Post by azlirn on Nov 19, 2010 23:48:28 GMT -5
Francis, a rather simple vampire of the "modern age", tries to keep to himself unless it is completely necessary. Quite unlike his brothers and sisters of his natural born family, he does not embrace all of the rules and regulations of the pure bred culture. He try’s to embrace what humans would consider “normal”.
Born on the edge of a very small town in Ireland about 200 years ago, he was raised to despise the very existence of man. Raised on the standard principles of a pure breed vampire, he was trained by some of the greatest in the world to devour the souls of the innocent without any regard to life. He hated every step of his training, seeing it as unnecessary and wrong. His parents forced him to continue the so called training, disregarding his persistent pleas to stop. They believed that any natural born, was simply better than the rest. No other deserved more honor than they. Any who would rise up against them or was not one of them needed to no longer exist, the only answer was death.
Still, the years pressed on until he was old enough to tend to his own. At 16 he left home and has been on his own ever since. He despised the foundations of which his family lived by and disowned them.
Nearly a year later, still stuck in Ireland, fighting with the anger that was bred into him, resisting the urge to chop off the head of any person or being that opposed him, he encountered a person that changed his life forever.
Her name was Isabella Creighton. More beautiful than any girl he had seen in his life. No creature was as beautiful as she in his eyes. A natural human, it went totally against everything he had been taught. That seemed simply a formality, an issue that he would overcome by whatever means necessary.
She had dark silky hair that ventured just passed the small of her back, emerald green eyes that made him swear that they were formed by the hands of God himself. Her smooth pale body would make any man fall to his knees. She wore only the finest attire and always smelled of fresh roses. She worked at the local village market selling hand knit goods to locals and passerby's. He stalked her as she worked in the market, and for the next several years he lived like this.
For Francis this was all unnatural, he was raised to hate the very existence of humans and anything that was different than he. "Why is she so different?" he would ask himself. She was an outstanding choice for any man, in her early 20's, stable and remarkably beautiful. Anyone would be a fool to not take her hand. But, as time went by, she aged as any human would and Francis stayed his normal self. Typical, he had always ran into this issue with humans. He stayed young, as they grew older.
Isabella died on a Sunday morning from what he could tell, of old age he assumed. He was never close to her or the family so he was not sure.
He hated himself for not even introducing himself, even offering a coffee at the local pub. For what, a fear of being judged? For fear of not being accepted? As the worst, she never bore children or became wed. He felt responsible for something he had no control over. Why anyone would not have taken her hand he did not understand. Oh well, water under the bridge they say. He had bigger issues at hand now. No time to worry about pesky heartbreaks, or at least this was the excuse he made for himself.
Almost 160 years later, Francis lives in a small town just outside of NYC. He lives the best he can as a normal human trying to "blend with the crowd" wherever possible. He finds it hard being a young vampire around NYC. He hates the civilization by nature but does his best to deal with it. He after all, wants to become human, so why not act human...
Working as a "Slayer" as they call it, he works odd jobs for people all over the world, protecting, assassinating, whatever. If it involves guns and blood, he is in.
-Chapter Two
He stepped outside for the morning smoke, "filthy habit" he muttered as he slapped his Zippo closed and took a long drag. He had been trying to stop smoking for a few years after Isabella died but finally gave up, convincing himself that it was ok, it helped him blend in.
It was chilly morning, a light breeze made him shiver, he wished he had brought his cloak out. He took a look around the sleepy town he lived in. Hard to believe that it had stayed the same for so many years while being so close to the city. There had been no construction in about 50 years. The town had a very rustic/Victorian feel to it. The houses resembled mini castles, they were poorly maintained and most of them vacant. A horribly quite city was just what he needed. Less people, less risk of being discovered.
It was a very depressing overcast day. The gray skies did not help the view of the city anymore than any other day. No one was on the streets, normal for where he lived. He often compared it to what some humans would call a ghetto.
A large black cat ran across the old road in front of his two story house. The road, badly needing repaving but the city never had the money for "useless" things such as that.
He shook his head, never one for superstition but in these days, he was always cautious. He had been having bad dreams as of late and was constantly on his toes. He was taking no chances. Turning to go back inside he crushed out his menthol. He noticed a flimsy gray shutter on the top floor of his house, hanging off of a window by nothing but faith alone. "Another damn dollar to spend", he cursed under his breath and walked back inside the musty house. He would try to fix it this weekend.
His house was filled with odds and ends from various places he had visited over the years. He never kept anything to mysterious out in the open as to not scare away any people that may just pass through. Through the hallway he kept his cloaks and such on an ancient Victorian coat rack. It stood very proudly along with the rest of the architecture in the house. Further down the hallway to the right was a small but sufficient kitchen and the door to the backyard.
Turning left into the living room, he kicked the clutter littering the floor out of the way as he made his way to sit in his old recliner. Easily aged into the 60's, this was his chair and he would be damned if it was to be messed with by anyone other than himself. A typical trait of any man of his stature he would tell people. He never was much for cleaning up after himself either, he always felt that it was a woman's task. As a result, he never had many people to his house. Turning on his 42” TV across the room, which was oddly out of place from the rest of his collected items, he rested his head on the back of his chair and let his mind wander back to Isabella. She would have kept his house clean. He would have been treated like a king...
