dice_junkie

The last time I saw Grey Lotus was in Arjuf, the day I graduated from the House of Bells. I hadn't expected any members of my sworn brotherhood to be there to congratulate me as I left the walled compound. They and all that happened in primary school seemed so distant and I had all but forgotten that ritual we'd undergone on my fifteenth year. Yet, there she was, staring at me with wide eyes as I stepped forward. The look on her face told me she wasn't here for pleasantries and I walked past her without even a cursory glance to her. She let me get three steps past her before she wheeled around and shouted at me with an accusatorial tone.
"Why! Why, Spark of Imminent Explosion!? Why do you walk from this place, destined to be a general; while my brother was carried from here, wrapped in his funeral vestments?"
Her eyes began to fill with tears and I halted in my steps, allowing her words to break like the surf upon the cliff of my back. For a long moment, we stood there, two armlengths away, in silent repose but for her strangled attempts to hold back her frustrated sobs.
"Answer me!" She cried urgently, wanting answers.

I had them, but not the ones she wanted to hear. "White Orchid knew the risks of his chosen school. He died fighting as he wanted. He was a brave man."

She found my reply indignant and reacted in kind. "That's it?! You're not even sorry are you! I am hurting and you don't even care! I thought we were friends! I thought..." Her angry words died upon her lips as I shrugged off the crimson silk shirt I wore around my torso.

"For three days and nights I hung, bound to the post in the center of the main compound. On the first, I was whipped by my fellow students. On the second, by my teachers. And on the third, your father was allowed inside to pay his respects. The greatest scars are his. I have already done my hurting... I have no more pain left to feel for you, Grey Lotus." She stood there, stunned and revulsed as she stared at the pattern of intersecting lines that claimed by shoulders and back. I reshouldered my shirt and continued walking, never to look back.

When one thinks of the supernatural traits of the undead, you can't help but fall back on literature and Hollywood. Mesmerizing gazes, scaling sheer surfaces, turning into a bat; these were the bread and butter of vampiric super powers. Or as demonstrated by Buffy's Angel, Kevin Borneau's super strength... Does a great ass count as a super power? I digress. These things are all a bunch of superstitious nonsense.
For Daniel, being a vampire just seemed to enhance his already inherent abilities. A good hooker knows how to draw attention when customers are needed and how to avoid notice when the five-oh is prowling. Daniel could do both of these before his embrace, but now? Now, he could turn heads with his mere presence, no matter the situation. And once those rapt gazes were his, the merest smile and blown kiss could entrance hearts and an icey stare with pouty lips curled into a angry growl struck mortals and immortals alike with fear.
At the other end of the spectrum, when Daniel wanted to be more subtle or stealthy, his whims manifested somehow. There was no flash, no bang, no charging up while yelling in some weird posture. Instead, people just ignored him, their eyes drifting past him like he wasn't even there. If Daniel desired for a second to be somebody else, again those around him saw him for what he pictured in his mind's eye. Tres' nifty.
So how then, did Daniel explain this other thing inside of him? Fact was, he really couldn't. In life, Daniel was never afraid of serpents as many people were. They were just big phallic objects. Is it any wonder that primitive tribes considered the great constrictors to be fertility symbols, celebrated by emulating dances? The sinewy creatures always seemed dressed for action in constant leather, fashionably patterned in mother nature's hues. Yes, Daniel had seen his share of anacondas ::smirk:: and even owned a boa for a few years as a teenager, till mother made him get rid of it for it's growing size.
But, respecting snakes and being one were two different things. And being one seemed to be exactly what his blood yearned for, evidenced by his growing repetoire of inhuman qualities. At first he wasn't sure when or why they would manifest, but now he was beginning to have a snaking suspicion. Or is that sneaking? Anyways, thinking back to the emergence of his paralyzing stare, he knew it followed soon after a feeding accident resulted in the unfortunate death of one of his customers. The serpent's hypnotic quality was just a myth, in truth many prey species of the expert hunters freeze in place in fear as they attempt to evade notice by their reptilian predator. Just superstition right? But that's exactly what Daniel's prey did when he so wished it. Most disturbing of all, he'd seen for himself in a mirror what that gaze could do, finding himself unable to tear his gaze away from those unblinking golden orbs of cthonian depth.
Daniel hadn't given the timely emergence of the power much thought until the second quality appeared. It was just after a strangely liberating bondage session with his new friend, Lennon. Following behind Natasha in a darkened house, he found his tongue quivering reflexively. Was that a nervous tick? No, it was something else and he went with the flow, letting instint get the better of him and soon he found himself not so blind in the consuming darkness. He could feel the difference in stillness and motion in his surroundings...with his tongue! He licked his lips in strange exhultation of this new ability and it dawned on him that his tongue had narrowed into a thin whiplick lash, tipped with twin prongs. Curious to see the extent of it, when Natasha's attention was occupied down the stairs, he tried to touch his chin with his tongue, and found himself able to do that and much more. He wrapped the agile appendage around his own neck like a collar, caressed his shoulder blade and then retracted it into his mouth. Interesting? The connection was made. As Daniel gave in, either willingly or not to temptation, to perversion, to abandoning remorse... did it reflect in his physical form? Only time would tell how much further the change would progress.

Atlanta, 2001. It was a grim time to be in the middle of any American city. People were scared and angry. Fortunately for Daniel Boom, he was not people. It was a difficult time to be sexy, yet he did it with panache' that could make Zoro look clumsy. And so, he was dressed as Zoro, a very saucy Zoro, but the black clad Mexican avenger himself. Rowl. The mirror was ever polite as he surveyed himself and his chosen attire for the night. "Is that a sword in your pants or are you just happy to see me?" He posed curiously to himself with a chuckling smile. Sometimes, it was too easy.

Properly dressed for na'er-do-welling, he set out to find his coterie mates. He was barely out the door before he was mauled by a potential customer. Well, it was probably never a good thing to be a creature of the night on an empty stomach, so a quick run back upto his apartment for a big gulp and he was off again. Slurp! "Yum." He mused to himself while sucking each finger clean in unison, walking down the sidewalk. Back to his coterie mates. As he made his way to the local hang out, he pondered over each of them. There was Vincent, the practical minded Brit. He was so mysterious, never revealing much about his wants or needs. And of course, the coquettish Natasha, occult librarian. These two were his closest friends, and it ate him up that he really didn't know how to make them happy. He did the best he could, of course, by trying to be useful. But he was bound and determined to probe deeper into what made them tick, after all, everyone wanted something.

Then of course, there was Father Ryan, the Catholic Preist with a penchant for body modification. Tres kinky, right? So one would think, but alas it was not so. He was so stern and focused on money and power, it made him difficult to hang around. Unfortunately for Daniel's giving nature, the preist already seemed to accumulated more of the things he wanted than the flamboyant vampire could ever provide.

The Brady Bunch, they weren't, but they were family nonetheless and events around them proved interesting indeed. Those villainous devil worshippers, for it could only be THEM that were commiting these religious crimes, had struck the last nerve. Oh, they could rob banks and they could steal altars and break into churches. But beating up poor old Father Ryan was the straw that broke the camels back. They would pay for disrespecting his benefactor, they would pay indeed. Just as soon as he found a way to sic that crazy Mexican vampire on their smug satanic asses. The bastards.