Chapter One: Guillaume deVries

Joined: 27 Nov 2007 Posts: 18 Location: Michigan

Chapter One: The Meeting
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Ba-dump...ba-dump...ba-dump...ba-dump...

The beating of a thousand hearts rang hollowly in the ears of the Kindred. They walked through the streets of Los Angeles, dressed rather plainly, even though they were more than what they seemed, ravening monsters buried deep beneath a facade of alabaster skin and an icy cold touch. Even more was this simple fact of reality true for the watcher of this crowd. His macabre mind had long since been stripped of those things that made him human, and they were replaced by the endless thirst, an unquenchable lust for pain and suffering, and a cold and psychotic shell of a mind to hold it all in, straining at the seams.

Cold emerald eyes watched from behind perfectly mirrored sunglasses, taking in with an unnatural awareness the crowd that passed before him. Their bodies almost glowed to his eyes, their emotions plain to him. Some were tired, some were giddy. Most, however, were just indifferent little drones, moving along their same route every day, happy to just survive and try and make a living of their meager existences. Always the same, the human race was. Predictable, easily misled, and eager to believe anything that you fed to them. Easily hypnotized and mesmerized.

Fire burned in the depths of his cold heart, warming him for the barest of moments. These people, they thought nothing of what they had. They flaunted what little they had like so many little whores on the corner of life. Women got breast augmentations, Botox, and facelifts. Men constantly worked to perfect their physiques, wanting to be ever so muscled for their plastic wives. It was sickening. They deserved to have what they prized so much taken from them and have it destroyed before their very eyes.

One such flaunter walked by now. Her long red hair wasn't cut, flowing down to her lower back, resting curled just above her tight little ass, and the miniskirt that was stretched so tightly over it that you could bounce a quarter off it. Her disproportionate breasts were pushed upwards and outwards by some lace bra that you could just barely see the edges of, her top barely holding in her lactatious bounty. Her face and body language was that of a woman that was confident in herself, and what she could do with herself, but her aura painted a different picture She was insecure, like so many. She was trying so hard to be the painted little whore, to feel like she was someone through all of the sex. Poor misguided little fools.

Slowly, he stepped forward from his position of leaning against the wall of the building he had found respite against. His loafer covered feet made nearly no sound as he walked across the dirty sidewalk, dodging empty Big Slurpee containers and Big Mac boxes. His sandy blonde hair was mussed a bit by the smog filled wind, but it hardly seemed to bother him. He adjusted his speed to walk alongside the red-head, and he stood above her by about eight inches, she only being perhaps five feet tall, or just under. She didn't seem to notice him at first, but after a few moments of him eyeing her, she turned to look at him.

"Excuse me sir, just what are you looking at?" Her soft blue eyes peered at him closely, and for the first time, she felt his Presence. It literally rolled off him like a wave, and she, like so many others before her, were caught by it off guard, and she was drawn to him like a suicidal moth to a bug zapper. She slowed her walk, and he matched her speed, and then spoke.

"Why, only a beautiful woman, madamoiselle. I couldn't help but look at such a piece of living artwork. Your lines are quite beautiful." A hand was languidly outstretched and a pale finger was run just barely along her form, down the front of her exaggerated chest down to her stomach, and along her hip. She shivered as his cool finger ran along her, and she blushed a bit, the only flaw in her masquerade of being such a good little sperm dumpster, but then again, most men desired a touch of innocence to slake their egos.

"You are a flatterer, sir, though, I can't say that I don't like it. Where are you headed to?" Her voice slipped into a slightly seductive southern drawl, probably her native accent. She had stopped walking completely now, looking up at her attractive suitor.

"Oh me?" His voice was a purr of English and French, merging the two perfectly, and he saw a few hairs raise on the back of her neck at his far more seductive tone. "Just looking for a good time really. I was hoping to find someone to help me out. Let me know if you find someone, hm?"

The woman parted ruby red lips and her pearly whites shone softly in the streetlight, as she tried to dazzle him with her beauty, but she was an amateur compared to him, who had a century to practice the art of seduction and manipulation. His return smile almost caused her to melt, and she acted like she tripped when someone passed by, and she fell forward into him, squishing her large mounds into his chest. He smirked inwardly and quickly threw his arms around her to arrest her fall.