The phone rang, Francis was woke out of a dead sleep. He had drifted off in his own thoughts. An oddity as he really had done nothing the day prior. Looking up he searched for the source of the annoying ringing sound. Across the room he saw his phone buzzing across the counter that divided the kitchen and the living area. He immediately stumbled out of his chair and tripped over two or three of the GUNS Weekly magazines that littered the floor. Cursing he picked up the phone,
"What is it?!" he half yelled into the phone.
"Excuse me?!" a voice came back, he then chuckled. It was a familiar voice, an old friend of his, Cassandra.
"Eh, Sorry about that love. Long time to see, how are you? And why are you calling so late, don‘t you realize what time it is?"
"Francis, you of all people should know that I an never punctual about things like this, and since when am I your love?"
Not waiting for his response she started whispering into the phone, "I need your help Francis there is an issue back in Ireland that I need you to tend to"
Francis didn't let her finish, he slammed down the phone. “How dare her!” he thought. He knew instantly what she was going to ask of him. There was no way he would ever go back to that wretched place again.
The two went very far back, a half breed herself, Francis had found her barely surviving in a camp in Ireland. This camp, set up and controlled by his family, they dined on half breeds. Tortured day and night, she was one of the only surviving. He had brought her back to the states and helped her get a new start. He poured out thousands of dollars to send her to college and helped her buy a house and such. He took care of her like she was his daughter.
He knew what this call was about, he was not about to go back to that place again. She had always wanted him to, he always denied her. He always wondered why she wouldn't let it go, just move on. Why would anyone hold on to something like that? Especially a human.
Cassandra had always begged him to go back and free more of the half breeds, they both knew that the camp was still operational and more and more half breeds were being murdered everyday. A shame, the half breeds are the only ones keeping the generation alive.
He knew how human emotions worked but still did not understand some of the concepts. He wished that Cassandra would just let it go. Who knows, probably exactly that, the stupidity of the human race that she was bred with.
Stumbling back into his chair, this time taking care to avoid the magazines on the floor, he tried to push Cassandra’s call out of his mind. Next to his chair an old Victorian nightstand stood. He grabbed a chain from around his neck which held a key. He unlocked the nightstand chest with a very rusty click and stared inside. It had been a few months since he had needed it but after a call like that he would certainly be prepared. He grabbed his Smith and Wesson .45, checked to ensure that it was loaded and slipped it under his armrest. He knew that something was up but tried to deny the thought.
He took a deep sigh, and fell into a night of horrible sleep. After tonight, his life would never be the same again.
Francis woke around 3PM the next day to someone banging on his door, demanding that he answer. They called for him by name, odd but it didn’t bother him. The town was so small it was no surprise that someone would no him by name.
Frustrated for being woke unexpectedly again he slowly came to his senses. He smelled the air, the stench of something unnatural filled the air, not human. One of the perks of being pure bred, a keen sense of smell.
Francis knew that after the call from Cassandra last night he needed to be on his toes. Pulling himself out of his chair he walked to the hallway door making no sound. Not even today’s smartest and brightest military would have known he was there. He grabbed his tan cloak of the ancient rack and slipped into it without making to much racket. He wanted to be sure that if this was a human his wings would be properly concealed.
Creeping up to the door he snuck a peek through the peep hole. “Of course” he muttered, it had been covered by his uninvited visitor.
His mind began to race, should he run and come back later or answer the door as if there was nothing wrong? What is this was simply a practical joke and he was overreacting? He had after all had a long night. After what seemed to be a millennium he finally opened the door. He immediately recognized his visitor.
“Brother! What a long time it has been. I thought by now you would have surely starved to death or something of that sort. You look good!”
His visitor was his trainer from over 100 years prior. He took no care for his presence in this area. He wore no cover and his true self shown about for all the world to see. He dressed with little clothing, it appeared like he had robbed a homeless man who wore clothes three sizes to small for him.
His wings were a dark bloodstained red. He had a thin complexion and pale skin. He had black beady eyes and his dark oily hair filled his face. He had dark circles under his eyes and smelled of rotting flesh. His lips curled when he saw Francis.
“What are you doing here?” Francis snarled. “You have no business here, I owe you nothing.”
“Oh but you do Francis” His visitor pushed Francis aside and allowed himself in. Francis slammed the door behind him and followed. He threw his coat to the side, there was no need for formalities at this point.
“Francis, I believe you have something of mine, you certainly remember don’t you?”
He knew exactly what he was talking about. This is what Cassandra’s phone call had been about last night. It became very clear why she sounded so nervous.
This “Visitor” was no ordinary vampire. He was out for blood, to anyone who opposed him or his family. He had no real name, all knew him simply as Severus. A pathetic name but he did not care. He held no regard for any life other than a pure breed. He despised Francis for being an individual, he hated the fact that none had opposed him for his actions of which insulted all pure breeds.
“Severus, you know you can not be here!” Francis demanded.
“Then you should have thought about that when you stole that filthy half breed!”
Francis cringed at the term. He saw all as equal and hated the mentality of the pure breeds. His anger soared as the words flew out of his visitors mouth.
“You know just as well as I do that she deserved none less than she was getting!” Severus snarled, “Now where is she?!”
They were still in the hallway, Francis lost his control. He flew at Severus with as much force as he could manage.
“Is that really how you feel? I will show you a fucking half breed!“ He flew at him with the force of a bullet train.
