Encore in the Final Nights

by leeroy_gIBZ

1: A Life to Die For

You’d think that adapting to life as a human would be easy, after all I did spend the last thousand years trying to do just that. And sure, clothes and language and money are all pretty easy to master. But people? Those take effort. Especially when you’re starting from scratch.

That’s right, scratch. I can’t actually remember the last time I spoke to anybody as an equal before last month, spoke without using magic to make things easier. Well, to anybody who wasn’t my sister. Not like Sonata or Aria exactly treat me like an equal anymore. It’s all my fault, they told me, that we screwed up the Battle of the Bands and lost our powers. Lost the only thing that kept us from basically being fucking Sunset Shimmer, without the friends.

And it isn’t like I can exactly just go home either. The portal’s open now, sure. I watched Twilight Sparkle walk through it yesterday. Problem is, if I get close to it, Harmony’s little curse comes back and tries its damn hardest to choke me to death. That and there isn’t anything there anymore, anything that I’d want to see. It’s been a millennium. My memory gets hazy after a century. After three, I’m drawing a blank. Yeah, I know I’m a Siren because I tell myself that every morning. I know some dickhead called Starswirl exiled me here ages ago, but that’s because I tell myself that too. I can’t remember anything else though; I wrote that down too, all my experiences, successes and failures, all my songs, but nobody speaks Old Church Slavonic anymore. Not anyone that I know. I miss Zagreb sometimes. At least, I think I do. The stars on my belt came from there, probably. Doesn’t matter now. I pawned those last week, for rent.

I hate being mortal.

Although it does have one upside. Or quite a few, depending on how you look at it. Namely, alcohol. Or drugs, or whatever, but mainly drinks. Knocking back shots until I can forget about all of this. But I have no desire to fuck up what remaining talent I have by tarring my lungs. That and the other stuff costs money. Money I no longer have, since my voice no longer automatically enslaves everyone who hears it. I’m told there’re other ways to get cash by singing and dancing though, but I’d like to think I still have a little more dignity than that.

My sisters took everything else. My house, my instruments, my treasure. Bitches. But I’m not even mad anymore. It was a matter convenience at most, not like we ever actually loved each-other. That’s a pony thing. A human thing. A warm-blood thing. And, as far as I know, I’m still in danger of freezing to death every winter so screw them.

Now I’m stuck where I’m stuck every night. At a bar, think this one’s called the Whinnychester, if the rifle hanging over the door is anything to go by. Rum’s cheap. I’m happy enough. Should’ve learned to pickpocket sooner, to be honest. Only thing keeping me alive at this point, because I have already run out of gold to throw at my problems. Is this how humans normally live? Frantically scrambling around for money, desperately searching for food and shelter, hysterically seeking out what needs improving? I’m almost glad I’ll die in sixty years; an eternity of this would be torture.

Some guy just walked into the bar. That’s wrong. Like, it’s technically a Ladies Night but there still are men hanging around. Like flies. Don’t know if that makes me candy or rotting meat. But this guy doesn’t belong here. He’s in a suit, a good one, I almost cut myself looking at it. His smirk is the physical embodiment of petty stuck-up idiot aristos that think that just because they have power, they’re the smartest person in the room. Like, he looks the kind of blond asshole who’d go to a Burger King, and bitch and whine about how they messed up his order until they’d give him a coupon for a free Whopper, and then he’d drive across town to cash it in, and do the same trick there; he’d end up eating two and a half burgers and spend three times their value on petrol. This dick looked like that sort of person. Nobody has an excuse to be that smug. If he sits next to me, I’m going to punch him. I need the exercise.

“Hello, gorgeous. What brings a fine lady like you to an establishment like this?” He said, sitting down on the stool next to mine. His cologne stank of synthetic flowers, expensive wine, and rusty copper.

“I’m not interested. Keep talking to me and you’ll be picking your teeth up off the floor.”

“Feisty, aren’t we?”

My fist whacked into his face. Or, I thought it did. The crunch jolting through my knuckles and down my arm felt more like the time I’d tried to punch through a wall of white marble. Don’t ask. Thessaloniki was wild during the war.

“Now, my dear, whatever was that for?” He yawned, holding my hand in his, just half an inch off a nose that got looked down more than Eifel Tower did.

“I still have dignity.” I grumbled. He started twisting my fingers, cracking them like a kid hammering at spaghetti sticks.

“Is that so? Hoops, Score, get over here. Take her out back.” He ordered, and a pair of seven-foot goons with bangs longer than their IQs who were hanging by the door stomped over

“Teach her some respect.”

