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."

[Funka Genocide]

this is totally worth visiting npf for, ha ha.

[Mirai Gen]

Plot = thickening.

Also Dead Space is the greatest game ever, and you are going to love it.

If it was for PC I'd do a Let's Play of that.

[ReaperRain]

Sheesh, finally, an update. Those withdrawal symptoms were starting to get on top of me
Ah geez, I knew this would happen...now Helen's gonna have to break Heather's heart, or become a lesbian. And I really can't see the latter happening. Welp, I'll be awaiting the next update *waits*

[DFM]

I take her by the wrists and push her arms away from me.

"Look, Heather, you can't stay here. You're in so far over your head I don't think you can imagine it. I didn't save you just to watch you get eaten by a basement dwelling cannibal or burned alive by some fuckoff ghost-"

"Then let me stay."

Her desperate tone begins to slowly shift, becoming almost coldly logical.



"Even if I leave... even if I never see you again, those things aren't going to go away. If there really are monsters under my bed and hiding in my closet, closing my eyes and pretending they aren't there isn't exactly the safest thing I could imagine."

"I don't-"

"But if I'm here with you, you can teach me what's out there. What to look for, how to defend myself, when I should run, when I should fight, and..." She blushes only slightly, glancing at the wall. "...I don't think many of them are going to want to go through you."

Oh god, is she right? If she were close by I could keep an eye on her, but... if someone ever wanted to come after me, they could go through her. But if they did that, it'd mean they couldn't come after me directly and if they're not strong enough to do that, I might be able to teach Heather enough about home defense to deal with them on her own. She's no super human, but ghouls aren't slouches either, fuck Mercurio survived being thrown through a meat grinder. But.. do I really want to do that? I don't want to deal with some creepy blood-drunk dyke fawning all over me and pulling her into a world where she HAS to defend herself might not be the right thing even if she can do it.

"Heather, I have to think about this. I've got a job I need to do tomorrow, I'll talk to you afterwards."



"Job? What kind of job?"

"Just something at the museum. You'd better go, it's getting late. Early."

"Alright... just... think about what I said. I'll see you tomorrow."



She leaves down the stairs without another word and for the first time, I'm not sure what the right thing really is.



Hell, for the first time I care.



I need to sleep on it. Rest. It's been a long day. Night, I mean.





I'm never going to see the sun again...





I wake up, still without any of the grogginess I'd come come to expect before all of... this. I still don't know what's going on, sometimes I think everyone's just playing some weird joke on me, sometimes I think I'm dreaming ,sometimes I think...

I don't know. If it was just this vampire thing, I could buy it as some kind of genetic condition or maybe even a transmittable virus, but there's so much more than just pale skin and sharp teeth. There's transmutations, regeneration, ghosts, werewolves, mummies, magic fucking super powers and a billion other things I've never seen hiding in some semi-mythological underworld. If all that's real... what else is? God? Satan? Beckett, Grout... probably others, they've spent so long trying to find a rational purpose or reason for all of this and they keep coming up empty handed.



Heather's waiting for me already. That's totally normal and not creepy at all.



"Helen! Listen, you said you were going to the museum, right?"

"Yes, is there-"

"I know a guy there who works day shift security, I talked to him and got a key to the rooftop access, none of the guards patrol that high up. Whatever you need in there, you'll be able to slip in right under their nose." She hands me a silver key, rolling her eyes slightly. "Well, over it."

I take the key and raise an eyebrow.

"Your kidding. Just like that? He must be a hell of a friend."



"Well, no. I don't know him all that well..." She runs her fingers through her hair. "I just... I don't know how I talked him into it, actually..." She's more confused than anything. I don't know if she's lying or there's some kind of Evil Voice trickle down from parent to ghoul.

"Thank you, Heather." I don't try very hard to hide the surprise in my voice, I hadn't expected her to actually be useful.



"I just wanted to give you something to think about before, you know... before you made a decision. I can help you. Even if you don't... I mean, I still want to be important to you."



She mumbles out a goodbye before leaving and I take a glance at the apartment before I follow suit. I know LaCroix said not to kill anybody, but there's a difference between looking for a fight and practicing self defense.



Not that I'd need it against a bunch of security guards, but you never know who else is after the sarcophagus.



I step out onto the street and it's just as cold as it always is, but at least it's not raining.



The walk to Larry's doesn't take long, but for some reason the city feels darker than I remember it being. I can't put my finger on why or even what but it feels... different.



Huh. CDC's still here. Figured they'd tone down their street presence now that the plague's starting to die off.



"Larry. I need some ordinance. .45 ACP and a pail of buckshot."



"Baby girl you an OG cop killa, ain't ya? I'm liable to run outta stock if you keep droppin' people."

"Have to make sure they stay dead, don't you?"

He laughs, taking the cash and hading over most of his visible supply of ammunition.

"Ain't it the truth? Good luck baby girl, come back when you need some more."

"Would your favorite customer do anything else?"



