Let's Play: Vampire: Bloodlines

[DFM]

Trying something new this time! I'm going to be switching to micro updates in favor of getting something up every day or every other day. Hopefully this way we won't see a huge break again, and also because both Dead Space and Mirror's Edge came in the mail today and I still haven't beaten Fallout 3 :gonk:




One plague bearer dead, one city saved, one go-getter out of ammo and over flowing with generous good will. Heather's probably still hanging around my place, unknowing blood junkie that she apparently is.

God damn it. Why can't the world just kick back and let me be a good guy? Why can't it say Oh, Helen, I see what you're trying to do. You go ahead and be good and everything's going to work out. I'm not going to fuck you over with horrible unforeseen consequences or anything like that. You go get 'em.



Maybe I'm just not doing it right. Good hasn't been my strong suite for as long as I can really remember. Maybe it'll just take awhile longer than most for me to learn the ins and outs of being a kinder, gentler monster.


Or at least faking one.



I shrug off the night chill and check the scratched out mailbox between three and five. I won't have any official mail but I might have a business request or a thank you note from Mercurio or Tung or someone else I'm sure I've helped out somewhere.



Not even a job request.



Heather's waiting for me. Even if it weren't a safe assumption on its own, I can... I don't know, I can feel her nearby. It's nothing, granted, compared to everything else I've been put through lately, but there's something intrusive and menacing about the feeling I can't quite place.



It's like I can feel a part of her inside me, or... I can feel a part of me inside her. That's not the blood, is it? I don't feel a part of me on the floor every time a wacko with a knife gets in a lucky hit.



"Heather?"



"Heather, are you there?"

Nothing. That's odd, I still haven't lost the feeling. Maybe it doesn't work by proximity? Is it normal to have it at all? Does it mean one of us is dying? Or gassy? Jesus Christ, there's too much shit to have to deal with when you're dead, I'm going to have to give Tung another call.



I move into the kitchen and pry open the fridge, eying unopened soda cans and a half finished wine bottle from an overpriced downtown restaurant amongst piles of hospital blood packs. Well.



Heather probably had some questions when she put the wine in there.



I toss the bag in the microwave and set the timer. Hmm. Not a bad setup LaCroix gave me for such a tiny place.



I prop my feet up on the coffee table and listen to the evening news. I don't even know what's going on in the States anymore, let alone the rest of the world.

"...search for Simon Milligan, host of the popular series Haunted L.A., who disappeared along with his crew during a shoot for an upcoming episode, continues tonight. Because of the nature of his television program, some are speculating that Simon Milligan's disappearance has super natural origins. Police, however, disagree."

He's probably dead now. Dead or wearing a dress and a traffic cone, who knows what that enchantress shit I pulled did to his brain. There isn't much more on the news. Grout's house fire spread to the surrounding country side despite the rain they've been getting, authorities just now getting it under control. A bus of tourists destined for Ankowat that'd disappeared a few weeks ago finally turned up, covered in vines and sans tourists. Sewer worker went missing in Hollywood yesterday, probably eaten by a werewolf. Or rat. Are there wererats? I'll have to ask Tung that, too.



God damn, I'm hungry.



I pull the still turning bloodpack from the microwave and bite into it, clutching the counter top with my free hand while hot euphoria rushes through me. God, I needed that. It wasn't as crazy ecstatic as the first time but for a little while I was alive again.



Heh.

I take the stairs up to the second story sitting room, maybe no one's left any packages, but they might have been shooting me some e-mails. I stop by the bedroom on the way, switching out my blood stained shirt for a clean one.



A little bulkier than what I'm used to, but probably faster than the laptop that was waiting at the shit hole.





One of them's a pat on the back from LaCroix, the other one... I don't know.



Alright, I'll humor them. Let's see, if we're dealing with people then the bishop must be Grout, which would make the king...


LaCroix?

So... LaCroix kills Grout... Nines is involved somehow? No, I can't imagine that taking place without Nines punching LaCroix to death. There might be some extenuating circumstances behind it, though. Hmm. LaCroix has Grout killed and frames Nines? No, LaCroix didn't seem exactly gung-ho about pinning the blame on him and the resulting war is probably going to be the death of everyone, LaCroix first and foremost. Hmm. Wait, maybe Nines is the bishop? Someone else behind the scenes is taking him out of the picture by getting him involved in this whole mess? But then who would that be and what would they benefit?



I can see the Anarchs wanting to start a war, most of them seem pretty short sighted, but isn't Nines more or less their leader? Who the hell's the king? And... now that I think of it, Nines seems way closer to a queen than a bishop and that'd be one fucking hell of a sacrifice.


Haha Nines is a queen.



"Helen!"

I jerk backwards and almost come out of my chair.

"Jesus, what the hell?"

"You're back! I was so worried, I went out to look for you but I couldn't find you anywhere I thought... oh god, I shouldn't even think something like that-"

"Slow- Woah, okay slow down, Heather. I'm fine. Well, physically. Sort of. I mean if you look at it in a certain light I'm fine."

"What? Helen, are you... are you sick? Oh god... I should have known, your skin, the blood in the fridge... oh god, I'm horrible, we need to get you to a hospital! I'll pay for everything, you shouldn't be walking aroun-"

"I said I'm fine. I'm not sick, I just have a condition."

"Oh... what's your... um, condition?"

I rub my nose and try to think of a way to say it without sounding like a retarded loon.

"Vampirism."

Whelp, so much for that.



"That's, like... slang for something, right? Like... anemia or something, right? Not like..." She raises her hands in her best Bella Lagosse impression. "...'BLAUGH! BLLAAAUGH!' vampire... right?"

I raise my hands and open my mouth, extended fangs glistening in the monitor glow.

"Blaugh..." It's pathetic and self aware, like it should have been done with a shameful half smile. At least it wasn't threatening.

"This... this isn't funny anymore."

"I'm a little insulted you found it funny in the first place." I stand up and slide the chair back under the desk. I think this is the kind of conversation that should be had at eye level.

"Look, I don't want to sound ego maniacal but I was never exactly a slouch when it came to self-preservation and even I've barely survived a few days with this shit. A high school drop out-"

"Um... I'm actually going to UCLA."

"Oh. What's your major?"

"Fashion Design. I think I'm pretty creative."

"Oh."

There's a heavy silence that hangs in the air for a moment or two before I remember what I'd been meaning to talk about.

"Alright, anyway-"



"Look, Helen, I don't care what you are. I don't even care if you're nothing. I've... never felt this way about someone before. I know it's... I mean... I know you're a girl but... even you don't... I mean, even if you don't feel the same way, I still want to be with you. I... I need you, Helen."

She wraps her arms around my back and it takes most of my willpower not to recoil.

"I love you."