“What’s your problem, dickhead? Go find a slut on the side of the road who’ll tell you that your life means anything. Fuck, I know two of them personally.”

He glared at me, flashing a set of moon-white teeth, “If you want an opinion, Adagio, I’ll give you one. I tried being polite.”

“No, you tried being suave and you failed. Now let go before I stick a fork in your neck.”

“As I said, men, put her in the car. And bring a shovel, will you?” The man said, standing up and adjusting his tie.

As soon as that chump let go of me, I grabbed my switchblade out my purse, flicking it open across one of the goon’s chins. He growled and swung a fist. His partner followed it up with a kick. I ducked the first one and blocked the second with the bar stool. It shattered, stabbing a foot-long splinter into my hand. I tore it out, stuck it in the brown-haired mook’s chest. He coughed blood, collapsing to the ground. The other bodyguard fumbled for a gun. Hand burning, bleeding, I leaped over the ruined chair, slashed him across the knuckles. He shouted an insult. Pistol clattered to the floor.

In the background, I heard the few other patrons screaming, somebody jabbering into a phone. Spotted the leader sitting back a few feet away, sipping from a hip flask. The other guy was more important. He threw an uppercut. I hopped to the side, grabbing a bottle off the bar. Ducking his next attack, I weaved forward, smashing the glass across his eyes. While he was clawing out the shards, I lunged again with my knife, plunging it into his shoulder, kicking him down to join his friend.

The suit stood up, wiping the wine off his lips. “Impressive. You managed to take out two Brujah neonates.”

“You learn a lot when you don’t negotiate with monkeys.” I panted.

“A woman after my own heart, clearly. Now put the knife down.” He said, slipping out of his jacket, rolling up his sleeves. “And let’s settle this like gentry.”

“I thought you rich kids liked to hide behind your thugs? What’s the point of doing your own dirty work when you have a whole squad of poor morons willing to do it for you?” I said, wiping the blood of the knife, taking a step forward to the discarded pistol.

“One must keep in shape. Put the blade away, Adagio. You’re better than that.”

My fingers twitched, and I felt my grip on the weapon loosen. Fuck this guy! Who does he think he is, ordering me around? I’m a thousand years old. The only thing that separated me from a goddess is a cult of idiot worshippers. I tightened my grip on the blade. I am not losing another fight to some human.

“Screw you.”

“Drop it. Now!”

The switchblade clattered to the floor. What? How in Tartarus did he do that? I had my fingers wrapped around that thing tighter than… well, never mind, let’s just say that Casanova and I had some fun times a few centuries back.

“What are you?” I asked, “Are you a Siren?”

The man’s eyes flashed, “No. I am a Prince.”

“Cheap outfit for a prince then. Only two minions and you’re stripping down in a hole-in-the-wall bar to fight some teenage girl? Pathetic.”

“Watch your tongue or I’ll have it out.”

“Isn’t like I haven’t heard that a thousand times before. Are you going to stand there and whine or are you going to do something?”

“If you insist.” He said, smiling, walking forward. I ducked down, grabbing the pistol. Can’t remember the last time I used one of these.

The bullet thudded into his chest with a puff of ash. Damn. He’s got a bulletproof jacket under that shirt. He kept walking, quickly, I fired another shot. Missed. He batted the gun out of my hands.

“I said we would duel.”

“You challenged me, you grandiose prick. Therefore, I pick the weapon. And I chose firearms.”

He sighed, “What savages you Kine are.”

The Prince threw an uppercut; I ducked, right into his other fist, blasting the air out my lungs. I felt my head whack against bloodied tiles. Shouldn’t have sold the big hair. Good for cushioning.

Vision blurred. Through the haze of red, I spotted a flash of matte grey. His foot crashed down. A second ago, that would’ve been it. Don’t plan on dying yet though. Not to a human. I rolled out of the way, dodged him, reaching for the pistol. My fingers brushed the cold iron, then a heel rammed into my back like a bolt of lightning. I dropped the gun.

---

Well, I’m dead. And here’s thinking I would have at least wound up somewhere else after I finally kicked it. But no, I’m just stuck in coffin for all eternity. I hope they serve food in Tartarus because I am starving. Damn this thing’s uncomfortable, they could’ve at least had the courtesy to bury me with a cushion.

My head feels like somebody scooped my brains out and filled the cavity with dynamite, and then set it off. The rest of me doesn’t feel too much better. Oh yeah, it shouldn’t. The barfight. That actually happened. I seriously lost my life to some stuck-up idiot brawling in some cheap whorehouse? If only the other Sirens could see me now. I wonder what they’d say. Would they laugh? Cry? Offer to help?