They flew through the door in the back of the house and out onto the back lawn. Both flew into the air taking no regard for their surroundings or who may be looking. The bright sun did not bother Francis but he could tell it was getting on Severus’s nerves. He had not become as accustomed to it as Francis had.
Francis realized he had no weapons on him and knew it would be a tough fight without any. He flew at Severus again, trying to throw him off focus, missing him by inches.
“Is that all you have got Francis? I know I trained you better than that. Now please, don’t insult me!”
Severus pulled something from his cloak, Francis knew that whatever it was, he would not match to anything with no armor.
“Severus! You coward! You fight a man without a weapon and choose to shoot him in the back? That is not the teacher I knew, now please, don’t insult me!” Francis spoke with a sarcastic tone mocking his enemy. All the while he was filling sicker by the moment on the inside. He knew it was not smart to taunt his old teacher but it would buy him needed time. If Severus found Cassandra, Francis would have no reason to live, no reason to fight.
He his mind began racing again. His became aware of his surroundings once more and looked down, his house, he would have to leave after today from the apparent damage. No one would be able to explain that away.
“Francis! What are you doing? Where is the girl?!” Severus was becoming irritated, Francis didn’t have much time.
He dove, with such precision and speed a falcon would have been jealous. He flew into the house and ran to his chair. He searched frantically for his .45 . Finally finding it on the floor, quite possibly from the night before, he picked it up and inspected it. “Only 5 rounds” he thought to himself. Knowing that Severus was not far behind, he jumped for his nightstand. “Forget the key” he thought. He smashed the stand open and grabbed a small case.
Inside were 10 rounds, hand constructed out of pure silver. “Perfect for a moment like this” Francis thought. He quickly lowered his breathing and listened. He heard nothing, that scared him. He knew the enemy was close.
As quickly and silently as he could he changed the rounds out in his .45 .
As soon as he shut the barrel he heard something crash in the kitchen. Carefully moving through his house, he approached the kitchen. There was little cover for him to take and his large wingspan was not helping things. He halfheartedly wished he has his coat on.
Before he could make any further moves he was grabbed through the wall and carried through two floors of drywall and rafters, into the sky. Severus had a firm grip on Francis’ throat now. Francis panicked for the first time in years, he felt no escape.
In the distance Francis could here sirens, “Great” he thought, “Another fucking press release, Screw this”
He met eyes with his enemy and smirked. This confused the bastard who had him by the throat, why would anyone smirk?
Severus had not noticed but he still had the revolver in his hand. He pulled the lever back while they were soaring yet even higher. He reached up with alarming speed, the barrel met his enemy’s head and he fired. The round exited the barrel and penetrated deep into the monster’s brain, shattering every bone in his skull in the process. Blood gushed from the wound as Severus fell to earth once more. Francis hung in midair for a moment trying to recollect the events that had just occurred.
By this time the Police had already shown up below, there was no turning back now. He was on the run.
Chapter 3 -
He had to leave the area as soon as possible. He could not risk being discovered. He flew to a nearby forest to wait until nightfall. He planned to go back to his house to gather some things and begin a journey out of the city.
He was debating on whether or not to venture to Cassandra’s or not. She lived very far from here secluded in Canada but after the events of today, he wasn’t sure if he could risk it. He didn’t want to put her in any more danger than she apparently already was.
As soon as nightfall came, he took flight again and headed towards his house. It was a clear night so he would have to be careful as to not attract attention. The last thing he needed was someone to see him and report it. The news stations would eat that up giving away his location to more people he was certain he didn’t want to meet.
He arrived at his house relatively quickly and was shocked to see there was no mess, as if nothing had ever happened. Confused, he searched the ground nearby hoping to find the corpse of his rival from earlier in the day. Severus was no where in sight. He guessed that only one of two things could have happened, The local authorities confiscated the body or Severus had never died. He set is mind on the fact that he was in fact dead and pushed the later out of his mind.
Hesitantly he approached his home. The was backdoor ajar, he grasped his .45 on his hip, preparing himself for whatever lie ahead. There were no lights on, he lit his Zippo and entered. The flame flickered stubbornly from the breeze coming through the backdoor, making it difficult to see.
“Put the light out Francis, you are in no harm” A voice echoed from his living room.
“Who is there?” Francis demanded in a shaky voice. Still holding his open Zippo, his living room lights came on revealing a very old fellow in his chair. He extinguished his Zippo and reached for his revolver.
Immediately taking a defense simply because someone was in his chair, he demanded who the stranger was again. This time with his revolver raised to the intruder.
“Lower your weapon son. Trust me, if I wanted you dead, you would have already been dead and buried in the forest this afternoon.”
“How did you….?” Francis stammered.
“Do not worry about how I know. I would be more concerned with where your enemy is and why he is not dead.” The stranger replied.
Francis, mind now reeling, still hesitant, lowered his weapon. Trying to offer some sort of hospitality he went into his kitchen, “Care for a drink?” he offered.
“I am fine thank you. I am not here for long so please ignore formalities. We must be quick.”
Francis, still very confused about the strangers presence, obliged. He shut the back door and made his way into the living room, his hand still resting on his revolver which was again, attached to his hip. He stood awkwardly in front of his visitor, pissed he had nowhere to sit down.
