ic An Abode for Jackals

[trollthumper]

St. Sebastian's Church

Monday, December 1st

6:52 PM

Eric LaCroix wasn't really much for church. He wasn't an agnostic or anything - when you'd seen all the things he'd seen, and even gone up to Heaven once, it was a bit hard to just bury your head in the sand and pretend that there was no higher order to things. His position was both political and sentimental. For one thing, when you dealt with as many entities that claimed divinity as he did, it looked a bit weird to hitch your cart to one horse - and even weirder to hitch it to two or three. For another thing, these days, he didn't really find the community in church that he had as a child. Back then, it was coming together to proclaim the mystery of faith. But nowadays, it didn't really seem like much of a mystery.

But there were some things that still drew his attention towards the church from time to time. Like, say, arriving back in the West End after a bracing day of work, only to find a crowd of people and three news vans outside of St. Sebastian's. Night had already fallen, and the New Jersey winter was blowing hard, but that wasn't deterring people. Eric pushed his way through the crowd, hearing psnippets along the way.

"Can you believe...?" "...a trick, maybe, or..." "...no, a miracle, don't you see, it's..."

After a good few minutes, Eric finally got a glimpse through the open doors. He didn't get much farther, as a security cordon had already been set up. But in one of the eaves of the church, he could see a state of the Virgin Mary, her arms spread wide in supplication.

And tears of blood running from her eyes.

Something about the miraculous sight tickled the back of Eric's eyes. There was something going on here, something beyond trickery or hoaxes. But was it really a miracle?

Maybe, once the crowds had thinned, he'd be able to come back and give it a closer look...

[April]

Nick stood an arms-length away from a dead girl.

Well, it was really more like two or three people. The press of the crowd, and there was a crowd, played merry havoc with already imprecise measurements. This girl, or woman as she'd tersely correct, wasn't quite dead either. Certainly not alive, the lack of any real need to breath or sleep certainly ruled life out, but the dead don't know hunger.

And Nicola is very familiar with hunger.

--

Nick stood about two or three people away from an undead woman who was currently not very hungry, but without really being aware of it licked her lips at the blood leaking from the statue. She was pale of skin, dark of hair, and wearing sunglasses that concealed her eyes. From her neck hung a cross, but that cross did not rise or fall from where it rested on her slender frame.

For her part, Nicola (or Nick as she would introduce herself), was considering ways to sneak in and get a closer look at the statue. She thought, briefly, of using her connection to the Church but those ties are a bit.. tenuous at the moment.

[trollthumper]

Eric kept his eyes on the statue, as if it might start moving if he looked away - which, given everything, might not have been outside the realm of possibility. There was magic in the statue's miracle, yes. But what kind of magic? Was this truly a divine manifestation, or something trying to pass itself off as such? And if so, why?

At the back of the crowd, there was an uproar. Eric turned to see someone trying to push through the assembled masses, only for the church's deacon to try to pull interference. "Please," he was shouting, "you have to understand, it's for my daughter. She has leukemia. The doctors say the treatment will help, but they cannot promise. If the blood of Mary can't cure her --"

"Please, sir," said the deacon, "we don't know if this is a miracle. The Vatican's inspectors will be in tomorrow --"

"There's blood running from her eyes! What the hell else could it possibly be?"

"In this city? Would you like me to go down the list?"

That was enough to quiet the man, who slinked back into the crowd with minimal protest. After that, it was quiet for long enough that Eric felt he could go home to get dinner... and prepare for the night's work.

---

11:15 PM

After a meal and putting on the makeup, Nick Cimitiere returned to the church. The crowd had dispersed, though there were a few midnight faithful still keeping vigil on the statue, now behind a series of cordons and barriers. He tried not to draw attention - as well as a black-clad man in skeleton makeup and a pompadour could do - and took a position near the statue, evaluating it. There probably wouldn't be much he could do to figure out this thing's provenance without readjusting his senses - and that always took a toll on his head. So for now, mundane investigation - from a distance - would be the order of things.

[April]

Nicola had left shortly after the minor scene between the deacon and the distraught father. Something the man had said made her wonder that, if this was a proper miracle, maybe it could cure her condition as well? And if it did work for her, she'd take some to the father to help out his daughter.

She was back in black sometime later after the crowd had diminished, concealing her features with the hat and shades had become almost habit. The name Nightingale wasn't one that was well known, not here in Freedom City or outside of it, and it was unlikely she had to protect her identity, but when in Rome...

FInding a nice perch where she could still see the statue, but close enough to the comfy shadows, Nicola reached out with a little trick she had picked up. Ever since her change she found that, not only could she smell blood, but she could manipulate it as well. A small drop was all she needed, at least to start.

So she plucked a drop from the statue and brought it over to her, trying to be careful not to attract notice.

[trollthumper]

Nick was studying the statue carefully. The blood was not exactly welling out of the Blessed Mother's eyes, but there was a slow trickle. Every five minutes, it seemed, some new droplet would swell out of the inner eye and run down the statue, just like water over a stone. The viscosity appeared to be like that of blood - though he wasn't an expert - and the smell was very much the same. Nick was about to adjust his gaze and see if he could determine the source of the miracle when he noticed a new drop well... and float away from the statue. Tracking it, he followed the sample through the shadows of St. Sebastian, trying to find the source.

Nightingale, meanwhile, received the droplet swiftly. It landed right on her tongue... and went straight to her brain. The taste was like honey and roses, and sent lightning through her dead nerves. There was a sense of communion and rightfulness, of feeling at one with the beating heart of everything. But her heart remained still. This blood was no cure for vampirism... but it was sweet, succulent, and made her feel like she had found some great secret of the universe.

She only knew one thing. She needed more.

