Chapter Text
If one could call it sleep, it was a long, red night.
Forgotten to the world around her, a woman had been locked in a deep and restless sleep longer than mortal life. Though describing it as sleep was merely to help smaller minds understand what it was. In truth it was something of a death in and of itself. There was no presence of mind, no awareness, not in any real or meaningful way, and yet even with this strange nonexistence, she had sensed a distant discomfort that transcended nothingness. Such a profound wrongness could be felt even by the dead. There was no way of knowing how long it had been, certainly, this Sleeper knew nothing at all except that when she woke, she was not anywhere familiar.
The Hotel Sorrento had been abandoned some years ago. The large, brickwork complex evoked feelings of a time gone by - having once been furnished by period decor evoking the 1920's. A little piece of history that had gone out of business due to financial mismanagement and legal scandal, and was now a comfortable hive for squatters and those looking to make illicit deals. It was one of those places that police had to regularly sweep through due to complaints by the neighboring businesses, with not much of a solution available short of the precinct biting the bullet and following through on the requests.
It had been some time since the last sweep, and Frank was a little frustrated by that fact. He'd gotten quite good at following the loose pattern of when the cops went through the place, and despite several drug busts happening as a result of those sweeps, he'd always had the wherewithal to avoid ever running into them, with the help of his partner in crime, Henry. The two men had lived more or less as permanent residents of the hotel for nearly a year now, making them feel almost like they weren't actually homeless at all.
The fact that the cops hadn't come through when he expected it had him on edge, and so Frank had made a little bit of a habit of doing a sweep himself... something to do to keep his mind off the possibility of getting caught, in the hopes that he might notice them arriving before they found him or his friend. Tonight was one of those nights that he decided to do his little patrol, and so he bundled himself up in several layers of fabric to brace against the unusually cold Seattle night.
"Goddamn snow..." He murmured as he peaked through a window. At least half a foot of snow, in Seattle, was practically unheard of, and it made the hotel all the more darling to men such as the pair who had precious few places to go. He shook his head brusquely, walking along, grumbling, "Gonna kill people if this keeps up... goddamn climate change..."
He continued on like that as he stepped through the halls of the hotel. He was rather fond of the place. It felt larger than life to look at the old and tattered furniture, that with just a little imagination seemed to glimmer with gilding. Fine brick fireplaces, large and luxurious beds... he'd never been a wealthy man before, but in the ruins of a place like this, he could dream.
The basement, on the other hand, he didn't like much at all. It was a cold, drab place, that despite the age of the building looked almost identical to any other basement one would see today, thanks to the recurring setup of people living or working out of the place and bringing in modern trash. He huffs and makes his way down the stairs, seeing garbage bags, plastic crates, modern shelves... it felt almost disrespectful to the memory of this place to see such modernity brought to it.
Still, the patrol had to go on. He walked down to the bottom of the stairs... frowning slightly in confusion as he saw from a small window, high on the basement wall... well, just the fact that it was open was strange. Some snow had fallen by the wall, scattered across the floor in front of it. What concerned him was the traces of red he saw, and a scuffled trail across the floor. He was no stranger to blood or people in trouble, it came with the lifestyle, but it didn't make him any less unnerved. Who gets into a building by crawling through a basement window like that?
Cautiously, he started to step over towards the window, looking around the basement to see where it led. He followed it, tentatively speaking up, "Hello?" If Henry were here, he'd be grabbing a piece of wood for swinging in case the situation was dangerous. But Frank wasn't that kind of guy. Violence made him uneasy.
Quickly, he came across a form, slumped on the floor and against the wall. His eyes widened as she had a truly unusual appearance... her skin was a slightly strange hue, like it'd once been a healthy tan, but there was a slightly troubling paleness to it. Her hair was black, messy in the moment but seeming to trail to around the bottom of the neck, long without being unmanageable. Her form was athletic, a little more built than one expected from a situation like this, and it was covered by a strange, meager white gown that was tattered around the knees, with a quality of being almost recognizable, but he couldn't quite pin down what was recognizable about it.
What was concerning, however, was the dried blood on her hands, and around her face. It made him deeply uneasy, but he pushed forward, unwilling to simply leave her there.
"Hey... miss... you alright?" He asked tentatively as he started to approach, a little worried, but seeing her unhealthy complexion assumed she was ill or suffering from withdrawals and couldn't be too dangerous.
The voice echoed distantly in her mind. It was like a grand bell, ringing with slow, deep gongs through her mind to bring her to true wakefulness.
Her eyes slowly opened, and the vibrant red of her irises slowly began to focus, flicking to the man.
