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Chapter 8 [Jan. 30th, 2005|05:23 pm]
The Blood of Man
___connor_____
New York City, New York
Angel Investigations
Connor


"No, Father," I say into the phone for the millionth time. It seems someone - and I use that term loosely - said that his help was needed while on the phone to my Father.

"It's just... - No, I know... - No! You don't need to come down here. Spike was just being... - Yes, I know you're always willing to help but... - Look I've got to go soon and... - Yes, I'll tell her. Goodbye."

I'm going to stake Spike - if he ever shows.

Hanging up the phone, I check the time again. The play starts in four hours and if Spike doesn't get here soon, I'll have to meet these Gra'lacks alone. Not that I can't handle it - or them - but I'd prefer not to have to kill anything today. Plus, they don't like to be kept waiting…we seem to have that in common.

Oh, great…here he is. He walks in through the office door, cocky, like this place is his as well, that shit-kicking grin ever-present on his face. If only he knew I was planning his death just minutes before. He wouldn't be smiling like this then.

“So, you decided to show up. I was beginning to think these New York demons were too much for your lazy Californian ass,” I chide as I flop onto the couch.
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Chapter 7 [Jan. 30th, 2005|05:08 pm]
The Blood of Man
___spike_____
New York City, New York
Hotel Room
Current Day
Spike


"Yeah, well, you'd think she'd come to her own sister's production 'stead of trollipin’ around who knows where," I say into the phone. Seems I'm not the only one who's a bit heated by Buffy's absence. However, the one person that should be right arsed off is bloody happy as can be.

Got into a nice school up here after things settled down a bit. Dawn finished up her schoolin' in Italy when Buffy could still be found, but she wanted to come back to the States. Though god only knows why. Better off in Europe I'd think, but didn't ask my opinion.
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Chapter 6 [Dec. 14th, 2004|08:57 pm]
The Blood of Man
___lestat_____
Early Evening
Next Day
Lestat


If things such as myself were capable of dreaming, I fear I would have dreamt that day. I would have dreamt of William. Nightmares I am sure of it, would have wound their way into it, making me see things that were not there. Nevertheless, I have not dreamed since I was a mortal, and those I can no longer remember.

I do not rise to greet the night, but instead lay lethargically amongst my pillows and Jessie. She has not risen yet and I do not wish to wake her. She would only insist on hunting down William. A task I am not yet ready to do.

Such things she must think of him, of me, I can only imagine. She is still young, with room enough to think things are wondrous before they appear gruesome and old through time and trials. She does not know what this...stranger may bring, for he is just that, a stranger. An intriguing one for sure, but he is foreign to us just the same. I do not think she understands that point, however. She thinks one conversation over a century ago is more than enough to remember him by, but he has changed, as have I, as has the world.

I close my eyes again, thinking of that young William and of the image I had glanced upon at the bar. Similarities to be sure, but differences as well. It was the cheekbones, that perfectly sculpted face, that made me certain it was he. How many living statues come to life can there be?

Reaching out with my mind, I let it roam through those mortals living around us and even those not so close. I prod and probe, though that is not quite a good description, for them to tell me where he is. I feed them the image I have of the blond with startling blue eyes. So many have seen him, but know nothing of him. He seems to be everywhere and nowhere at once, like a shadow of a memory, nothing more than what I have. Moreover, maybe it is I feeding them these images so that they are being reflected back to me. I do not know how this works other than it does.

This is more than discouraging. I do not wish to be disappointed so, but more than that, I do not want him to be gone. But there, a flash of him, standing, and smoking, another flash of him laughing. Who is it that knows him? Who is it that knows that face so well to know how it smiles? Something is blocking me from the name of the one who shows me these visions. The face is not available to me. Ah, but they give me something else of value, a place and a time. I would thank them, if they would allow, but it is not to be. They know I am here and do not wish me to stay. So instead, I pull back into myself, shutting away the voices and cries of the many that rush to me. Prayers they think I can answer, but I cannot.

Who is it, the one that knows his schedule, where he will be and when? A friend? A lover? Does he even know that someone knows him so intimately as to know when he will appear next? Surely, he would not just allow random mortals to know his habits. Though, would he? Is that something unique to these other vampires? That they allow mortals into their life? It did not seem so when I met him years ago.

I feel Jessie stir beside me, slowly awakening from the deep slumber that immobilizes even the oldest of us when the sun shows itself. It is like watching a flower unfold from a long winters slumber, stretching out to show its self to the bright spring morning light. Only we wake to the night, the coldness of the moon and stars. We unfold like bats from a cave, seeking food, prey, and blood.

I gaze down at her, the dark red tresses of her hair flow like water around her as she moves. I do so love her hair, and the eyes, the sheer brilliance of them. I wonder if she has looked at her eyes lately, seen the colors that wage war in a never-ending battle for dominance, but always the green seems to shine the brightest. Her skin is pale, though it is not so much paler from that which she bore in life. Her lips are like that of a pale pink rose still in bud form. They quiver at the edges, attempting not to smile at me, I am sure.

"Good Evening, my sweet," I say, leaning down to kiss those lips softly. I do not wish to bruise such delicate beauty such as that. Too many times have I done that in the past.
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Chapter 5 [Nov. 18th, 2004|07:35 pm]
The Blood of Man
___jessie_____
In Lestat's Arms.

He let me see through his blood and into his memories, he let me know - and still it is not enough, not by half. Questions form in my mind faster than I can comprehend what they are or form even the simplest of sentences from them. They flow through like spider webs, forming intricate designs, and thoughts - just waiting to catch the next bit of information.

I stay seated on his lap, my head lying on his shoulder. It is not a sexual thing, but a form of comfort. Someone to hold when everything around you is so overwhelming you fear you may fall. I do not know, however, if it is I holding him or him holding me. Either way, we shall not fall this night.

I close my eyes and listen to the night around me. The busy whirr of life hums in my ears, threatening to deafen me. People, humans, cry out in pain and anguish. They laugh and cry with joy, and through it all, I am but a witness to it all.

I try hard to process what my mind has seen through Lestat's blood. To show me like that though ... Why? Was there something in that vision of blood that I have missed? Some seemingly mundane fact or look that I have skipped over in my ignorance?

"You fed with him that night, didn't you," I say, lifting my head and laying a small kiss on Lestat's lips. "You fed and watched him feed off the humans in that place. You talked and whiled away the hours until it was time for you to retreat."
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Chapter 4 [Nov. 12th, 2004|09:46 pm]
The Blood of Man
___spike_____
Flashback
1890
London, England
William


I've had enough of this. Some bloke followin' me round, creepin' in the shadows like I can't see him there. Even Dru said somethin' 'bout him coming by. I'd seen him the other night, hangin' round the pub. Ran into him. Now he's here. What's that all 'bout then? I walk up to him. He doesn't even notice me - too preoccupied with somethin'. Finally, he turns round. Knew it was him. There is somethin' different 'bout him though. I knew it when I passed him. Dead - like me, but different.

"What in the bloody 'ell do you want?” I ask. No sense in beatin' round the bush and what not.

He stays silent, not sayin' a thing, just lookin' at me. Probably thinks it would make me afraid or somthing. If that's what he thinks, he's sorely mistaken. I stare back at him, not blinkin' an eye. A smile breaks on his face, grinnin' like mad then he starts laughin', as if there's somthin' funny. Nutter this one is.
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The Blood of Man [Nov. 1st, 2004|10:17 pm]
The Blood of Man
___lestat_____
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Welcome to The Blood of Man. This fic is NC-17 for language and sexual situations. Sit and enjoy your stay.

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