ORIGINALLY WRITTEN: August 2024
NOTES: A spur of the moment writing inspired by my first playthrough of Vampire the Masquerade: Bloodlines! This centers around my Toreador character, Brienne Isadora Eranthe, a transfem union lawyer who was Embraced into the Masquerade after, what was intended to be, a simple night out. The scene with the taxi driver after LaCroix calls a hunt on the player character just has such good dialog.
Crimson blossoms bled through stained satin, sallow hands trembling briefly before stilling. Pearly eyes focused on the wound that lengthy fingers caressed, seemingly staring past the opening and through the well-coated flesh and muscle. Its owner, an older woman, was numbed to the sensation; numbed to the subtle vibrations of the taxi as its driver simply pulled away before the ravenous crowd could find themselves broken through. Concealed eyes scanned her visage in the rear-view mirror.
"Where to?"
She spared a glance. "Get me the hell out of Santa Monica… hell, just get me out of town. I just… I need to get out of town."
Surely enough, all of the chaos vanished as the pair found themselves upon the highways. The bleeding had stopped now, leaving behind a gnarly mess on a once gorgeous ensemble. Brienne finally exhaled as the towering skyscrapers became minuscule, now tired eyes scanning the horizon for any danger. There was none—none that was apparent, anyway. But that's how it was, wasn't it? None of this was apparent to her. Not being Embraced. Not facing execution. Not pushing herself to her body's extremes in hopes that someone—anyone—might take notice that she is a fish out of water and needs help. Not being captured by hunters and subjected to experimentation so pervasive in its nature that she told nobody of it. Nobody except the kindly Nosferatu man she'd helped break out; who'd experienced it with her. No… None of this was apparent that night she and her dearest friends had stepped into that club. The worst case scenario for someone like her was, usually, a one-time offense. Something she could either move on from, or never wake up from. But this?
This was a new sort of hell. One that didn't have statistics or conversations. One that, truly, had made her lose everything.
Shoulders slumped as she eased into the backseat of the taxi, lashes fluttering as she blinked back the tears that threatened to spill. Yet even still, she couldn't help the harsh laugh that'd escaped her.
"What a fucking night." Her tone was bitter. Cold and distant, just as the bustling Hollywood streets now felt all those miles away.
The driver kept his focus on the road. Spared only the briefest of glances before speaking.
"The night has not been kind to you?"
Unlike her voice, his held a warmth despite its distance. Like this was routine. Perhaps it was. And the thought was just humorous enough to steel the urge she'd felt to show her fangs and snarl with a venomous sarcasm. Instead, Brienne simply rolled her eyes and looked out the window. Watched the stars glimmer amidst the midnight sky.
"If it weren't for Jack…" She paused. Her breath hitched. A tear fell. Then another. She shook her head and harshly wiped at the falling stains, smearing what remained of her makeup onto the back of her bloodied hand. "Say, you know anything about Jack?"
A steady hum.
"I only recently made the acquaintance of Mister Jack. He intrigues me very much. There are so few like him these nights, I think. But then, I only know what I hear from others about the Kindred of this city. It sounds as if there are many who seek to sway the children of Caine to their side… many who believe they shape the destiny of the blood. You work for Prince LaCroix, don't you?"
A curious glance, which quickly returned to the road ahead as a large truck merged into the lane. The taxi driver slowed, allowing them access. Giving Brienne more time to think the question over, even if she didn't feel she needed it. She scoffed.
"I work for no one." Her voice wavered, then forced itself to steady as she scowled at the passing landscape. "I'm out of this city. Good riddance, LA."
"You could run…" Another glimpse. The subtle softening of his tone. "but do you really think you could escape your reputation? I know little about you except the rumors that you've killed the Anarch leader and betrayed your own kind."
Ire. A nasty look now directed to the driver's reflection in the mirror. The snarl of a caged animal.
"It's not true! I didn't kill Nines!" Even raised, the fledgling's voice was unsteady; strained, much like her form. She winced as she adjusted her posture.
"You have been accused." Punctually stated. "If you were to run, this reputation would travel with you until your final night. Your only recourse is to clear this charge… or to smite the conspirators working against your good name."
Another sigh, accompanied by the deflating of the woman's composure. Her head hung, eyes returning to the grisly sight sat upon her lap. In the subtle glow of the streetlights, she could see the fire. Feel the warmth of the ash and flames overtaking the mountain station as her heart raced. Muscles grew taut and she began to tremble again, her fist clenching in a weak attempt to push down the rising tension. It broke when she saw his face again—saw the fear in Nines' face as he was tackled down by a werewolf and flung over the cliff face. The almost apologetic glaze in his eyes as he'd realized he wouldn't be able to protect her now, like he had those months ago when her newly awakened form sat bound before all to see; as he'd realized he failed her. Crimson blossoms moistened as the tears finally fell.