"Wh-"
A hand shot out like a viper as improbably strong fingers clenched his throat. He let out a choked sound and barely had time to physically respond, hands twitching up towards his neck as she sharply jerked his body down, the fracture of bone sounding from the force as she pulled his neck directly to her teeth.
She bit with eternally sharp fangs, and red bliss warmed them both as she drank, and drank deeply.
It was only a matter of moments, as her hunger and need drew the blood out of his body faster than one might think possible. His eyes were wide, fingers and body twitching as the feeling of exsanguination somehow managed to smooth over the pain in his bones. But the light faded from his eyes in seconds, face drifting into an empty expression as his body turned pale.
The Sleeper grabbed the man with both hands and shoved him to the side from where she lay, leaving his lifeless corpse as she staggered to her feet. Fresh blood stained her lips and chin, which she mindlessly wiped with the back of her wrist, looking around the room with gradually increasing focus. The gears of her mind turned for the first time in many years, and finally, thought returned to her, coherence and cognition awakening within. She did not spare a second glance for Frank.
"What is this place...?" She uttered, as she gazed at the basement in growing confusion. Certainly the structure of the building was familiar - concrete and brick was nothing new. But the colorful small boxes, the strange material bags full of random debris... she briefly stumbled through the basement, her stability quickly returning to her as her eyes swept over the unusual sights. How long had she been gone? What did the world look like in these nights? Important questions, but leaving a drained corpse somewhere unfamiliar was already a poor start to her return.
Her feet trailed along, bare and unbothered by the cold floor. She approached the steps and climbed up to the first floor of the hotel, her focus now feeling present and sharp, and yet there was such a sense of being shunted out of time that she couldn't help but feel disoriented nonetheless. She pushed a door open to enter a service hallway, just in time as a door ahead of her opened and a man stepped through.
"Frank! I'm telling you, there's NOBODY here, there never- woah!" The man that, unbeknownst to the Sleeper, was named Henry watched her warily. "Who the fuck are you?" His eyes scanned over the woman as her lips curl into a frustrated snarl, widening at the sight of the blood on her.
"What did you do to Frank?!" He all but shouted, storming forward with all of the misplaced confidence of an ignorant mortal.
The red eyes of the woman widened as her expression intensified, reining in the affront to her sensibilities that this random man did not understand the danger he was in.
"DO NOT." She shouted, trying to pull on the power of her blood and press her will down on his own - but she was sluggish, the power did not come to her readily, and by the time he was upon her, her abilities had failed her.
"I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU-" Henry shouted, all in time as the Sleeper's palm connected with his ribcage. The sickening crunch of half the ribs in his chest cavity splintering at once was quickly drowned out by the sound of the door he just walked through slamming violently shut from his impact into it, and the body collapses on the ground a short ways down the hallway, utterly still.
She made a disgusted, frustrated growl, but it got cut off with a sharp intake of breath as she noticed, suddenly, that her body was not as she recalled. Her right hand burned with searing pain as a mark, evoking dark sorceries in the Sleeper's mind, glowed brightly in the dim light, and she snarled as she dropped down to a knee, clutching her wrist with her free hand. The pain was most intense on the back of her hand, but she realized the markings extended along her arm and to her torso, the pain more minor, depreciating with distance from the heart of her strange wound. Still, it was intense, dropping her down to her hands and knees as the pain started to fade. Almost like a punishment for trying to use her powers.
With a grimace, she shoved herself to her feet. "Ack..."
That's... hm, that's very strange. I didn't make that noise. And these don't feel like my teeth. They're also not moving while I'm speaking... am I speaking?
The Sleeper's eyes widened, and she turned, quickly scanning her surroundings with her hands primed like gouging claws, her predatory instincts rankled by this sudden intrusion. But after a moment, she realized it was in her mind, and she knit her brow. No less, the voice sounded... notably unthreatening.
"Who are you? What is this?" She asked, straightening slightly, but muscles still tense like a predator ready to pounce as soon as an opening presents itself.
Oh! Alright, progress. You can hear me. Ah... I guess? Is hear the right word? Nevermind. I seem to be in your head. How odd.
The woman frowned slightly, once against somewhat disarmed by how... nonplussed he seemed to be. "Yes. I... suppose that is the case. Who are you?" She repeated, with a hint of authority, but recognized that in this situation there was very little she could do to act on such impulses.