I should pick up the doll Pisha wanted while I'm there. Hrm. I hope there aren't too many Twilight Zone stars running around in real life, I don't know if I could put up with goblins on top of everything.



"Where to?"

"The Natural History Museum off of Hollywood. LaCroix-"

"-Wishes you to retrieve the sarcophagus, yes? Then we should hurry. There are a great many who would claim the casket for themselves."

I slip into the backseat and slam the door as the cab pulls away from the curb.

"How'd you know about that?"

"A cab driver hears many things. Not every client is content with idle chatter."

"Makes me glad I had a chauffeur."

"I am sure the cab drivers are as well."

The cabbie doesn't say much else for the rest of the drive and I don't have any urge to break the silence. He drops me off a few blocks from the museum and I manage to make my way up the fire escape to the roof access without much trouble. If you'd asked me a week ago what I'd be doing today...



I use Heather's key to unlock the access door. No sign of any security, probably not expecting anyone from the top. Heather might actually be useful. And staying is what she really wants, right?

I take the stairs down, dress shoes clicking on the stone. There's a musty scent in the air, but it seems... artificial. Not sure if that makes it worse or better. Still can't hear anybody, must not even patrol the top stories. I open the door at the bottom of the stairs and ta-




OH JESUS FUCK




I lie on the ground where I'd fallen backwards, pistol hastily raised at the stoic predator. It isn't until a few moments later that I realize I'm not about to have my shoulder torn from chest.



I'm such a fucking idiot.



I leave the hilarious prank behind and move down the hallway, closing in on the museum's main entrance. If what LaCroix said is right, the basement to the storage should be just off the front offices.



There, just past this door. I should be on the second story.



Great.



Ten to one at least some of these displays are going to spring to life and eat me alive.


Dead.


Jesus fuck I hate undead limbo.



The floor I'm on acts like a balcony that runs the entirety of the museum's two story grand entrance. I should be able to find some stairs down and then it's just a matter of evading security patrols while I make my way to the basement.



Yeah right, I had a Sega.



I pass just underneath the mounted head when the roar almost knocks me off my feet, more from shock than from volume. What the fuck? I glance up at the immobile head. Oh shit motion triggered tourist gag. I glance around, the click-clack of hard shoes growing louder.



I duck behind a waste bin in the main entry, eying the guard's approach. He's still a ways away, I've got time to duck into an adjoining room before he sees me.



This is of course when I choose the bathroom. The slow trickle of water coming from one of the stalls doesn't do much to boost my confidence in my choice of hideaway.



Shit.

I creep as quickly as I can through the bathroom's far door.



This is hardly ideal.



Nevermind.





I'll admit that I never thought of crawling vents as a viable means to accomplish anything besides getting killed in some manner or another.





As much as this makes me feel like some kind of vermin, I sincerely hope I never have to do it again.



I keep going down the vent until I reach another grate that looks like it can be forced open.



If I've learned anything by now it's that falling haphazardly into an unknown and probably dangerous situation is apparently the best solution to any problem.

I drop from the ventilation shaft, half landing on an office desk and half landing on nothing.



Thank god nobody on security detail thinks the offices might need checking up on.



Bingo, stairs to the basement. Shouldn't be too much trouble now.

...You know, LaCroix never said how exactly I'm supposed to lug the thing out of here. Maybe I could mind-fuck some maintenance guys to haul it out for me? I guess I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.





Well... that's not quite as straight forward as I would have hoped.



Complete with security cameras. Wonderful.



I dart around a labyrinth of color coded hallways, dodging cameras and patrolling guards while following the helpful guidelines painted onto the floor, each one conveniently failing to mention what I'm supposed to follow it to.



I duck into one of the miscellaneous rooms dotting the utility maze to avoid a passing patrol when I feel something watching me. Like Ocean House, but... concentrated. Like a single set of eyes instead of a pantheon. I turn around and search where it seems to be coming from, the feeling growing more intense as I get nearer. I slip the gun from the back of my waistline.





Well how about that.



I can still feel it watching me from my pocket, worse, I can hear it now, but it's just... making silence. I don't mean it's not making noise, It's making noise but it's silent noise. I don't know if that makes any sense, but this little thing is fucking creepy and I want it as far away from me as possible.



I follow the hallway awhile more before swinging down another story, following a storage sign that I hope to god is where they're keeping the stupid thing because I can't deal with all this Mission Impossible shit much longer.



Fuck you.


The lights flicker for a moment, and when they come back on half the lasers are out, the other half shorting out at random intervals. The thing in my pocket screams silently a little louder.



I don't care if it's helping, fuck that little guy.



I clear the security field and turn the corner that leads to the storehouse door. Got to be in there somewhere.



Suitably dark and eerie.



Must be the door at the end of the hall, I don't see it anywhere here. My footsteps creak on the wooden floor, dust filling the air around me. That musky smell is stronger now, less artificial, too.



Fingers crossed there's not some unholy god sitting in an open casket around a bunch of ash and bodies.



Phew. Just-



Oh you're shitting me.

