Warren's In-Character Journal
The street was easy to walk with the long, ground-eating strides that Frank was accustomed to. He had a small arsenal in his coat, but even so he felt strangely naked without his truck, without his boys, without telling anyone where he might be going. Walking in the late-spring cool, Frank took the flask from his pocket and had a nice, deep pull without breaking stride. It burned as it went down, burned as it passed through him, passed fire throughout his body and give him a sense of being alive. More than ever, this felt like the excuse of being a real person. When the cold bit into him, Frank wanted another drink, but it animated something deeper.
As he passed the gate, Frank felt something leave him. There was an exchange at the same time, and Frank started to mumble. "I'm sorry it's been so long. Work doesn't bring me here of-...fuck, that's a lie. I live here now. And, shit, I am the kind of thing we used to go after. They even made me a fucking king, and I might be again."
There was only silence in response. Frank gathered his thoughts before continuing. "There was, for a while anyway, fuckin' ghosts and shit all over that had to be dealt with. They killed some people, and the group controlling them...Well, took 'em down, and hard. Didn't kill anyone, but you know, I really wanted to. In the old days, it'd have been easier, could've broken a few kneecaps, no problem. But now, sometimes it feels like giving into that'll be the start of something. I get wrath, I embrace it and become it, but that...
" 's how I got out. Anger. Brutality. I ripped my fucking arm out of the shackle, from wherever it was...There was pain, but that just made me angrier. I shoved aside everything in my way, smashed my way through, just to get OUT." Frank took a steadying drink. "Ahhhh...good shit, this. Eats through my flasks, but it gives a bit of warmth, and fuck if it isn't foggy as...I don't know, some seriously fucking foggy thing. Anyway.
"It's always there. Been teaching the mer-chica, and that's just...a headache. She gets some stuff now, but there are times most days when the most basic things just fuckin' elude her, and I want to shake the shiny shit off of her. I swear to G...I swear, it's a real test of the anger. I know that it's bubbling down there, waiting...it's almost come out a few times with people lately, and when it does...I don't know. I've only been able to cut loose once, with those mob dicks, and even then...I had to hold back. It was like running full-out towards a cliff, and then stopping on a dime right before the edge...
"I know, one of these days, it's going to go over. I hope that Jason is there, or the others, to put me down. Else...I've been thinking about what that bishop said, and after the market, there's just fucking shame. I'm rethinking a lot of things, lately. I don't know...I wish you were here. You always had good advice, knew the path. You'd say 'quit your fucking whining, boy, there's work to be done. And stop hogging all the drink.'"
Frank shook his head and tilted the flask to his side, dribbling some of the liquid inside out over the ground. He nodded to the stone market. "Thanks for the advice, Father. As always, keep to the path." Frank emptied the flask and went off in search of a drink.
Fri, Jun. 25th, 2010, 01:14 pm
Another day, another dollar. Frank tossed his bag aside as he entered the room he'd been renting. Cheap but servicable motel, decent long-term rate and he had a little kitchenette set up at this point, it worked alright for his needs. The maid had been through, and it didn't look like anything was stolen so clearly tipping her had been a good idea. It was nice to come back to things better than he'd left them; not like he'd have done much cleaning after all. This wasn't a home, it was just a place.
Frank crossed over to the little fridge and opened it, pulling out a glass bottle and holding it against his forehead with a little sigh of relieved pleasure. The temperature didn't get to him much anymore; really, he had begun to enjoy the heat, to luxuriate in it as he felt the twangs of tension and slow anger around him, but there was something inherently comforting about the human gesture. Besides, any way you cut it, a cold beer at the end of a hot day was a fine fucking thing. With an easy gesture, Frank twisted the cap off and flicked it onto the desk before leaning back against the wall and taking a long pull.
Ahhhhh. Just like that.
Not that working security was particularly hard, but Frank wanted to do more. Be active, out there, in the world doing things. Bond enforcement was a start, but he needed to get a practice running. Maybe find some human partners and associates, be able to connect to people, have resources to help the Lost on this side, help people in general. NOt be who he was when he was taken, but be something like the man he was before he met Mackenzie.
There was a sound like...it wasn't like crystals chiming, or music, or anything Frank could properly describe with his vocabulary. A light grew, and then floating in front of him was the phantom image of a crown wreathed in flame. Frank stared for a minute at the burning crown that appeared, just...watching it. After a few more seconds he nodded just a little and reached out to touch the crown, but it vanished as he did, a slight weight settling atop his head.
Frank gritted his teeth for amoment and very slowly, very carefully put down the half-empty bottle of beer. A great heat and new strength had begun to flow through him, and any pain there might have been was delicious. Frank stretched for a minute, enjoying the feeling of inner warmth that was better than any whiskey he'd had, and just basked. It was...nice.