Just give me a moment... I'm feeling about as foggy brained as you were a few minutes ago. Huh. I can feel how you feel. That's definitely more confusing than usual...* The voice pauses for a few moments. *Right. Okay. I'm Fabien - a fellow Kindred. And a Malkavian. Gotta say, I always expected that I might pick up an extra voice in my head, but we're really breaking new ground here that I am the voice instead.
The Sleeper made a slight face at that. "Ah... right. Fabien, then." She replied, taking a deep breath and refocusing her attention forward. She needed to keep moving. And so she did, beginning to walk as she started to communicate with this... Fabien.
Yep! That's me. A detective by trade. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. What, uh, what's the deal here? I'm not entirely sure what's happening, can you explain anything?
The woman glanced about the halls, seeing the antiquated furniture. Well that was familiar, at least. Perhaps it hadn't been as long as she thought? "I woke up here. I have been in torpor. Though... I must have come out of it before tonight." Her words took a thoughtful tone. "There is no Kindred blood here to wake me, and I'd hardly be so peaceful if I were freshly awoken."
Hah... ah... yeah. Peaceful. That does make sense though. Alright, so you've woken from torpor... but not tonight... and now I'm in your head... I'm not entirely sure how I would've ended up in this situation, myself. I remember I was investigating something, but... the details of it are foggy.
Her lips curled into a thoughtful frown. "I am only familiar with two ways to enter one's mind. The first is through powers of the blood, to force will and thoughts on another... and make no mistake Fabien, if that is what is occurring, you will not live long." She warned sharply, but quickly softened. "The other... is diablerie. But if I had consumed you, there is typically a battle of souls. One of us would not be here. You, I suspect."
Hey, I resent that! But... you're probably right. I can feel your body. You are... powerful. Certainly more powerful than I am.
"What do you know of this mark?" The Sleeper asked curtly, holding up her hand and looking at it as she walked... assuming that Fabien could see through her eyes, from what he had said.
Nothing. I've never seen anything like it, though it looks like bad news... now that you mention it though, I can feel it. Like your body is in restraints. The torpor isn't the only thing weighing you down. She nodded her agreement.
Well, we can't be certain. But marks have one purpose first and foremost, and that is to stake a claim. I think somebody wants you for something, which, I can tell you as a local, isn't surprising. You... will be unique around these parts.
It was at this point of wandering through the decrepit building, finding very little in the way of points of entrance, that she came upon the front... lights of blue and red flickering outside, causing her to furrow her brow and approach to examine more closely.
Careful! That's the police. We don't want to get tangled with them. Here's what we should do - find an exit higher up where you can stick to the rooves, and I'll guide you to somewhere safe for the night. Then tomorrow we can start piecing together what happened to me... because I have a strong suspicion that whatever happened to both of us is connected give that I'm here.
The woman raised a brow, looming close to the door, looking from the shadows to get some hint at the police. Her supernatural senses easily pieced together how many officers stood outside, as they spoke of trying to figure a way through the door short of a breaching shotgun.
"These mortals are no threat. And I could yet do with more vitae to wake me." She pointed out, lingering, as the voice responds emphatically.
No! That's a no go. I don't know what you're used to, but these days, messing with law enforcement is an almost guaranteed Masquerade breach. And you don't want that, not in Seattle.
The Sleeper's lip quirked in amusement, curling at the alarm in his voice. There was something more there, under his tone... beyond the point he made, a concern for the officers. She quickly pieced it together... detective, officers. He was worried for their well being. How quaint.
"Very well, Fabien. Have it your way." She turned from the doorway, stepping out of the shadows which almost seemed reluctant to let her go. She gazed around the room, contemplating where to go from here.
Right... thank you.* His relief was tinged with a hint of exasperation. *Look- what should I even call you? I don't know your name.
The woman paused, contemplating that. Her eyes drifted across the room, as her thoughts wandered for a moment, a reverie of the past seeming to swarm through her mind all in an instant. She spotted a poster - reminding her of wartime propaganda, with visuals of musicians on it, and referring to a concert by a band.
Her eyes glanced over the advertisement. "I have been known by many things. But you may call me Phyre."
Phyre...? Like the poster you just looked at?
The elder Kindred frowned slightly, looking up as if at the disembodied voice. "Yes." She chose not to elaborate, as she continued to walk around the lobby, coming to an elevator shaft. That would do. "So, the Masquerade. This city is Camarilla?"
Ah, yes. We have a Court... albeit, a chaotic one. But the Traditions are no laughing matter, they take that business seriously- woah!