In the light he could see that his visitor was very old. He was certainly not human and seemed blind. He had very thin but extremely long white hair. He wore glasses that almost seemed as mirrors and his complexion was thin but tanned from age. The man carried a cane that looked to be made out of cherry or some red wood of the sort. It carried a large green stone on top which resembled an emerald. It seemed to glow but Francis not being superstitious, tried to ignore this.
“Who are you?” Francis stammered again.
“You need not know who I am.” The creature replied, “I bring you instructions that you must follow if you plan to save your friend.”
Possibly because of the events that had occurred that day, Francis was already on edge. His tempered flared with yet another stranger in his home. He was never one to be over protective of his house or belongings but this was getting out of hand. How did this, thing, know everything that had occurred that day, much less what it was about? Surely this was madness, he had to be dead he told himself.
The creature spoke again, interrupting Francis‘s thoughts. “You are still very much alive young one. And in grave danger”
Francis, fuming at this point, snapped “Who the fuck are you?! Why are you in my house? How do you know about Cassandra?! What do you want?!”
As if Francis had said nothing the creature continued, “Francis, you have lived here for almost 100 years without disturbance other than those pesky human children knocking on your door. Trying to sell useless sweets and goods” He trailed off “I never understood why people traded goods for that.”
“Look you old creep, you have about 10 seconds to get the fuck out of my house.” Francis raised his revolver again, this time pulling the lever back and lining a shot up with the old creatures head.
“You will regret leaving this place Francis, you must stay. If you want to protect her, you will stay.”
Francis stood, stunned by the thought of staying here. He couldn’t stay, he already was almost killed today, they knew where he was now. The would surely send another.
“What are you talking about?” Francis bellowed. “That would be suicide!”
“You underestimate yourself Francis. You are more powerful than you realize. You have let your past consume your mind and cloud your vision.” This time the old creature stood, “You must stay here Francis, you have no choice”
Francis was done with this conversation. He was being insulted in his own home and now this thing was reading his mind it seemed. Still holding his line that he set moments ago, he fired three rounds at the creatures head. The shots echoed down the street “Probably woke the neighbors by now” Francis squinted through the smoke, an eerie smell of melted silver and gunpowder filled the air. The creature was no where to be seen. As if he vanished in thin air.
Francis looked around and saw three perfectly grouped shots in the wall behind his chair. “Well at least I know I can still shoot a good group” he though to himself.
Hearing sirens again, Francis ran through his house grabbing anything he may need for his trip. There was no way in hell he was going to listen to some fucking creep who can disappear at will. He would go to Cassandra’s. She was all he had left, he would be damned if he let something happen to her.
He grabbed the remaining silver rounds from his chest in the living room and loaded them into his revolver. “Lets hope I don’t need these” he thought to himself.
He went into his bedroom and stared in for a while. This had been his home for so long he hated that he was going to leave.
His bedroom was a place that he rarely visited, he never fancied having women over so there was not much use for his king sized 4 poster bed. It would be difficult to explain away his wings and occasional desire for warm blood. As a result, He usually slept in his chair in the other room.
Like the rest of his house he kept odds and ends from various countries around the world scattered about the room. Most resembled a Victorian nature but he also enjoyed relics from various cultures and religions. He often fancied himself as a theoligist, spending late nights reading ancient books on paganism and Wicca.
He ran over to his massive dresser and pulled out his old clothing. He would need it for upcoming events he was certain. Quickly changing, he slipped into a white shirt and a black leather vest. He wore black leather pants and tall boots that somewhat resembled what an archer would wear in the middle ages.
He affixed a gold plate to each shoulder, each was beautifully hand crafted and gifted to him just before he had left home. He didn’t hold on to much but these were almost a necessary item to have. They were dotted with various stones such as Garnet and Amethyst. He was told that the pads contained great power and he would one day learn how to use them. Still to this day he had not figured out whether that person was full of shit or not. He just considered them a nice piece of trim.
He walked to the back of his room and opened his closet. The inside was massive. He only kept one thing in here though, his battle cloak. It was very heavy, made out of the finest material one could find. The outside layer a dark black hide of unknown origin. The inside, fine red velvet, it would keep anyone warm at the coldest temperatures. Another gift of his ancestors, it had been in his family for hundreds of generations but still looked brand new. Francis had convinced himself that it had a mind of its own and kept itself clean.
Examining it closer, losing himself in his own thoughts, he heard a knock at the door. “Open up! It’s the police!”
“Shit” Francis thought. He looked around frantically, “Where are my daggers?”
Francis had been gifted a set of six daggers by Cassandra after they had made their escape from Ireland. Hand crafted, perfectly balanced, the handles glinting with various gems, they were an essential weapon to Francis’s arsenal.
“There!” They were hanging from a post on his bed, sitting perfectly in a leather vest that he had made from deer hide just after Cassandra had gifted them to him.
He grabbed the vest, not bothering to put it on and ducked back into the living room.
There was another knock at the door “Open up!”
He couldn’t risk going to the door, not after what had happened today. Or did they even know? “Fuck it” he thought, “I am not taking any chances”
He snuck out the back door and took on a full sprint towards the woods behind his house. It was a good 200 meters to the wood line but for him that was no measure. Being a pure breed he could run at lightning speeds. After reaching the forest, he peered back at his house. He heard a crash as the front door was busted down and the department flooded his house.
