displaying his amusement at the spectacle. She won’t live long confronting a prince that way. Owain was surprised by her brazen recklessness, her stupidity. There are more efficient ways to undermine a princes’ position, subtler ways, safer ways. Owain could only wonder if the prince’s treatment of her might have been more irreversibly detrimental had she had time to actually insult the “artwork.”

At the time of Liza’s little scene, Owain had been standing to a side of the room, near the Tremere chantry leader, reclusive Hannah. He was close enough that most passersby, assuming that he and Hannah were merely pausing in conversation, continued on without disturbing him, but not so close that he actually had to speak to the Tremere. Owain suspected that Hannah appreciated the arrangement as well, she not being one of the more socially ambitious Kindred in the city. For the most 76 Gherbod Fleming part, the only people who expressed more than the most passing of interests in speaking to Hannah were her Tremere lessers from the chantry. Several attempted to toady but quickly retreated having received nothing but coldly polite and formal responses

Owain also noticed that Chantry Mistress Hannah’s reaction to the anarch-prince confrontation was as muted as his own, only a slight wrinkling of her nose indicating her distaste. Owain himself was not a stickler for manners. Over the years he had come to see their value as a stabilizing factor in both mortal and Kindred affairs. He was not offended by the “affront to the prince’s honor.” Rather he was dismayed by the anarch’s idiocy. Owain shook his head thinking of her misguided actions. She wanted to embarrass him, to damage his reputation.

But Hodge came out looking stronger than ever, and now she’s banished for a year and a night. Owain laughed to himself. A nice touch that—a year and a night. Hodge does have a flair for the dramatic. The duration of the punishment was a clear echo of the length of Arthurian quests—a year and a day. Owain was particularly enamored with the legends, as many of the earliest were of Welsh origin. It was clear to Owain that the prince saw himself as some type of crusading knight, protector of moral fortitude. It fit all too perfectly with the prince’s other derangements.

No, Owain was not offended by Liza’s little show, unlike many of the other gathered Kindred who bought so completely into the aura of southern gentility that Hodge, his wife Eleanor, and his sire Aunt Bedelia so convincingly affected. To Owain etiquette was a means, not an end unto itself. It was sometimes the only keeper of civility between enemies, and more importantly it was a veil behind which to work deceit. That line of thought reminded Owain that there was business to be conducted this evening. Mostly he was biding his time, making sure to stay long enough not to insult the prince, but not so long as to seem to be attempting to ingratiate himself. Almost no vampire, Owain felt, was worth the time of a social engagement, and very few mortals or ghouls. But if he had to be here, he might as well get something accomplished.

Then Owain tends to some business but first he has a brief encounter with the Prince’s sire, Aunt Bedelia.

He scanned the room until he saw Benjamin, a fellow Ventrue but hardly a friend. As he moved to leave his safe haven near Hannah, however, Owain nearly stumbled over Aunt Bedelia in her antique wheelchair being ushered around the gallery by her childe the prince. “Goodness, J. Benison. Someone has stepped on me,” Aunt Bedelia chittered shrilly. “Who is that?” She squinted up through her half-moon spectacles in Owain’s general direction. Her heavy wool dress swallowed her frail form. “My apologies, Mother,” muttered the prince, 78 Gherbod Fleming gracious and mild-mannered now that civility was restored to the gathering. “This is Owain Evans.” Owain smiled dutifully. “Never heard of him.” “Of course you have, Mother,” Benison patiently reminded her. “He came from Europe during the Great War. He’s from Wales originally. He…” “Never heard of him,” Bedelia snapped, testily this time.

The prince lowered his head and sighed. “Of course you haven’t, mother. Mother, I present to you Owain Evans, Ventrue of King Road, Atlanta. Mr. Evans, my sire Aunt Bedelia.” Bedelia held her left hand before her. Owain, standing to her right, glanced at the prince who was watching him expectantly, so he stepped around her, delicately took her hand, and kissed it. “The pleasure is all mine, Aunt Bedelia.” “Charmed, I’m sure.” Bedelia smiled sweetly, quite content now that she had been paid the proper respect; so content, in fact, that she had apparently fallen instantly asleep, her eyes closed now instead of squinted. She began to snore quietly.