With a lift of the hand, a hint of focus, Phyre's will extended into the physical. Within the elevator shaft, with the elevator itself lifted above, she grabbed onto part of the mechanism with her mind, and forcefully yanked it out. The cable snapped, and the tension immediately released, the elevator crashing down to the ground floor in a dramatic moment. From outside, her ears picked up, "Shit! What the hell was that?" and "SOMEBODY must be in there. Guess we picked the right day for a sweep. Get the shotgun."
Phyre proceeded into the elevator, squinting up at the top of it for a moment before, with a pull of the hand, she opened up the access hatch. With a nimble, impressive jump, she leapt on top of the elevator, before glancing from wall to wall as she started to hop and grab parts of the shaft, climbing with ease.
That's... uh, quite a trick. Telekinesis, right? I think I read that in a comic book once.
"Telekinesis is an apt term for it, yes." Phyre agreed, as she leapt and bound up several floors, before dismounting back into the hotel's hallways. "It should not be too much further to exit the building."
Yeah... The detective's voice agreed with a distant sort of bewilderment. How old are you, exactly?
Her steps plodded almost silently through the halls as she walked. "I was Embraced nearly two hundred and fifty years before this country declared itself independent. The fall of Constantinople was still a formative event in my lifetime."
Oh. Oh, wow.
Phyre's lips curled with the slightest amusement as her red eyes flicked about... only to hear further voices ahead. With the barest hint of concentration thanks to having woken up more properly, she listened intently.
"... and you motherfuckers gotta learn to SKULK. You know what that word means? It's like sneaking, but fucking, way deadlier. You wanna do these deals, you better be skulking in and out."
"Shut the fuck up, Garrett. We've got the blood, you've got the money. Let's just do this shit and get out of here - I didn't like that noise just now."
Hmm... ghouls dealing in blood, from the sounds of it.
As they began to near the sound, the elder's voice softened. "And will we risk the Masquerade if we kill these ones?"
Nah. If anything, they're already a risk being here while the police are snooping around.
"Very good. I still hunger..." Phyre's eyes unfocused for a moment as she felt the gnawing within her. It was a disconcerting feeling to consider, but she set aside old feelings and apprehensions. She had far more on her plate in this moment than to contemplate her condition. She let a slight thrill wake her old bones as she considered the hunt...
She slipped open the door to the chamber in which the four ghouls stand, silent as death as it shut behind her. She prowled, circling around them, using the shadows and the ruined walls to see them.
"Alright, look- here's the blood." A man in baggy, dark clothes, with rather ridiculous looking sunglasses and chain jewelry on, kicked forward a beer cooler - which the man across from him, in a much less concealing tank top to show off his work at the gym, knelt down to pop open. Phyre got sight of the blood within, stored in bags of a strange material. Almost enough to make her gag, the thought of such stale blood repulsed her. Instead she turned her focus to the warm blood in the veins of the woman she was nearly upon...
"Hell yeah. Good stuff. We've got the money right- WHAT THE FUCK?!"
Interrupting the exchange, Phyre had materialized from seemingly nothing directly behind the woman in the deal, one arm clamping around her waist while the other hand grabbed her hair, yanking her head to the side as fangs bit deep and drained fast. The three ghouls watched in horror as their compatriot was drained of blood faster than seemed possible, crumpling to the ground cold dead.
Phyre's lips curled red. "The Kindred vitae in your veins is like a fine spice..." She all but purred with satisfaction, and after a heartbeat of anticipation, action burst into the room.
The two closest ghouls were smaller in stature, but armed - one with a baseball bat, the other with a knife. The bat came in first, smashing into undead flesh. The elder didn't seem to notice as her hand formed a flat plane and she slammed the bottom edge into his neck. There was a sickening crunch of bone, and he stumbled back, collapsing onto the floor and gurgling for breath in what would inevitably a slow and painful death. The bat slipped free of his fingers, and thanks to the reach advantage, the knife didn't get anywhere near her skin - a swing powerful enough to splinter the bat itself crashed into the side of the next ghoul's head, sending the front half of his cranium splattering wetly into the wall.
She dropped the bat as the final ghoul approached, the burly man, snarling at her. He didn't speak, simply swung, but Phyre wasn't there anymore. Under his arm, around behind back of him, she lifted a foot and slammed it into his calf, breaking the bones underneath and sending him onto a knee with a scream of pain. She ended it in moments as her fangs sunk into the third throat that night, liberating him of the life in his veins, and leaving him to slump to the floor.
Phyre tore a piece of cloth off one of their garments, idly wiping at the blood on her mouth and teeth for a moment, before dropping it and carrying on with hardly a bother and just a bit more satisfied than she was moments before.