He eyed himself in the mirror, and looked at the new crown on his head. "Well...shit." This was going to be...interesting.
(Dated for Monday the 7th)
The dreams that came to Edward in the day were strange, different. Of hunting, of running, feeding, fighting; nights and even some days of pure instinct, some imagined and some out of memories better suppressed. Unfettered by morality, by code, by tightly coiled will, by the weakness he would in time call a conscience - and even at times, by simple rational thought.
He normally woke slowly, almost as if coming out of true sleep, but tonight Edward awoke with a cry of agony and a pained twist of his body. The spasm and presence of pain woke the woman sleeping next to him, who seemed more than a bit confused. Edward tried to speak, but he could feel his blood burning in his veins, his flesh filled with invisible needles, his soul screaming out in hate and rage. He summoned up all of his will and managed to bark out "Adelaide...run!" the last coming as a snarling growl.
( That sounds unpleasentCollapse )
Mon, May. 10th, 2010, 05:48 pm
Edward - Tired
The blue tube was opened almost as soon as he recieved it, Edward only taking the time to go to his desk. He unrolled the contents and after taking a moment to appreciate the fine hand of the writing, began to read the reply. And read. Once he was done he just sat for a short time, staring off into space. All he wanted was to be home with Adelaide, to rest and enjoy a quiet evening, but this would need a reply before that was possible.
Edward realized he was tired. More than he had expected to be, he was weary of all of it. Of trying to find ways for saying simple things so that people might listen, of having to curtail his dislike of someone for social grace, for seeing new people come in and take and gain for less than he had done. Kindred society, as a whole, was exhausting. The only person he could even talk to about it was Adelaide, and really, she had her own issues to deal with. To stack his own on top of hers would be selfish, and that was something he would not tolerate.
Edward carefully opened the writing box sitting on one side of the desk and withdrew a fresh sheet of paper. He thought for a while more before writing, occasionally glancing at the other letter for confirmation. He finished, adding "this is the simple truth, as I know how to write it." He signed his name and sealed the paper inside an envelope, carrying it for delivery. There were at least three other things to handle today, and this was none of them.
(Set - Saturday Night, April 24)
Edward eyed Scythe as he entered the Elysium. "Is that a new jacket?"
"It used to be Dominic Green's." Scythe replied with a casual amusement in his tone. Edward knew that one, the revelry taken in a fallen foe. He closes his eyes for a moment and nodded, his entire evening improved. If he only had Green's ashes...
( Gosh, Boston had a solid game this month!Collapse )
Asclepius runs, continue to run as he has been doing for some time now. Feet slapping payment, legs burning and his heart beating almost double-time, he pushes on in his run. His body burns with a warmth that seems to push away the cold, and the passing air is his only relief.( One has to do things outside of work and magic, after allCollapse )
Sat, Apr. 3rd, 2010, 04:00 am
I've had inspiration for one of my Masquerade characters, the Gangrel. Airik of the Einherjar. This kind of narrative came into my mind; it'll be a bit rambling, but that's how this is without
Sometimes I remember. When I sleep, when I am deep into my cups or when there are those damnable quiet times. I remember what brought me here, I remember the path, but most of all what I remember is Ailis. She has been gone more than ten centuries, but still she burns brightly in my mind.
I was a Huskarl to...I do not even remember. I only remember Ailis, my family, war. I remember those battles, the glorious terror and tang of panic. There was the thrill of the raid, of going viking and having none stand against me. Ailis...I still see her eyes sometimes. She was mine, she was given to me for my service and they did not know what they gave up. I had never thought I would consider a woman my equal, but in her way she was my reflection. She had strengths I did not, she supported me and in ways I cannot explain she made me more.
And then they took her. I still do not know who, still have not found them, but I returned and found her gone. I searched, threatened, made sacrifice, traded, even tortured, but I did not find her. I had word that she had been taken, that one of the foul Afterngangers had taken her. Even after I sought word in dark corners, I gave all of my takings, I could not find my Ailis. Not a trace of her, and only rumors of the afterganger who took her. When I sent word my father's father would not answer, would not come to me for council.
With no other options, I sought out other council. There was one like the aftergangers, but he was Einherjar (it was he, wasn't it? Or was it one of the Valkyrie? I no longer fully recall). I pledged my service to them and to the God if they would give me the means to seek my vengeance, to find my wife or just retribution. I was brought into the sunless world, and things changed.
At one point I travelled to my Grandfather, the rune-wise, the Valderman. My father's father was one of the death-wise, what is now called a necromancer, and I had to kill a great many just to see him. I remember well his face, his cold wrath when he saw me, when he knew what I was. He cursed me then, cursed me so that the creature within would never be sated, never know peace, that any I tried to bring in to build a new family would feel such wrath...