Benison was smiling broadly. “Always good to see you, Owain. Mother and I couldn’t be happier that you made it this evening. Enjoying the artwork?” Before Owain could answer, the prince glanced off to his left. “No, I don’t think we need to send any- The Devil's Advocate 79 one to follow her,” he said, answering a question that no one had asked. Then, without missing a beat, he was smiling at Owain again. Owain hesitated. This peculiar behavior was nothing new for Benison.

The prince waited a moment. “The artwork?” he asked again. “Oh yes,” Owain assured him. “I’ve seen nothing like it elsewhere.” Benison cuffed Owain on the shoulder and laughed heartily. “Good, good. Of course you haven’t. Our little Marlene is quite the artist.” “She is something,” Owain agreed. He wondered what else Marlene was to the prince that she should merit such patronage. Owain had it on good authority that the prince’s wife was no paragon of fidelity. Perhaps the indiscretion was reciprocated. Though few vampires retained any type of sexual desire, there were always other…displays of affection that a spouse might guard jealously. “Well, Mother and I must attend the other guests,” said the prince. “Always good to see you, Owain. Enjoy the exhibit.”

At this, Bedelia perked up. Her gentle snoring ceased abruptly as she blinked herself awake. She squinted up at Owain as if she had just asked him a question and was expecting an answer. Owain, nodding respectfully at the prince, saw that Bedelia was still watching him expectantly. “A 80 Gherbod Fleming pleasure to see you, madame,” he offered. She continued staring at him, as if oblivious to his statement. “Have we met, young man?” Benison broke in quickly, “Well, Mother, here’s your favorite bridge partner, Hannah,” as he wheeled her away. “J. Benison, why didn’t you introduce us?” Bedelia was asking, but the prince continued on their way, greeting Hannah with great enthusiasm and seeming not to hear the protestations of his sire.

Owain gratefully slipped away. He always had gotten on fairly well with the prince. Both were warriors and, even though their wars were of different eras, there was a certain camaraderie in that. Aunt Bedelia was a different matter. Owain was sure her “forgetfulness” was merely an intended slight, a game meant to lessen him somehow. He shrugged off the encounter. Let the old hag pretend she doesn’t know me. I’d rather continue advising the prince than have her approval. Now where has Benjamin gotten to? Must have slipped into a side gallery.

He also skirted the main work of the exhibit, a behemoth of a piece consisting of three major chunks of curved and twisted metal The Devil's Advocate 81 with numerous smaller additions, suspended in its entirity from the ceiling by chains. It was a work Marlene had crafted several years ago titled “Benison’s Ride,” in honor of the prince’s purging of the Atlanta area of those anarchs and caitiffs who had not paid him the respect of announcing their presence to the court. Benison was quite fond of the piece and arranged for public viewings periodically for the edification of the Kindred in his domain. A vociferous Brujah had surmised that the sculpture was actually a representation of a whale spewing forth a Volkswagon. The prince felt otherwise. That particular Brujah no longer resided in Atlanta. Other colorful yet more discreet speculations had included but not been limited to: a severely disfigured head wearing a propeller hat, three falcons fornicating, and a ballet dancer engaged in projectile vomiting. At the original unveiling, Owain had limited his response to polite applause.

Finally Owain finds Benjamin with the Prince’s wife Eleanor.

Benjamin, an African-American dandy with his impeccable Brooks Brothers suit, tidy short-cropped hair, and wirerimmed glasses, was relatively young in his undeath but there was power in his blood. Next to the prince’s wife Eleanor, he was ostensibly the most influential Ventrue in Atlanta. Owain tended to keep his distance from clan politics; he’d been there too many times before. The fewer everyday entanglements the better, he felt. Both Benjamin and Eleanor, however, held this detachment against Owain and regarded him with suspicion. If they only knew how much older and more powerful he was than they, they would fear him as well.