Can I starve to death trapped underground? I don’t know. One the hand, I am supposed to be dead. On the other, I feel pretty alive. And by that, I mean I wish I was dead. It hurts to breathe. Hurts to think. My outfit’s a mess, isn’t it? Probably got torn pretty badly during the fight, and it wasn’t in great shape before that. Last decent thing I owned, honestly. Good red dress and flats. Practical. Almost.

Might as well keep myself entertained. Tap. Tap. Tappity tap. How’d it go again? You don’t know that you, uh, damn what was it? Fell, right? Yeah, that sounds decent. Aria always wrote the music anyway. I just sang lyrics and played guitar. Sonata sat there and wasted our time.

I began to sing. Might as well. I need the practice. Maybe something will hear me.

Now that you’re under our spell

Blindsided by the beat

Clapping your hands, stomping your feet

You don’t know that you fell…

Hours passed. Or maybe they were minutes. My voice started cracking. My throat stung. I stopped. I remembered why we wrote that song.

I wonder what time it is? What day it is? Does time pass in Tartarus even? It was hard to tell buried underneath six feet of earth. And I couldn’t reach my phone. Though I think I heard it crack when that asshole punched me down so that’s a bite out of my next pay check. Not like I get paid, but still. It makes me sick to even think about taking orders from one of those humans.

Wait. Somebody’s talking. Above. I stopped tapping and started listening.

“So, this new minion of Blueblood’s?” One voice said. Masculine. Western, judging by the drawl.

“Yes? Whatever about it? I’m sure it’ll be just as insufferable as the last one.” Said another voice. Feminine. Received Pronunciation.

“The Sheriff meant where’s it buried.” A third voice asked. Also, Feminine. Vague South Slavic accent. Croat, maybe?

“Said it was around here.” First voice said, “Adagio Dazzle, 8^th Jan 2000- 9^th Feb 2019.”

That’s me! “Hey!” I screamed, “I’m alive!” Probably. Better to tangling with demons than rotting down here, anyway.

“Oh good. She’s conscious. That’ll clear a few things up. You hang in there, Miss. We’ll get you out in a jiffy.”

Soon afterward, something metal clunked against the roof of my coffin. Then another clunk, followed by scraping. Clunk. Scrape. Clunk. Scrape. And then silence. Something jolted the edge of the box, knocking me into a side panel. Not helping. Still hurting. The box was lifted up, jolting me to the other side. Ouch. Then it crunched back down to earth, kicking another wave of pain through my back.

I pushed up with both arms and, slowly, the lid flipped open. Ignoring the ache in my lungs, I took a few deep gulps of air. It was night. In a graveyard, predictably. I was supposed to be dead after all. Three people stood over me. The man offered me a hand. I batted it aside.

“I don’t need your help. I can get up on my own.” I said, climbing out of the coffin, brushing the dirt off my dress.

“Hey, if ain’t for us, you’d still be buried six feet deep, childe.” He said, arms crossed, glaring at me from underneath his Stetson.

“Yes, before you head off on your merry way, we need to talk.” Said one of the women, tall and grey, with a mop of long raven hair.

“No, we don’t. Now, if you excuse me, I need to find a certain Prince and key his car. Either you three idiots are helping me or you three idiots are fucking off. Got it?” I do not negotiate with humans.

“Hey! Who’re you calling an idiot?” Said the second woman, short, green skin, messy white hair. Vaguely familiar, as was the other one.

“You. Obviously.” I said, starting for the gate out of here.

A hand grabbed me on the shoulder and jerked me back. It was the cowboy. He was not happy. “No, y’all are staying right here and listening to what we have to say, childe.”

“Child? You are calling me a child? I’ll have you know that I, Adagio Dazzle, am far older, and far more dangerous, than a mere kid. So, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll let go before I stab you in the throat.”

White haired woman groaned. “Seriously? We got a Malk?”

Black haired sighed, “Lyra, Derpy is a Malkavian. They’re perfectly good Kindred, if not a little strange. But, then again, aren’t we all?”

Apparently, Lyra, again, “Yeah, Octavia, but she’s one of the good ones. I heard this one tried to kill Blueblood, and that was back when she was mortal.”

“What are you people on about? I am mortal. Unfortunately.”

“No, you ain’t. Not anymore. You, Adagio, are now a vampire. Welcome to the Camarilla.”

“Yeah, and you’re straight. Pull the other one, Tex.”