The rest is a blur; I know I fled, and sought my own way. I remember in the vaguest of senses meeting the All-High, of recieving his blessing. There are other memories...wars under the bright moon, of blood and conquest, of the ecstatic agony of pain, but they blend together.
Later, I travelled with a Knorr crew, sailing east towards distant, rumored lands. We made landfall but there were none to trade with, a potential land but too far to conquor. I know I ate some; I may have Embraced others. Once I was here, I travelled. I met with Scraelings and tried to learn their language, but it shifted, changed. I made children, and we feasted well...but it was hollow. They did not know my Gods, my ways, and I could not teach them.
Eventually, I slept. I found a place that was well away from the strange natives and I slipped into the long sleep. Things are hazy for a time; I do not know all or even most of my dreams or waking.
Men came, but they had forgotten. They had given up the Gods for this pale martyr and could not honestly seek battle. There were aftergangers amongst them, and few knew of the Einherjar. I spoke to them in the lanugage of the fearful skalds who had tried to sell their fool lies at first, and learnt something of their tongue.
They told me of their Ivory Tower, their Traditions. Some tried to tell me I was already beholden to their laws, and them I disciplined. Most were posturing fools, but a few won me over. They spoke of the changes amongst humans and how we needed to change. With my people long-dead and no other options, what could I do? It is a terrible thing to be alone.
My strength was great, and I made my own place. I sought word of Ailis from time to time, but none could help, none knew. Some of the Sabbat came and spoke to me of some ancient war, a long battle for freedom. Their fire called to me, and I was sorely tempted to have brothers in the fire of war again, but ultimately they were lacking. The Camarilla's aping of humanity was a useful tool, but those I met sought mere chaos and I will not hold with the work of Loki. In any event, this 'Caine' is supposed to be our beginning and yet is absent; is he a coward or simply too weak to survive under his curse if he exists at all?
I have killed, and killed well for this Camarilla. I have learnt many things through it, and have begun to see it for its workings. Most do not bother to speak the lies, do not truly believe or are without knowledge of what they are...I can show them, and will remain until something better comes.
These so-called Anarchs...them I like. They are still young, still oft-foolish, but they may be able to learn. I look after those in my lands, and I seek to teach them. They have a fire in them, they have a passion I remember. Some of them may yet be able to learn of the Ways...until then, so long as they behave and speak true to their convictions I allow them safe passage.
I can only offer to teach them, and to show them the Way. They seek things they do not yet know...but maybe one will lead me to my Ailis, and my vengeance. We shall see.
The Magus smiled as he packed his bag. He thought of himself that way a lot more as of late, the Wise, the Knowing. Sometimes he thought of what the world would be like if all were Awakened, and it made Asclepius cringe. Man was not yet ready for that...Atlantis had proven the dangers of too many. One day, maybe.
War, that's what it would be. He had been in battle, and he still had nightmares about the Lich. About what he did. Some nights he still woke up with a tight panic gripping his heart inside his check, a certainty that someone was coming. No one knew, and Asclepius knew that if he could just avoid battle, avoid war, then no one would ever know
There were likely other healers, he mused. But if he could help at all, he had to. After what had happened, after Selina (who still gave him nightmares of her death, her ending), he needed to do anything he could. To squander talents...
Well, he could scarely be numbered amongst the Wise then.
Mon, Mar. 22nd, 2010, 04:49 am
Frank - Changes
Frank took another slug from the cheap plastic bottle of cheap alcohol and lay back on what was his bed as of late, watching the colors and shapes on the television. The sound was off, and Frank tried to imagine their dialogue through the vague haze of alcohol. Watching what was apparently a happy couple talking over some sort of plot point brought his thoughts to Mack. Mack, who had brought him out of more than a decade being away from people and seen him in some of his worst times.Feeling I've been lost for years
You can never understand me
Unless you've seen those tears
But you never get to sleep
When I'm away
I don't mind
The deeper that you lay
Out of time
Pain, I can't sleep
Pain, I can't sleep
Frank had given up all hope for some kind of better life when he decided to join the Scarecrow. Protecting people from the dark things in the night had meant protecting those he cared for: his parents, his old friends on the force, his secret... The person he had been became Frank Wrench, and he had gone into a darker world with no illusions about living a longer life. The painkillers taken from the back injury helped him in just drifting, and the adrenaline, alcohol and work that needed doing filled his time. He helped others train and learn, making some friendships and even occasional lovers, but never even aware of the growing emptiness.Running, running from those days
And then, he met Mackenzie.
There's another one inside me
Guess I've gone insane
But you always run away
When I come around
I don't mind
The day I'll track you down
Run you down
During the worst of the debacle that was Atlantic City, Mackenize found him and saw something more. She had given Frank sweet words of succor and showed him a mercy he could not fathom existing, let alone be something for him. More, she embraced him completely, all he was and had been. The nightmares became less, and the edge was lost on memories as he was able to confide his secrets. For the first time, Frank considered the possiblity that there could be something more. He asked her for a future he had consciously denied himself, and she accepted without condition or reprobation.