"You really must be more careful madamoiselle. It would be a pity for you to fall. Wouldn't want to hurt yourself or mar that beauty any. Perhaps I should carry you." With that, he displayed more strength than would be thought that his form could have, and he slipped an arm beneath her legs and lifted her easily off the ground. Her long red hair bounced softly as she blushed and giggled a bit, fluttering her eyelashes at him.

"What is your name stranger?" He smiled a moment as he walked towards a nearby club, his long coat fluttering behind him in the wind. "My name? Oh, I have many names, but you can call me Guillaume, cherie."

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Joined: 27 Nov 2007 Posts: 18 Location: Michigan

Chapter Two: The Vicious Circle
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Ba-dump...ba-dump...ba-dump...ba-dump...

The beating of a thousand hearts rang hollowly in the ears of Guillaume. He sat on a street corner, absorbed in his thoughts, voices screaming through his head, begging him to play out whatever wondrously horrid fantasy passed through his mind with every passing piece of meat. Another voice ordered him to force everything else down back into the black morass of suffering that remained bottled deep inside. They must not be allowed to reach the surface and wrest control away. It was bad enough when they spoke, but their speech was honey sweet, and brushed the ear like a seductive whisper...No...control. There must be control...but how could there be control when all he could feel was hate...

He despised them. Mankind. Humanity. Whatever else you wanted to label the clusterfuck of bullshit that the human race perpetuated itself as. Top of the food chain, masters of the Earth. What a crock. Humanity barely forced itself out of diapers to spread like a plague across the face of the globe, consuming everything in their path like some sort of super-locust. Man doesn't even have the good sense to die properly. Nope, must entomb oneself in a steel box to ensure that the worms are denied their good stipend of rotting flesh to return to the Earth.

They spilled blood over such petty things. First, it was over who got the lion's share of the kill. Of course, they were hardly above animals eons ago, so perhaps it was excusable then. But now...it hardly is. Look at history. The Crusades into the Holy Land. The French massacre of the Knights Templar. The Salem Witch Trials. World War Two. All of those events were fought over something trivial. Money, religion, a scapegoat. The new slogan for mankind should be, "Worship the flesh, the Cross, and the dollar." The three things, that no matter how much people say don't influence them, do influence them the most.

They all deserved to be bled dry...to let them see their life flow out before their eyes and truly be as empty physically as their souls were. However, that couldn't happen. Having to feast on the life of the masses would prevent his own existence. So, he woefully had to let them live. But that didn't mean he still couldn't give them what they deserved...everyone has something precious to them...something they would rather suffer unimaginable pain just to keep...Guillaume made sure that most of them did, and then he took it anyway...The whores lost faces, their 'beauty' marred...Children lost their innocence...Men lost their faith in their ability to be powerful...there were so many, and so little time...however, there was the rare occasion that he got to toy with his prey before striking, and this was the most delicious of all...

The bitch walked down the street towards the Frenchman, a wide smile on her features as she approached. She was dressed in a typical whores get-up. Fishnet stockings, tight top, no bra, and thigh high stilettos. He smiled reflexively, slipping into the pattern that had never failed him in one hundred years of use.

"Heya Guillaume! You ready to go out?" She spoke happily, her voice almost bubbling over with enthusiasm and pure giddiness. It almost made him vomit.

"But of course cherie. Where to tonight? A club, the movies, or shall we skip the foreplay and get straight to the main course, hm?" His voice was silky smooth and laced with so much innuendo that it you could have choked Heidi Fleiss with it. Her blush was immediate, and she slapped at his arm playfully, playing coy, but wanting it desperately.

"Oh, I see. Perhaps I'll just go find another beautiful woman to share my time with." His tone was playful as she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, standing on her tiptoes. "I think it'll be just fine Guillaume." She smiled and kisses him deeply, apparently ready to delve into the depths of what she thought was love.

And once more, the vicious circle begins, the wheels beginning to turn...and soon, another light will be snuffed out, never to return...