“Benjamin, we must speak,” Owain said as he approached. A young female, whose name escaped Owain at the moment, edged away from Benjamin with only a glare at Owain, a grudging display of deference to the elder. Benjamin frowned, the expression causing his glasses to slide down his nose. “Yes, Owain, how The Devil's Advocate 83 may I be of service?” he asked in a cool formal tone. Benjamin’s slight but noticable English accent always amused Owain. True, the young lawyer had studied for several years at Oxford, but after more than fifteen years back in the States such an acquired accent would normally have faded. Unless, of course, the bearer consciously chose to maintain it as an affectation, a vanity. Owain, after living in Wales, London, France, Spain, and now Atlanta, had studied language and made a concerted effort to acquire an almost accentless English that raised no eyebrows. Speech patterns could give all too much away about a person. Even his current name, “Owain Evans,” was a concession to the need to remain unobtrusive and seemed choppy and harsh in comparison to his original “Owain ap Ieuan.” “Owain?” Benjamin’s voice snapped Owain out of his woolgathering, a bad habit and one he’d been succumbing to increasingly of late. “How may I help you?”

Owain edged closer to his fellow Ventrue and spoke in a low voice that would not be overheard by the other Kindred milling about. “I need a favor, a simple thing really.” Benjamin regarded Owain skeptically but said nothing. “There is a certain case,” Owain continued, “that will be heard this week by Justice Chamberlain of the Superior Court. You know Justice Chamberlain?” Benjamin shrugged noncommittally as he pushed 84 Gherbod Fleming his glasses back up. “He’s an acquaintance.” “Ah. How fortunate. You see, this particular case involves a zoning dispute. Mercator Manufacturing has bought property near downtown with the intention of constructing a regional distribution center. Unfortunately, certain rather reactionary individuals, most notably the Citizens Empowerment Union, have taken it into their heads that such a project would not be a desirable addition to the area. Never mind the jobs it would bring. Never mind the investment in surrounding neighborhoods….” “Never mind,” Benjamin interrupted, unable to hold his tongue any longer, “that the jobs would be non-union minimum wage, or that the people would be working for an international corporation with a history of closing shop when standards of living rise to a point where workers demand raises, then relocating to centers of cheap foreign labor.”

Despite Benjamin’s refusal, since the whole thing is just basically wage slavery, Owain blackmails him into agreeing since he knows about his relationship with the Prince’s wife Eleanor.

He loves Eleanor too deeply to harm her, but you…? I don’t think he would exercise such restraint in dealing with you.” 86 Gherbod Fleming A polite smile masked the venom of Owain’s words to any who might be watching. Owain stepped back. Benjamin could not hide his dismay, his shock, his fear. His every muscle was taut; his glasses slid down his nose again. “Now that I think of it,” Owain went on, “not only will Chamberlain uphold the rezoning, but the Georgia Supreme Court will refuse to hear the appeal.” He winked at the still speechless Benjamin. “I’ll be in touch.” Owain turned and left the side gallery laughing to himself at the expression on young Benjamin’s face. That should teach him some respect for his elders.

Yikes, Owain! But we knew that anyway,from when he killed his niece in las and her children. After being a really huge dick, Owain walks back to the main gallery and sees a wild scene unfolding.

Just as Owain entered the main gallery, a cacophony of gasps, exclamations, and laughter errupted. Owain saw why instantly. Atop “Benison’s Ride” perched Albert, the wiry, bearded Malkavian known to all Kindred in Atlanta. Completely naked. “On, Dasher! On, Dancer!” He rocked back and forth, in his own way reenacting the prince’s heroic ride as the massive metal sculpture wobbled precariously beneath him. Marlene, the self-proclaimed artist, had fainted dead away. The prince, doting over Aunt Bedelia at the other end of the gallery, his back turned, was quite oblivious to the evening’s second spectacle behind him. That was as much as Owain cared to see. He nonchalantly eased around the room—the oppo- The Devil's Advocate 87 site end from the prince—toward the elevator. Several Kindred were ordering Albert to dismount, but they were unwilling to risk breaking the sculpture by pulling him from his seat. As the elevator doors closed behind Owain, he could hear Albert singing, “Rollin’ rollin’ rollin, keep them dogs a-rollin’!” at the top of his lungs, the sculpted representation of the prince towering upward between his hairy legs like a giant scrap metal phallus. And then dead silence. Owain could picture the prince turning around. “Albert!”

#vampire the masquerade #The Trilogy of the Blood Curse #The Devil's Advocate #books #my reading blogging

2 notes · View notes