[April]

A small corner of her mind noted that, yep, she was still blood addicted and blood dependent predatory monster but she really didn't care much at this point. In truth, part of her exulted in her differently-alive state, without which she would never have tasted anything mindbogglingly wonderful and right and delicious.

The young vampire abandoned the shadows to which she clung, moving with preternatural speed and agility past the few bystanders and insignificant barriers between her and the one thing she desired most of all. Some tried to bar her way, but she was too fast and too strong and they were just too slow.

In short order the former(?) religious sister was engaged in blasphemous behavior, licking the statue of the Virgin Mary and the bloody miracle (if miracle is what it was.)

[trollthumper]

The passage of the woman in the long black coat charged out of the shadows, right where Nick had been observing. There was some magic about her body, and a bone-deep shade of death - Ah. That would have explained the interest in blood. The woman ran at top speed, sending up murmurs amongst the parishioners. As she shoved past Nick and tackled the statue, those murmurs turned to cries, especially when she began licking the bloody tears.

I should have expected something like this, Nick thought. Fortunately, he could feel the fluidity of sublimated ectoplasm around him - while most of the souls of St. Sebastian's graveyard were at rest, the boneyard still sent up mists and memories of death. Memories he could use. They'd just send up more of a stir.

The parishioners were already clearing out when spectral hands rose out of the ground, reaching for both the vampire and the statue, aiming to separate them. "Listen," he said, "I understand you might want a stable source that doesn't come from a person. But maybe think about the optics on this one?"

[April]

"I have a stable source," the young vampire--which at this point it was very obvious to all nearby that is exactly what Nicola was; the fangs, pale skin, and that she was (oh yeah) licking blood from a statue--said. There was a desperate, and plaintive tone to her voice as she added "But you don't understand how good this is. Please, I need this."

Nightingale didn't struggle against the force the held her though, other than a feeble grab at the statue before just hanging limply. Nick's words about how this looked broke through, and despite the longing that filled her expression whenever she glanced at the statue she also looked suitably embarrassed.

[trollthumper]

"I've got an understanding of how good it might be," said Nick. "That's kind of why I'm worried." He inspected the statue; the blood stuck close to the statue, but a few stray droplets fell to the ground. He placed the statue back on the mount, where the disturbances had turned two long streaks of blood into a thin misted coating across the Virgin's gown. He then turned back to the church goers, realizing that none of this looked good.

"Don't worry, folks," he said. "We're just doing some authentication of the own. You know, before the Vatican gets here, in case this turns out to be... well, not good."

"She was licking the statue," said one parishioner.

"Yes, well, my colleague was just trying to make sure that this is actual, miraculous blood, and not, well, the kind of corn syrup you use for a stage production." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small vial, gathering some of the blood - which seemed to be flowing slightly faster, since the statue was shaken. For all the world, it might look like part of the authentication process; for the vampire, it might be a treat - or leverage. "She's got a very refined tongue. She just wanted to make sure it wasn't tomato paste with copper filings. But we've got a good idea that it is, in fact, blood."

Blood that seems to taste like honey and orgasms to vampires. Something tells me this isn't a miracle...

[April]

"You can let me go," Nicola said to Nick managing, by some miracle, to look both confident (bordering on arrogant) and embarrassed.  "I have it under control," she said then paused to add, "Sorta.  Maybe."

The vampire lapsed into silence again, studying both the man whose magic held her and the statue in equal measure.  The utter stillness of the pale woman combined with her very precise, almost mechanical, movement would be unnerving--and it was something that she couldn't help.  Unless she was actively trying to blend in her nature tended to default to predatory.

She coughed, clearing her throat.  It was a useless gesture but it served as an adequate space filler, a ways to cut the silence, a preamble to speaking.

"I'm Nic-Nighingale, by the way," she said.  She even smiled at Nick, it was a little fangy but looked genuine enough.  "Sister Nightingale."

[trollthumper]

So the habit wasn't just an affectation. Nick was certain there was something very complex and sensitive going on here, but he wasn't entirely sure he was in a position to judge. Yet. "Another Nick, huh?" he said. He offered his hand. "My name's Nick Cimitiere. I came out to check on the miracle myself. Kinda really doubting that the divine is responsible here, but... maybe I'm just blind to the properties of pure vintage blood of Christ..."

It had been a while since he'd been in church, but he still felt somewhat bad about the sacrilege. Being in front of a nun didn't help. So, change of topic. "I saw the droplet floating," he said. "Was that you? I know a lot of vampires have good control of the blood inside their bodies. Seeing that control extended to blood outside is... one hell of a talent." 

[April]

Nightingale took the offered hand and gave it a brief shake.  The vampire was a little self-conscious that, when she was lacking a sufficient infusion of blood (like she is now), her skin was unusually cool to the touch.

"I believe you're right," the vampire said after releasing Nick's hand.  "I do not believe this event to be miraculous in nature."  She looked thoughtful for a moment, cocking her head to look at the necromancer.

"Yes, that was me.  Admittedly the only, uh, creature like me I know of is the bastard that made me, but I thought we could all do that.  Physical manipulation of blood is the easiest thing to do."

"Sometimes I can see the memories and hear the thoughts of the one whose blood I taste, I was hoping for something like that in this instance.  Well, that or a cure."

[trollthumper]

A cure. Nick could understand that. The vampires he'd met usually had come to terms with their conditions, even were satisfied with it - and some of them had even not been dicks. There were workarounds, if you wanted them. But it could still suck if you missed the sunlight, if your body rejected solid food, if you needed blood...

If you felt your existence was a sin against God. 

"Well, we don't know all the properties of this stuff yet," he said. "Aside from 'tasty.' Maybe... if there were some way to separate out the rush of sensations you got from the feeding, we could see if there were memories associated with the blood. Y'know, aside from the ones that made it really, really good."