“Bastards” he muttered. He looked up, the night was still clear as ever. It would be dangerous to fly like this but he would have to risk it. He had to find Cassandra. She live north of him but it would easily be an hour before he reached the border.
Taking flight again he headed north.
Born on the edge of a very small town in Ireland about 200 years ago, he was raised to despise the very existence of man. Raised on the standard principles of a pure breed vampire, he was trained by some of the greatest in the world to devour the souls of the innocent without any regard to life. He hated every step of his training, seeing it as unnecessary and wrong. His parents forced him to continue the so called training, disregarding his persistent pleas to stop. They believed that any natural born, was simply better than the rest. No other deserved more honor than they. Any who would rise up against them or was not one of them needed to no longer exist, the only answer was death.
Still, the years pressed on until he was old enough to tend to his own. At 16 he left home and has been on his own ever since. He despised the foundations of which his family lived by and disowned them.
Nearly a year later, still stuck in Ireland, fighting with the anger that was bred into him, resisting the urge to chop off the head of any person or being that opposed him, he encountered a person that changed his life forever.
Her name was Isabella Creighton. More beautiful than any girl he had seen in his life. No creature was as beautiful as she in his eyes. A natural human, it went totally against everything he had been taught. That seemed simply a formality, an issue that he would overcome by whatever means necessary.
She had dark silky hair that ventured just passed the small of her back, emerald green eyes that made him swear that they were formed by the hands of God himself. Her smooth pale body would make any man fall to his knees. She wore only the finest attire and always smelled of fresh roses. She worked at the local village market selling hand knit goods to locals and passerby's. He stalked her as she worked in the market, and for the next several years he lived like this.
For Francis this was all unnatural, he was raised to hate the very existence of humans and anything that was different than he. "Why is she so different?" he would ask himself. She was an outstanding choice for any man, in her early 20's, stable and remarkably beautiful. Anyone would be a fool to not take her hand. But, as time went by, she aged as any human would and Francis stayed his normal self. Typical, he had always ran into this issue with humans. He stayed young, as they grew older.
Isabella died on a Sunday morning from what he could tell, of old age he assumed. He was never close to her or the family so he was not sure.
He hated himself for not even introducing himself, even offering a coffee at the local pub. For what, a fear of being judged? For fear of not being accepted? As the worst, she never bore children or became wed. He felt responsible for something he had no control over. Why anyone would not have taken her hand he did not understand. Oh well, water under the bridge they say. He had bigger issues at hand now. No time to worry about pesky heartbreaks, or at least this was the excuse he made for himself.
Almost 160 years later, Francis lives in a small town just outside of NYC. He lives the best he can as a normal human trying to "blend with the crowd" wherever possible. He finds it hard being a young vampire around NYC. He hates the civilization by nature but does his best to deal with it. He after all, wants to become human, so why not act human...
Working as a "Slayer" as they call it, he works odd jobs for people all over the world, protecting, assassinating, whatever. If it involves guns and blood, he is in.
-Chapter Two
He stepped outside for the morning smoke, "filthy habit" he muttered as he slapped his Zippo closed and took a long drag. He had been trying to stop smoking for a few years after Isabella died but finally gave up, convincing himself that it was ok, it helped him blend in.
It was chilly morning, a light breeze made him shiver, he wished he had brought his cloak out. He took a look around the sleepy town he lived in. Hard to believe that it had stayed the same for so many years while being so close to the city. There had been no construction in about 50 years. The town had a very rustic/Victorian feel to it. The houses resembled mini castles, they were poorly maintained and most of them vacant. A horribly quite city was just what he needed. Less people, less risk of being discovered.
It was a very depressing overcast day. The gray skies did not help the view of the city anymore than any other day. No one was on the streets, normal for where he lived. He often compared it to what some humans would call a ghetto.
A large black cat ran across the old road in front of his two story house. The road, badly needing repaving but the city never had the money for "useless" things such as that.
He shook his head, never one for superstition but in these days, he was always cautious. He had been having bad dreams as of late and was constantly on his toes. He was taking no chances. Turning to go back inside he crushed out his menthol. He noticed a flimsy gray shutter on the top floor of his house, hanging off of a window by nothing but faith alone. "Another damn dollar to spend", he cursed under his breath and walked back inside the musty house. He would try to fix it this weekend.
His house was filled with odds and ends from various places he had visited over the years. He never kept anything to mysterious out in the open as to not scare away any people that may just pass through. Through the hallway he kept his cloaks and such on an ancient Victorian coat rack. It stood very proudly along with the rest of the architecture in the house. Further down the hallway to the right was a small but sufficient kitchen and the door to the backyard.
Turning left into the living room, he kicked the clutter littering the floor out of the way as he made his way to sit in his old recliner. Easily aged into the 60's, this was his chair and he would be damned if it was to be messed with by anyone other than himself. A typical trait of any man of his stature he would tell people. He never was much for cleaning up after himself either, he always felt that it was a woman's task. As a result, he never had many people to his house. Turning on his 42” TV across the room, which was oddly out of place from the rest of his collected items, he rested his head on the back of his chair and let his mind wander back to Isabella. She would have kept his house clean. He would have been treated like a king...