And then he was taken.Pain, I can't sleep
Pain, I can't sleep
Frank had only fragments from the few papers he had had or found over There and the shards of memory he still possessed, but the thought of Mack, the dreams of her had given him something more. He had quieted the darkness in his soul that was fed by That Place with the thoughts of her, of the life that they would have once he escaped. That he would escape was never in question; he had made a promise to her and he would honor that oath.Don't stop, don't talk
Do not fuck with me
Do not fuck with me
The world was much the same when that which had been Frank and once called itself by the name given from two loving parents. He was changed, yes, but it only illuminated corners of the darkness previously unseen, gave weight to them. He tried to deny them, and sought out any word, but then he found that he was dead. The bit of his soul that had been taken had in some way found it's death, and was forever beyond him. He would never be what he was. He wanted to go to Mack, he yearned to talk to her out of what had become instinct and lie in her arms as he made it go away. But gradually, he realized that he never could.
Frank had tried to deny it, turned to an increasing amount of alcohol and other distractions to dull, but he thought about what he might do next more and more. He observed those who, in his time amongst the now-defunct Scarecrow, would have been put down for the good of all (for he had never gone after someone just because they were Other) be accepted or at least tolerated. Frank had seen a child not even grown to manhood hunger after the blood of humanity, of his own parents, while others made apologies and suggusted that he was trying to learn. He had seen innocents forever twisted by their experiences, heard of loved ones taken and murdered merely by association. Frank had seen the slaver markets; all that and more.
He had, finally, come to a conclusion. To expose Mackenzie would only bring her greater risk and pain, would not let her move on with her life and bring her into a darkness that might break her under it's strain. How could he hate her so much, to marry her to the monster he had become (because he was a monster now, and nothing could dent that)? Hate her enough to put her through the dark shards of nightmare he only vaguely remembered, or something even remotely similar?
No. Years ago, Frank had made a decision to end any chance of a human life, a happy life, or a future. He had found a one-in-the-world chance with Mackenzie, and been given more joy than he had any right to have. Frank had been wrong to try embracing that; he had brought her pain and himself suffering beyond it by being taken, by being what he had been. Better to have just kept her away and embraced the darkness.
It came in a crystal moment of clarity that cut through the alcohol and the painkillers and the agony that never really went away: this was what he had chosen. This, where he was, was the life he had made a concious decision to lead no matter what the results. Now, he was just a result, but that didn't change the mission. The wrath grew in him, but he saw the calm center within.
Loaded, loaded up this gun
There's a killer in me
Hoping, hope that you're the one
But you always run away
When I come around
I don't mind
The day I'll track you down
There was no reason to try to ape life anymore. He had given that up years ago; now he would simply go on until he was finally ended. Certainly, he would have to find a way to not become a threat to humanity at large, but for now? Frank knew what he was, and he accepted it. The anger, the agony of it grew inside as Frank stood and just shrugged off the blessed lethargy of alcohol before the pain was drunk in to fuel the wrath. He was what he was, and there were murderous *things* that had destroyed the fragile lives of others because they could.
Frank gathered up his things, and headed for the door. It was time to find Jason, and at least end this particular threat. To do nothing would just be...wrong. He was a monster, but he wasn't that sort of monster.
Pain, I can't sleep
Pain, I can't sleep
Pain, I can't sleep
Edward sighed as he poured over the list of e-mails, checking each one and responding. It was not as though he did not like some of the other Dragons, even most of them, just that they seemed to have a damnably lax pace that drove him up a proverbial wall. Edward checked a few of the maps spread out on the desk and eyed the board with different colored push-pins he had mocked up after Sebastian's presentation. It would suit for now, but later something less haphazard would have to be done.
He frowned a moment and then checked some of his notes, cross-referencing briefly. Another pin was moved, another added. A return to the computer now brough up a search, and he paged through a few until one site caught his eye. Edward began to browse the...was it called a blog now?
Just a look at the topics got a brow raise, and Edward sat forward with a frown. He read a little more intensely, focusing on what was written, what had been recorded there. This was...not good. Edward came to one focusing on a particular spot in the city and noted an audio recording. Edward listened and by the end was gripping his hands hard enough to hurt. A sliver of fear crept through him, a tendril that was attempting to goad him into panic and flight before he imagined reaching out and crushing it; there wasn't any time for that.
"Well," Edward remarked to the empty room. "I believe this is eminantly appropriate. Fuck." That did feel good. Edward stood up and looked at the map, and resisted a sudden urge to rip the map apart. "FUCK!" he repeated, this time in a shout before sitting back down and getting to work. It never rains, but it pours, and he would have to find a good enough bucket.