[DFM]

"I still can't understand why someone would go through the trouble of stealing a box with a very ancient corpse. The finish was nice enough, but the city's not that dull."

I turn to the voice coming from my left.

"Beckett? What happened to the fucking box?"

He scratches his chin, half mockingly.

"Since it's missing, I'm inclined to believe it was stolen. Or intentionally misplaced, if you like. Clearly though, it's not here."

"And I suppose you didn't steal it."

"Hmm. Interesting choice of words. Weren't you here to take it away? Wouldn't that make you the attempted thief?"

"I'm under direct orders from LaCroix."

"That certainly doesn't make it theft."

"Alright look, if you weren't here to take it what are you doing here?"



"I'm an archaelogist, so I thought I'd indulge in a quick study of this... Ankaran Sarcophagus everyone's so riled up about. My guess, from what I've read, is that it's a mummified Mesopotamian king. Of course, I needed confirmation."

"Then you didn't steal it."

"If I stole it, I would know where it was, and most likely wouldn't be looking for it here."

"And you didn't get a chance to look at it?"



"Oh, I really wish I had. All this speculation about the sarcophagus containing an Antediluvian and being a portent of Gehenna is making me cringe. These are the kinds of ridiculous, superstitious assumptions I came here to debunk."

"Gehenna?"

"Armageddon, doomsday, the end of all Kindred. It's a common facet of most mythologies- fear that the world will end. Many believe Caine and the Antediluvians will return to consume or destroy all Kindred. I wholehearedly disagree."

"Caine? You mean from Caine and Able?"

"Yes, more or less. Caine is the biblical first Kindred and founder of the mythological First City, Enoch, a place where Kindred and kine coexisted. I believe Caine's a figure concocted to personify the transition from a nomadic society to an agrarian one. That myth, like most, has been twisted by time."

"And he's supposed to bring about this... end of the world, Gehenna?"



"As I said, many cultures have the fear of some form of apocalypse. Kindred believed in these stories when they were human, and naturally carried them over into Kindred myth. But it doesn't take a supernatural act to cause widespread destruction. Humans and Kindred are just as capable of managing their own destruction as a deity, something you should understand more than most, being the... what was it? 'Merchant of Menace'?" He chuckles to himself. "A self-realized Gehenna warrants more vigilance than a god-induced one, don't you agree? Such is my argument... which so frequently falls on deaf ears."

I take a glance at the broken wood where the coffin used to be. I'd been starting to doubt the superficial nature of what I'd seen on the Dane.

"Are there any signs for it? The end of the world, I mean?"

Beckett half smiles.

"What prophecy doesn't have vague, apocryphal signs? Let's see... the usual ones cited are the apperance of thin-bloods, Caine sightings, doom, gloom, that route."

"And you're trying to debunk it?"



"For three hundred years I've been trying to determine the function of our existence, the Kindred's role in the world. I'm not content to attribute it to some act of supernatural, biblical vengeance. We exist for a reason, and if it takes me another three hundred, I'll figure it out."

He eyes me for a moment, almost coyly.

"Hmm. Any thoughts?"

I rub my temple, trying to clear out the muck of everything that's been happening.

"I imagine it's some kind of disease, communicable, obviously. I have no idea how it would do all of this or why a debilitating disease would have so many extreme and varied symptoms, but... I barely finished high school, I'm not exactly a scholar."

He smiles again, rubbing his chin.

"Yes, I've heard that theory before, although it's not exactly popular amongst Kindred who like to view themselves as above humanity instead of alongside it or, even worse, beneath it. I suppose it goes to show you don't have to be Malkavian to be nonsensical."

He tilts his hand and head away from each other.

"At any rate, it's always seemed like a plausible theory, but so far I've been able to uncover little proof to support it. Still, for being almost a high school drop out, you've managed to come up with a better explanation than a divine sentence for manslaughter, which I think places you a good ways ahead of most of your peers."



"Remember, the truth won't be told in time - it will be told by us. Well, my work here's stolen away into the night, so I suppose I shall do the same."

With a quick farewell, Beckett disappears into the darkness and I'm left standing near an empty platform. It doesn't take long for me to backtrack through the museum, and when I reach the exit, the cab's waiting for me. I ask if he'd been waiting long, but he said he hadn't. Damned if I know how he knew when to pick me up. The drive back to downtown is quieter than it'd been earlier and I think about what Beckett had told me. It seems silly to worry about the end of the world, but... on the other hand...



Oh boy.



Helen, you got some 'splaining to do.

[Kerensky287]

Oh man, I was so disappointed when the dinosaur turned out to be an exhibit.

[Jagos]

That and the part when she sees the sarcophagus were pretty funny.

[Mirai Gen]

Awesome last line was awesome.

[ReaperRain]

OH JESUS FUCK

Yeah, that was pretty much how I reacted to the dinosaur as well
I love Helen's one-liners. Not often you find a story that's scary, dramatic, informative and funny on top of it all *waves DFM banner* Keep 'em coming!