The phone rang, Francis was woke out of a dead sleep. He had drifted off in his own thoughts. An oddity as he really had done nothing the day prior. Looking up he searched for the source of the annoying ringing sound. Across the room he saw his phone buzzing across the counter that divided the kitchen and the living area. He immediately stumbled out of his chair and tripped over two or three of the GUNS Weekly magazines that littered the floor. Cursing he picked up the phone,
"What is it?!" he half yelled into the phone.
"Excuse me?!" a voice came back, he then chuckled. It was a familiar voice, an old friend of his, Cassandra.
"Eh, Sorry about that love. Long time to see, how are you? And why are you calling so late, don‘t you realize what time it is?"
"Francis, you of all people should know that I an never punctual about things like this, and since when am I your love?"
Not waiting for his response she started whispering into the phone, "I need your help Francis there is an issue back in Ireland that I need you to tend to"
Francis didn't let her finish, he slammed down the phone. “How dare her!” he thought. He knew instantly what she was going to ask of him. There was no way he would ever go back to that wretched place again.
The two went very far back, a half breed herself, Francis had found her barely surviving in a camp in Ireland. This camp, set up and controlled by his family, they dined on half breeds. Tortured day and night, she was one of the only surviving. He had brought her back to the states and helped her get a new start. He poured out thousands of dollars to send her to college and helped her buy a house and such. He took care of her like she was his daughter.
He knew what this call was about, he was not about to go back to that place again. She had always wanted him to, he always denied her. He always wondered why she wouldn't let it go, just move on. Why would anyone hold on to something like that? Especially a human.
Cassandra had always begged him to go back and free more of the half breeds, they both knew that the camp was still operational and more and more half breeds were being murdered everyday. A shame, the half breeds are the only ones keeping the generation alive.
He knew how human emotions worked but still did not understand some of the concepts. He wished that Cassandra would just let it go. Who knows, probably exactly that, the stupidity of the human race that she was bred with.
Stumbling back into his chair, this time taking care to avoid the magazines on the floor, he tried to push Cassandra’s call out of his mind. Next to his chair an old Victorian nightstand stood. He grabbed a chain from around his neck which held a key. He unlocked the nightstand chest with a very rusty click and stared inside. It had been a few months since he had needed it but after a call like that he would certainly be prepared. He grabbed his Smith and Wesson .45, checked to ensure that it was loaded and slipped it under his armrest. He knew that something was up but tried to deny the thought.
He took a deep sigh, and fell into a night of horrible sleep. After tonight, his life would never be the same again.
Francis woke around 3PM the next day to someone banging on his door, demanding that he answer. They called for him by name, odd but it didn’t bother him. The town was so small it was no surprise that someone would no him by name.
Frustrated for being woke unexpectedly again he slowly came to his senses. He smelled the air, the stench of something unnatural filled the air, not human. One of the perks of being pure bred, a keen sense of smell.
Francis knew that after the call from Cassandra last night he needed to be on his toes. Pulling himself out of his chair he walked to the hallway door making no sound. Not even today’s smartest and brightest military would have known he was there. He grabbed his tan cloak of the ancient rack and slipped into it without making to much racket. He wanted to be sure that if this was a human his wings would be properly concealed.
Creeping up to the door he snuck a peek through the peep hole. “Of course” he muttered, it had been covered by his uninvited visitor.
His mind began to race, should he run and come back later or answer the door as if there was nothing wrong? What is this was simply a practical joke and he was overreacting? He had after all had a long night. After what seemed to be a millennium he finally opened the door. He immediately recognized his visitor.
“Brother! What a long time it has been. I thought by now you would have surely starved to death or something of that sort. You look good!”
His visitor was his trainer from over 100 years prior. He took no care for his presence in this area. He wore no cover and his true self shown about for all the world to see. He dressed with little clothing, it appeared like he had robbed a homeless man who wore clothes three sizes to small for him.
His wings were a dark bloodstained red. He had a thin complexion and pale skin. He had black beady eyes and his dark oily hair filled his face. He had dark circles under his eyes and smelled of rotting flesh. His lips curled when he saw Francis.
“What are you doing here?” Francis snarled. “You have no business here, I owe you nothing.”
“Oh but you do Francis” His visitor pushed Francis aside and allowed himself in. Francis slammed the door behind him and followed. He threw his coat to the side, there was no need for formalities at this point.
“Francis, I believe you have something of mine, you certainly remember don’t you?”
He knew exactly what he was talking about. This is what Cassandra’s phone call had been about last night. It became very clear why she sounded so nervous.
This “Visitor” was no ordinary vampire. He was out for blood, to anyone who opposed him or his family. He had no real name, all knew him simply as Severus. A pathetic name but he did not care. He held no regard for any life other than a pure breed. He despised Francis for being an individual, he hated the fact that none had opposed him for his actions of which insulted all pure breeds.
“Severus, you know you can not be here!” Francis demanded.
“Then you should have thought about that when you stole that filthy half breed!”
Francis cringed at the term. He saw all as equal and hated the mentality of the pure breeds. His anger soared as the words flew out of his visitors mouth.
“You know just as well as I do that she deserved none less than she was getting!” Severus snarled, “Now where is she?!”
They were still in the hallway, Francis lost his control. He flew at Severus with as much force as he could manage.
“Is that really how you feel? I will show you a fucking half breed!“ He flew at him with the force of a bullet train.
They flew through the door in the back of the house and out onto the back lawn. Both flew into the air taking no regard for their surroundings or who may be looking. The bright sun did not bother Francis but he could tell it was getting on Severus’s nerves. He had not become as accustomed to it as Francis had.