“Braeburn’s right, you know. It might seem hard to believe at first, but you honestly are now undead. I’d highly suggest you pay attention.” Octavia said, “This could save your life.”

“No, really? I think I’d know if I was a vampire. Namely, as those things aren’t real.”

Lyra threw something at me. Reflexively, I ducked it. Good skill to pick up if a concert ever goes south. Then she threw another at me. That one I caught. It was a bottle, the kind you can buy at a sports store, and it was filled with blood. Two seconds later, it was empty.

“What just happened?” I asked, wiping the last of it off my chin.

“The beast happened.” Octavia said.

“Tasted real good, didn’t it?” Braeburn asked.

“What? It didn’t taste like anything. I was just thirsty, that’s all. I have been trapped in a coffin for the last day, remember?”

Lyra stifled a laugh, “Sure you did. You just so happened to down a glass of human blood, you were so thirsty. Face it, Dagi, you’re one of us now, like or not.”

Suddenly, she had a point. Normal people do not do that. But then again, I think vampires are also able to keep blood down as well. I threw up, retching until there was nothing left but air inside me. Fuck that tasted awful. Hurt like anything too.

“Cute prank. But fuck you for that.” I said, once I’d recovered.

“Y’all owe me twenty bucks.” Braeburn said, holding out his hand to the other two humans.

Octavia scowled, and fished a note out of her purse. Lyra seemingly conjured hers out thin air, literally sliding one out of her hand. Show off.

“Well, darling. It seems that you are a Ventrue.” Octavia said, “And you just set me back one new E string. Thank you kindly.”

“What? What in Tartarus is a Ventrue? Is that some kind of vampire thing?”

“Oh, you mean a clan. Yeah totally. Ventrue are guys with three things, namely money, ego, and more money. Sometimes, guns.” Lyra said.

“Well, pretending I believe you, which for the record I don’t, I like two of those things and I’m pretty good with the other. Now what?”

Lyra shrugged, “Don’t know. I mean, are you still hungry?”

“Starving.”

Octavia smiled, “Well, I am always up for going to the mall. Get your hair done, get some new clothes, get a bite to drink. No offense, but you do look like you just climbed out of an open grave.”

“I did, remember? But sure, I’ll come along. As long as you people pay. I’m flat broke and something tells me that if I don’t eat something soon, I’ll go insane.”

“Oh yeah, you totally will go insane. But that’s like, a major Masquerade breach, so… uh… yeah, food. Let’s figure out what you can eat before you Frenzy and start figuring that out yourself, violently.” Lyra said, starting towards the gate. Braeburn shrugged, and followed her. Octavia looked at me. Single eyebrow raised, lips pulled thin, eyes narrowed. Typical glare of disappointment. About sums up my life up until this point.

“What?” I asked.

“I know what you did during the Battle of the Bands.”

“That was four years ago, you chav, get over it. Besides, that was Sonata’s fault. She masterminded the entire thing. I was just along for the ride. If you’ve got a problem, we can burn her apartment down later. I know where she stays and Aria’ll probably be there too if you’re feeling… hungry. We can split them”

She let herself smile, faintly. “And you’re taking to vampirism like a fish takes to water.”

“Like a Siren takes to water. And don’t you forget it.” I said, walking towards Lyra’s car and, hopefully, towards a meal.

Comments

[Shadow_Wolf]

As an old school VtM player and an avid CWOD fan I approve of this and look forward to seeing where it goes

[Ri2]

How did Blueblood know Adagio's name?

And I'm sorry, SONATA was the mastermind? That must be one of the worst lies Adagio has ever told.

[leeroy_gIBZ]

9455587
Blueblood's a Ventrue prince. They typically research their prospective childer.

[Ri2]

9455614
Makes sense. Just puzzled Adagio didn't catch that.

Also, her not being able to remember that far back is intriguing. Don't see that often with immortal characters.

[Poet Knight]

Would think Sisters of Cacophony would fit better.... But it is any interesting concept nonetheless.

My only gripe is that, the intro seems a bit rushed.

[leeroy_gIBZ]

9456467
She would be a better match ability wise, yes, but I didn't just want to write her as Siren-with-CWOD-flavouring, I wanted to write her as an actual vampire, with different abilities.

[Poet Knight]

9456898
No worries, was just curious.

[MoxMad]

Really like the concept but I feel people who don't know about VtM will be kinda confused by all the terms just tossed around. The stream of consciousness writing doesn't help the tone either.

Thrid person would be perfect for the world building and tone the story needs but good Hussle.

[Dalek-Galvo]

This story is awesome, I'm in the process of making a Vampire: The Masquerade Fanfic Myself.