You certainly don't mess around. If this is what you're like fresh from sleep and burdened by that mark, I'd hate to see you in your prime. Or maybe I'd love to see that. So long as I'm not the recipient.
"They were mere ghouls." She dismissed, drifting past it as she saw an exit at last. She strode with long, brisk steps to the door - pushing it open as she moved out and into the night air. Her eyes widened slightly as she felt the snow crunch under her feet. Tall buildings of concrete with lights in every window, lit up almost like a night sky on a backdrop of stone, structures built as such she had never imagined... if anything, the only thing she could remember that evoked this feeling was the way the city of New York had been described to her.
"When... are we?" She asked, experiencing something... not quite awe, but certainly a fascination with how much things seemed to have changed.
The year is 2024. Welcome to Seattle, Phyre.
She looked about the city, quiet as she considered. Her lips turned to a frown. "I... was in torpor for nearly a century."
Start moving from rooftop to rooftop - head east for now... do you remember anything about how you ended up like that?
The elder glanced around, taking one more moment of pause to orient herself, before setting forward. Across a long, open gap laid the way forward - and she ran towards it, leaping into the emptiness of space. She could feel Fabien's alarm in her mind as she fell... far more slowly than one would expect. She glided through the open air, landing gracefully on the next rooftop, as she continued to stride forward, moving from building to building eastward.
"No... I remember roughly the when, but nothing about the why." She replied with a troubled undertone to her voice. The movement across buildings was paired with a part of her mind thinking back on her many memories, taking stock of what was there.
You... you just glided! Hang on a second, I think I know who you are. I've only ever heard of a trick like that once and it was about you.
Phyre huffed a solitary, somewhat humorless laugh. "An elder picks up many unique tricks, and if they are wise, keeps them to themselves. I learned that one from a companion of mine long ago."
Didn't you just say a wise elder keeps tricks to themselves?*
"... She was not wise." A hint of sadness entered her voice. Fabien quickly took the hint, and didn't pry any further.
You're the Nomad, aren't you? I'm not sure why that came to me, but... it can't be a coincidence.*
"I am surprised anybody still knows of me. A hundred years... and no few people I have displeased."
I mean, as far as people in the know of Kindred history, your name certainly still makes the rounds. Usually in a semi mythical kind of tone.
"Hmph." Phyre didn't elaborate beyond that, as she comes to a rooftop across a triangular plaza.
There it is - the building right across the way. It's on the right on the third floor... hey, you're not gonna jump it, are you?
Phyre leapt off the building top, soaring through the night sky above the clueless pedestrians of Seattle, tilting forward as she glided gracefully through the air. She arced slightly, slipping into an alleyway between the apartment building and its neighbor - springboarding against the neighbor to leap onto the bedroom window. Hanging from its frame, her telekinesis released the latch, and she slipped inside, quickly shutting it behind her. Finding the room rather cluttered, but... sufficient. Not least as she saw the shutters to pull over the bedroom window. A very familiar affectation of those seeking to avoid sunlight in the day.
"What is this place, Fabien?"
Apartment belonging to somebody I used to know, named Dale. Not really sure where he got off to. Should be a good place to work with for now though. I can imagine you need rest.
"Rest would not be unwelcome. Time to collect my thoughts..." She murmured as she steps around the room, looking at the strange and unfamiliar world she had woken up to at the micro scale of somebody's bedroom. "... and a means of bathing, for that matter."
Hoo hoo boy! Have I got a delightful surprise for you. Plumbing was on the fast track when you started your nap and it has reached a peak of bathing excellence in the form of - the shower. You stand and water gets poured on you continuously, but in a bunch of thin little streams. It's great.
"Right..." Phyre replied slowly, letting herself be directed to the bathroom - blinking slightly as she entered, being met with what used to be a mirror.
Ah yeah, most bathrooms have mirrors there, but unfortunately Dale didn't care for them. Said it was body image issues, whatever that means.
Phyre pondered the words for a moment, feeling a chord of understanding within her. She began to pull off the worn and bloodied white garment, leaving her toned body bare as she turned the shower on and stepped into the water - looking up into the stream with a soft sigh, feeling a certain sort of peace falling over her. Yes, this she could get used to.
"It matters little. I make no use of mirrors."
There was a brief pause. Hey, Phyre. Now that I think of it... I don't actually know that much about you. I don't even know what your clan is.
Phyre's eyes remained closed for a few long moments, as she savored the water running over her face and across her body, washing away more than simple blood and grime. It brought her back to a place of memory... of simple times and relatively happy days.
Her red eyes opened, seemingly unbothered by the water.
"I am of Clan Lasombra."