Francis realized he had no weapons on him and knew it would be a tough fight without any. He flew at Severus again, trying to throw him off focus, missing him by inches.
“Is that all you have got Francis? I know I trained you better than that. Now please, don’t insult me!”
Severus pulled something from his cloak, Francis knew that whatever it was, he would not match to anything with no armor.
“Severus! You coward! You fight a man without a weapon and choose to shoot him in the back? That is not the teacher I knew, now please, don’t insult me!” Francis spoke with a sarcastic tone mocking his enemy. All the while he was filling sicker by the moment on the inside. He knew it was not smart to taunt his old teacher but it would buy him needed time. If Severus found Cassandra, Francis would have no reason to live, no reason to fight.
He his mind began racing again. His became aware of his surroundings once more and looked down, his house, he would have to leave after today from the apparent damage. No one would be able to explain that away.
“Francis! What are you doing? Where is the girl?!” Severus was becoming irritated, Francis didn’t have much time.
He dove, with such precision and speed a falcon would have been jealous. He flew into the house and ran to his chair. He searched frantically for his .45 . Finally finding it on the floor, quite possibly from the night before, he picked it up and inspected it. “Only 5 rounds” he thought to himself. Knowing that Severus was not far behind, he jumped for his nightstand. “Forget the key” he thought. He smashed the stand open and grabbed a small case.
Inside were 10 rounds, hand constructed out of pure silver. “Perfect for a moment like this” Francis thought. He quickly lowered his breathing and listened. He heard nothing, that scared him. He knew the enemy was close.
As quickly and silently as he could he changed the rounds out in his .45 .
As soon as he shut the barrel he heard something crash in the kitchen. Carefully moving through his house, he approached the kitchen. There was little cover for him to take and his large wingspan was not helping things. He halfheartedly wished he has his coat on.
Before he could make any further moves he was grabbed through the wall and carried through two floors of drywall and rafters, into the sky. Severus had a firm grip on Francis’ throat now. Francis panicked for the first time in years, he felt no escape.
In the distance Francis could here sirens, “Great” he thought, “Another fucking press release, Screw this”
He met eyes with his enemy and smirked. This confused the bastard who had him by the throat, why would anyone smirk?
Severus had not noticed but he still had the revolver in his hand. He pulled the lever back while they were soaring yet even higher. He reached up with alarming speed, the barrel met his enemy’s head and he fired. The round exited the barrel and penetrated deep into the monster’s brain, shattering every bone in his skull in the process. Blood gushed from the wound as Severus fell to earth once more. Francis hung in midair for a moment trying to recollect the events that had just occurred.
By this time the Police had already shown up below, there was no turning back now. He was on the run.
Chapter 3 -
He had to leave the area as soon as possible. He could not risk being discovered. He flew to a nearby forest to wait until nightfall. He planned to go back to his house to gather some things and begin a journey out of the city.
He was debating on whether or not to venture to Cassandra’s or not. She lived very far from here secluded in Canada but after the events of today, he wasn’t sure if he could risk it. He didn’t want to put her in any more danger than she apparently already was.
As soon as nightfall came, he took flight again and headed towards his house. It was a clear night so he would have to be careful as to not attract attention. The last thing he needed was someone to see him and report it. The news stations would eat that up giving away his location to more people he was certain he didn’t want to meet.
He arrived at his house relatively quickly and was shocked to see there was no mess, as if nothing had ever happened. Confused, he searched the ground nearby hoping to find the corpse of his rival from earlier in the day. Severus was no where in sight. He guessed that only one of two things could have happened, The local authorities confiscated the body or Severus had never died. He set is mind on the fact that he was in fact dead and pushed the later out of his mind.
Hesitantly he approached his home. The was backdoor ajar, he grasped his .45 on his hip, preparing himself for whatever lie ahead. There were no lights on, he lit his Zippo and entered. The flame flickered stubbornly from the breeze coming through the backdoor, making it difficult to see.
“Put the light out Francis, you are in no harm” A voice echoed from his living room.
“Who is there?” Francis demanded in a shaky voice. Still holding his open Zippo, his living room lights came on revealing a very old fellow in his chair. He extinguished his Zippo and reached for his revolver.
Immediately taking a defense simply because someone was in his chair, he demanded who the stranger was again. This time with his revolver raised to the intruder.
“Lower your weapon son. Trust me, if I wanted you dead, you would have already been dead and buried in the forest this afternoon.”
“How did you….?” Francis stammered.
“Do not worry about how I know. I would be more concerned with where your enemy is and why he is not dead.” The stranger replied.
Francis, mind now reeling, still hesitant, lowered his weapon. Trying to offer some sort of hospitality he went into his kitchen, “Care for a drink?” he offered.
“I am fine thank you. I am not here for long so please ignore formalities. We must be quick.”
Francis, still very confused about the strangers presence, obliged. He shut the back door and made his way into the living room, his hand still resting on his revolver which was again, attached to his hip. He stood awkwardly in front of his visitor, pissed he had nowhere to sit down.
In the light he could see that his visitor was very old. He was certainly not human and seemed blind. He had very thin but extremely long white hair. He wore glasses that almost seemed as mirrors and his complexion was thin but tanned from age. The man carried a cane that looked to be made out of cherry or some red wood of the sort. It carried a large green stone on top which resembled an emerald. It seemed to glow but Francis not being superstitious, tried to ignore this.
