To Steal A Mockingbird

[CixWicked]

I stood there again, amid the dichotomy of light and darkness, the somberness of a grave though ever filled with thrumming thumping sounds of misguided youth. It was the club, my old stomping grounds, returned to me after a 6 year hiatus.

Even in a place of supposed ‘eternal darkness’ things changed; walls, music, people. Even Immortals undergo change. The way we perceive the world, the meaning we re-glean from lessons long ago taken. We may be eternal but, just like the club, sounds and it’s quiet, dark people, we change – sometime for the better… often times not.

I stepped through the veil, into the requiem, and felt the pulse of life, and music surround me, pulling at me from all sides. I sensed my brothers and sisters here, using their dark gifts to commune with the others of my kind. I sensed Nadya here as well, a soft thrill of excitement etched on the forms of the dark people swaying against the rhythm all around me. She knew I was there… had to feel it with the change of the thrum of the chorus as I moved into the room.

The requiem is what the dark people… the mortal Goths that frequented the club, called the dance floor. To them the movements, and gyrations were a simple expression of art, or dance… it was a release of pent up energy, and desire. But the question that none ever asked was on the origins of said energy. A single, and ancient source… us.

Darkness encased bodies all around -- scrumptious flesh enwrapped in black vinyl, leather, and lace -- a testiment to the darkness that spawned the immortal us, and their mortal homage to our progenerate nature. We teach them to love darkness which gives them to embrace their fear. We teach them with the dark gifts, and touch their souls with shards of our own essence that they msy carry with them.

I pushed through the thrum, light teasing into the dark requiem, falling short of my ancient eyes, as the man made shields of obsidian glass held them at bay. The song was one of my favorites… a modern rendition of some ancient and classical piece of a muses gift. Delicious boys and girls swam past me, arms high above their heads, or flailing ever so slowly before them. They spun in and out like agitated molecules searching for surface and release.

One such creature stopped before me… a slender, and androgynous male encased in an almost offensive white. His hips jerked left to right, violently taking each time and tempoed beat of the song, but in the energy that past from him, were the whispers of another of us.

What are you doing back in Detroit, Chaeson…?

The feeling was unhappy, urgent, and as angry as the androids movements. I snapped my finger, and sent back two simple words, meant to be as offensive to us as to them.

Fuck off…

The rhythm went wild, caught a tiny girl adorned in black, who fell to her knees sliding across the floor into the den, pounding her fist into her spread thighs… the people around her picked up on the mood, as well, the attitude of the crowd becoming more and more violent and sexual.

I cast a glance around, catching a glimpse of her for the first time… shoulder length auburn hair, and the dark seeming of the immortals, outside the light. She was only there for a second, before the veil obfuscated her again. Shadow play. I chuckled.

Another woman slid before me now, blocking my approach to where Nayda had been dragged back into the veil. She was a stunning creature, pale soft skin, and heaving curvaceous… everything. She was adored like a chamber maid, given leather dreams to enwrap her perfect body. Long, multicolored tails entwined her deep black hair, and makeup and perfume perfected her beautifully chiseled form.

Chaeson, you fool… Nadya’s now Jacob’s thrall… she still owes…

Again, with my patented response the flesh doll spun away, violence and sex taking over the previous air of seduction that rode her. I reached the spot where I had seen her, and pushed my essence out into the void between souls… hers was there… like a faint memory, telling me that it had been her, but Jacob’s taint was still heavily upon her.

I smiled again, and reached for the small pouch of flowers in my jacket pocket. As I felt the power coursing through them, a hand landed on my shoulder… this too hand Jacob’s stench all over it, but not the gift… he wasn’t a thrall… he was a bouncer.

“Excuse me sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to leave…”

I turned to the dark person behind me. He wasn’t Goth, he was just dark. A six and a half foot, 400 pound wall of dark flesh and muscle. Mortal, and cocky, but just the same he wasn’t alone. It looked like he brought two of his identical twins along with him. Jacob didn’t want me to get in touch with Nadya, and he made sure I knew. .

“Leave?” I said a little too cocky for my own good. “I just got here….”

The gift takes many forms for us… some have the ability to twist ones minds, or thoughts or memories. Some have the adept of the physical, others may call to them the minions of the night. All these gifts are ours to learn, but each of us is born with one special gift, that we are masters of, above all others.

My gift was called Rapport…

I gave a smile, and pushed my gift… my rapport into my voice.

“Look, I really mean no harm…” I opened my arms to show no resistance, just friendship… the flowers in the pouch thrummed in my palm, but the man never even looked at it. “I’m just having a good time… Talk to Ron, at the door… tell him that Cix wants to buy drinks for the whole staff…”

I patted tiny on the shoulder, and he smiled, nodding.

”OK, Cix…” he said, turning and pushing past his large wall of boyfriends. The two of them looked puzzled, but reluctantly followed. I knew the ruse would last only a short while.

I turned again, to the spot where Nayda had been snatched away, and poured the potpourri into my palm. I looked at them there in my hand, and breathed in their strong, sweet aroma…

Flowers have power all their own. They are what the angels used to manage the power of god, and hone it into the tools of creation. That had been the jist of one of Finiri’s lessons to me back several lifetimes ago. Flowers are the true power in the world… they hold residue of miracles… magic.

These flowers began to wilt and burn as I spoke the words to activate their spell… the energy with in them washed out, through me, and took my bidding and will into reality. In an instant, all the sources, and gifts failed… things once obfuscated scurried to real shadow, trying to retreat from the light. Dancers fell out of step, having lost the immortals gifts of muse, and to the left of me, perhaps 10 yards away, my beautiful Nayda.

I stepped quickly through the crowd, feeling the slowly dwindling confusion… my spell wouldn’t last long. Nayda’s expression was a mix of joy and fear. She knew that the thrall would only be broken for a short time, but she missed me almost as much as I missed her.

I threw my arms around her, pulled her to me, and looked into her soft, hazel eyes.

“Chaeson…” She whispered sleepily, wearily. “you came for me…”

<to be continued>

NOTES ABOUT THE WORK:

Some of this may seem a little off. Some things you should know. When I write fiction, I try to put myself and people that I know into the roles of the characters. My switching from Chaeson to Cix isn't a mistake. Chaeson is a character that I modled after me, and my thought is that when someone lives forever, they don't use their given names continuously, so when he's speaking to mortals he goes by Cix. Immortals of course, know his given name, which will be a device that I use through out the story. When you hear someone use his given name you know they are someone important, and probably someone supernatural, if not Immortal.

This is only the beginning of this work, but please feel free to post comments on it, ask questions, or what have you. Let me know what you think.

CixWicked

[phee]

This makes me want to go clubbing