"If the Anarchs knew what really happened…" She looked to the mirror again. "tak me to the Anarchs."
"The Anarchs… a curious experiment." Brienne winced at the usage of the word. "But they have lost many battles and more leaders—their rebellion has already failed in the eyes of many. Do you feel their notions of freedom have any real possibility?"
A genuine question. One that only brought about more twangs of guilt within the Toreador's conscience. It wasn't until too recently that she'd realized how scummy Prince LaCroix was. How he'd not cared whether she lived or died, long as he'd gotten his way. Yet even after all of the work she'd done for him… The Anarchs took her in. They were willing to look past her testimonies because a mere fledgling, all too unfamiliar with the intricate and oppressive politics of the world she now found herself in. Or perhaps, deep down, someone amongst their ranks had realized she had the potential to be the bearer of change. Whatever the reason, they believed in her, even if she struggled—even now—to believe in them.
But that was no more. It couldn't be…
"As long as a few believe, it'll remain a possibility." A lesson she'd learned all those years ago, as she came into herself. As she broke free from her own oppressive mindset, and allowed herself to flourish into the beautiful woman she was today.
A subtle nod.
"If the Anarchs manged to recapture this city, it would not be long before someone challenged them for it. Conflict is always an eventuality in their life. Could you spend an eternity this way?"
As if she hasn't already. 43 years of existence, with nearly 20 of those being as she was now. It was no easy thing to announce herself as a trans woman to the world. Not then, and certainly not now. She knew she could handle the fight for what was right; that wasn't the part that scared her. It was the unfamiliarity. The new territory of, quite literally, facing an eternity. Unless she were to find an unfortunately early demise at the hands of those she'd wronged thus far.
"It may not be the best choice, but it's the best choice I have."
"The Anarch spirit exists within the blood of many." He began, seeming to catch the lingering hesitation. "Few, though, are willing to listen to it. Perhaps, if a few more did, they would not have lost so much."
"I shouldn't abandon them." I never should have, is what she'd like to say. But now was not the time to linger on her mistakes. Lord knows she'd made enough of them. Even still… "But with Nines gone… I think it might be over."
A calloused hand briefly left the wheel, thicker fingers finding the volume control and allowing the music to fade. Smoothly as it'd left, it returned to its position. 2 o'clock.
"The Anarchs have lost less than is thought. I hear there is one left who may be able to revitalize the movement. Maybe, though, it is just a rumor." There was a hint of something; a subtle emphasis blanketing his disregard of the idea as rumor.
He didn't believe it, but he wasn't one to push the actions of another to his will. It was merely the carrot on the stick. The fuel needed for any potential flames to ignite. All he had to do was await her reaction; to drive the lengthy stretch of highway in hopes the loop they'd found themselves in was not obvious.
And it worked.
A flash of flame ignited in the fledgling's silver eyes, shoulders squaring as she'd finally brought herself to sit up proper. The pain was dulled now, enough to ignore as she made eye contact with the driver.
"Really? I'd really like to meet this person." Her voice was proper steady now. She'd found it again. The driver's lips twitched, the ghost of a smile threatening to fall upon his chapped lips.
"I know where you might find them. But," his eyes met hers, "you would have to be ready to commit to the Anarchs' fight for this city." They left, returning to the road. "I could just as easily take you downtown to see LaCroix."
It was a weighty responsibility. One that, frankly, Brienne felt unprepared to carry. After failing them so many times, and being tossed to the wolves by Prince LaCroix, the only thing that was clear to her was, "… I don't know what to do."
A sigh from him, this time. The careful consideration of the driver's words.
"Your sympathies seem to lie with the Anarchs." A calloused hand briefly left the wheel, thicker fingers finding the volume control and allowing the music to rise again. Smoothly as it'd left, it returned to its position. 2 o'clock. "The Anarchs' passion may be their greatest strength or their Achilles' heel, but imagine if they did hold on to the Free State. It could inspire others to come, and together, construct a new Enoch."
A slow nod from her, this time. The acknowledgment that, maybe, things could change. That she could do for them what they'd done for her. That she could finally repay the favor.
"Yeah. The Anarchs need me. Take me to Hollywood."
"If you share the Anarchs' passion and would share the burden of such a fire, we will go meet the last person capable of keeping them together."
A smile graced the fledgling's lips. "If they're anything like Nines, things will be free—truly free—by sun up. Let's go."
"If that is your decision."
Silence befell the duo once more, but it was no longer daunting. It was… liberating. A breath of fresh air from the hustle and bustle of the city below them. And, damned be the consequences, others would be able to feel such a relief by the time the sun rose and they settled into slumber. Brienne would make sure of that.