“Who are you?” Francis stammered again.
“You need not know who I am.” The creature replied, “I bring you instructions that you must follow if you plan to save your friend.”
Possibly because of the events that had occurred that day, Francis was already on edge. His tempered flared with yet another stranger in his home. He was never one to be over protective of his house or belongings but this was getting out of hand. How did this, thing, know everything that had occurred that day, much less what it was about? Surely this was madness, he had to be dead he told himself.
The creature spoke again, interrupting Francis‘s thoughts. “You are still very much alive young one. And in grave danger”
Francis, fuming at this point, snapped “Who the fuck are you?! Why are you in my house? How do you know about Cassandra?! What do you want?!”
As if Francis had said nothing the creature continued, “Francis, you have lived here for almost 100 years without disturbance other than those pesky human children knocking on your door. Trying to sell useless sweets and goods” He trailed off “I never understood why people traded goods for that.”
“Look you old creep, you have about 10 seconds to get the fuck out of my house.” Francis raised his revolver again, this time pulling the lever back and lining a shot up with the old creatures head.
“You will regret leaving this place Francis, you must stay. If you want to protect her, you will stay.”
Francis stood, stunned by the thought of staying here. He couldn’t stay, he already was almost killed today, they knew where he was now. The would surely send another.
“What are you talking about?” Francis bellowed. “That would be suicide!”
“You underestimate yourself Francis. You are more powerful than you realize. You have let your past consume your mind and cloud your vision.” This time the old creature stood, “You must stay here Francis, you have no choice”
Francis was done with this conversation. He was being insulted in his own home and now this thing was reading his mind it seemed. Still holding his line that he set moments ago, he fired three rounds at the creatures head. The shots echoed down the street “Probably woke the neighbors by now” Francis squinted through the smoke, an eerie smell of melted silver and gunpowder filled the air. The creature was no where to be seen. As if he vanished in thin air.
Francis looked around and saw three perfectly grouped shots in the wall behind his chair. “Well at least I know I can still shoot a good group” he though to himself.
Hearing sirens again, Francis ran through his house grabbing anything he may need for his trip. There was no way in hell he was going to listen to some fucking creep who can disappear at will. He would go to Cassandra’s. She was all he had left, he would be damned if he let something happen to her.
He grabbed the remaining silver rounds from his chest in the living room and loaded them into his revolver. “Lets hope I don’t need these” he thought to himself.
He went into his bedroom and stared in for a while. This had been his home for so long he hated that he was going to leave.
His bedroom was a place that he rarely visited, he never fancied having women over so there was not much use for his king sized 4 poster bed. It would be difficult to explain away his wings and occasional desire for warm blood. As a result, He usually slept in his chair in the other room.
Like the rest of his house he kept odds and ends from various countries around the world scattered about the room. Most resembled a Victorian nature but he also enjoyed relics from various cultures and religions. He often fancied himself as a theoligist, spending late nights reading ancient books on paganism and Wicca.
He ran over to his massive dresser and pulled out his old clothing. He would need it for upcoming events he was certain. Quickly changing, he slipped into a white shirt and a black leather vest. He wore black leather pants and tall boots that somewhat resembled what an archer would wear in the middle ages.
He affixed a gold plate to each shoulder, each was beautifully hand crafted and gifted to him just before he had left home. He didn’t hold on to much but these were almost a necessary item to have. They were dotted with various stones such as Garnet and Amethyst. He was told that the pads contained great power and he would one day learn how to use them. Still to this day he had not figured out whether that person was full of shit or not. He just considered them a nice piece of trim.
He walked to the back of his room and opened his closet. The inside was massive. He only kept one thing in here though, his battle cloak. It was very heavy, made out of the finest material one could find. The outside layer a dark black hide of unknown origin. The inside, fine red velvet, it would keep anyone warm at the coldest temperatures. Another gift of his ancestors, it had been in his family for hundreds of generations but still looked brand new. Francis had convinced himself that it had a mind of its own and kept itself clean.
Examining it closer, losing himself in his own thoughts, he heard a knock at the door. “Open up! It’s the police!”
“Shit” Francis thought. He looked around frantically, “Where are my daggers?”
Francis had been gifted a set of six daggers by Cassandra after they had made their escape from Ireland. Hand crafted, perfectly balanced, the handles glinting with various gems, they were an essential weapon to Francis’s arsenal.
“There!” They were hanging from a post on his bed, sitting perfectly in a leather vest that he had made from deer hide just after Cassandra had gifted them to him.
He grabbed the vest, not bothering to put it on and ducked back into the living room.
There was another knock at the door “Open up!”
He couldn’t risk going to the door, not after what had happened today. Or did they even know? “Fuck it” he thought, “I am not taking any chances”
He snuck out the back door and took on a full sprint towards the woods behind his house. It was a good 200 meters to the wood line but for him that was no measure. Being a pure breed he could run at lightning speeds. After reaching the forest, he peered back at his house. He heard a crash as the front door was busted down and the department flooded his house.
“Bastards” he muttered. He looked up, the night was still clear as ever. It would be dangerous to fly like this but he would have to risk it. He had to find Cassandra. She live north of him but it would easily be an hour before he reached the border.
Taking flight again he headed north.