Extraneous Information™
 
“Mr.  and Mrs.  America, you are wrong.  I am not the king of the Jews, nor am I a hippie cult leader.  I am what you have made of me, and the mad dog devil killer fiend leper is a reflexion of your society.  Whatever the outcome of this madness that you call...Christian Justice, you can know this : In my mind’s eye, my thoughts light fires in your cities”   - Charles Manson

Harlot in her costume of death
Saint with lies upon his breath
locked together under quirk of fate
beckoning welcome at Passion’s gate.
A stolen kiss, forbidden touch
Needing to feel, breaching trust
Dreams are all they’ll ever share;
no Deity can heed this prayer.

My body is not attached to me...you see, we are not one and the same, my body and me.  I feel on the outside, briefly, fleetingly, and on the inside I yearn for one thing.  And while my body is not me (which is almost always), it plays and hurts and fucks and that is the extent of my body’s pleasures.  My sex does not define me; I am indifferent.  The blood runs in my veins but there is little other existence.  I am not within me but rather exist separately - fundamentally dichotomized.  The breath within me, the voice in my throat, all of this is not me.  The heart that beats - that is not me.  I do not know where I am, but your touch is hollow, sinful pleasure.  I care for you, of course...or at least, something cares for you which I am presuming is me.  But I don’t love you.  Not that way, not this way, not ever.  You are beautiful, but you are part of me-which-is-not-me.  They must not see.  They must be blind.  The eyes you look into see nothing of you because they do not love you.  The hands you feel do not caress you; they mock you.  The breath you hear is not breathed for you; I do not utter your name.  I know now where I am.  He takes me and makes me whole.  This must be pure love, for when we kiss, my lips are all of me.  And when I caress him, my fingertips are all of me.  And when we look at one another, my eyes are all of me.  And together we are all of me.  I can feel my heart beating when we are together.  Kisses of moonlight, substantial only in that they are not. Transient flashes of hopeful reacquaintance.  My love is as the night; cool and constant.  The night shall always be.  There are days of sunlight blocked by moon’s shadow, but night is eternal.  My love envelops, caresses, kisses the surface with such longing.  The cool warmth of dusk, the ache of dawn..these are within my grasp; within my realm.  He is the entirety of the universe, and I its darkness.  I fold around him as waves.  I crack and wither and become my own shell as he hovers above me, promising with wind and fulfilling with tears.  He is substance to my mist.

 

    Ah, the hunt, there is no feeling quite like it.  Diane and I usually hunt together, unlike most of our kind we do not hunt without cause.  We hunt the scum of the human race, we hunt the cruel and the wicked, those who are guilty, but live on unpunished. Of course even vampires make a mistake once in a while, and we would kill someone whom we thought was guilty, but was innocent, a shame really.  We used to hunt cut-throats in the old days, but this new century has brought forth a new breed of scum, drug dealers.  The dealers sell poison to the people, they corrupt the young and take much more away from society as a whole than the cut-throats ever did.  So we do what the police and the court systems cannot do, we punish them.  We take them in our arms in a loving embrace of death, their lives spill over our lips in a hot rush, and they die, unable to harm any more.
    This night we had been following the trail of a major partner in the main drug ring in south London.  His name was Michael Davidson.  He had personally caused over thirty deaths, and by selling his poison, he had killed thousands more.  Then the bastard got rich off the sale of his poison and bought his big fancy house and fine tailor-made black suits.
    Michael had been up on charges twice, both times between bribes and his high priced lawyer; he had gotten off without a “slap on the wrist” as the modern saying goes.  Now this was a man deserving of justice. Vampire style, of course.
    We first arrived at his Victorian house shortly after 9:00pm.  It was a warm spring night, the sun had set only a few minutes ago.  Diane swept the house looking for his mind, but he had already left.  Diane read the minds of the servants and found out that he was headed for the airport, to catch a flight to New York.
     Using the dark speed, we ran to the airport, a mere rush of air to mortals as we passed, for they could not keep up with our lightning quick movements long enough to actually see us running.  As we arrived in the terminal, Diane and I read mortals' minds, looking for someone who had seen Michael, but I did not get a single image of his face from them at all.  So while Diane, who was much stronger than me with her mind powers, kept reading, I went to look for which airplanes left for New York in the next couple of hours.  I found out there are two gates, at opposite ends of the terminal.
      "Diane, anything?" I asked as I returned to her side.  She shook her mane of brown hair, and motioned me to wait a moment.  Then after one last sweep she turned to me in her tight black pants and shirt, and shook her head, no luck.
      "Damn, you go down to that end. I'll take the other one. If you find him come to me, I'll do the same for you." she nodded and we walked apart down our different paths in mortal fashion, there were simply too many people around to use the dark speed with out hurting someone.  At times like this I wished we could read each other minds, but vampires can never read each other's minds, it only works on mortals.  Perhaps this is God's way to prevent us from making others of our kind just to comfort us, or the Devil, I’ve never been sure which.
      I walked down the long hall of gates, looking around and reading minds, until I finally got a image of our dear, and almost dead, Michael from a young lady's mind.  I picked up the pace, not wanting to lose him, but still kept at a mortal speed.  I found him sitting with his bodyguards waiting for his flight, dressed his usual black suit, with his hair combed as if he was just an ordinary man on a business trip. Ha, ordinary as I am to a mortal.  I checked the time of the flight, and I took back off the other way to get Diane with no rush since I had an hour before Michael would be leaving.
      It took me a good twenty minutes to find Diane, since I had to look for her in a mortal fashion because she always cloaked her presence and therefore was not found in any random thoughts of mortals about.  I walked up to her and gave her a big kiss, like two lovers in death, cold flesh on cold flesh.  After also giving her a big hug, I said,
     "I found him, we have about forty minutes before his plane leaves.  He is with two guards.  Any ideas on how to get rid of them so we can grab Michael without any attention?"
      She gave me one of her perfect little smiles, like a little devil and I knew she already had a plan.  "Actually, I have been working on something to show you, and I think tonight is a good night to test it out.  Come on!" So taking me by the arm, we made our way passed the crowds to Michael's gate.
      Diane, my love, was always full of surprises.  After almost 600 years together, she still managed to do something new to keep me on my toes almost on a monthly basis.  Life with Diane is, to say the least, never boring.  And tonight was going to be no different.  As we approached our little drug dealer, Diane took me to the side and began to tell me what I was to do.
     "Now, listen.  I'm going to use my mind to push on their bladders to make the guards go the bathroom.  When they are gone, you go sit down and start talking to him.  When I make a distraction, take him and use the dark speed to get him to that exit over there." She pointed to a fire exit. "I've already unlocked it from here. I want to do it with you, so wait for me." With that she gave me a kiss, and disappeared into the crowd.
      I couldn't help but almost start to laugh, but a big smile made do, making the mortals go the bathroom. Now there was a good one, it had never occurred to me in all my undead life to do it.  I got near where Michael was sitting when the guards started to get impatient in their seats, finally they both got up and told Michael they really had to go to the washroom.  Michael was a little annoyed that they had to leave him alone, but he let them go anyway.  So after the guards left, I took a seat, and started to have a talk with Michael.
     "So, off to New York to make another deal, Michael?"   He turned to me with his blue eyes wide.
     "How do you know me name?" his voice filled with worry, as his hand slid down to the gun in his right hand pocket of his suit.
      "Oh, I know you very well Michael.  I know all about your poison, that you sell to kids, and the deals that you make with the men from New York, and even that you like to sleep with a gun under your pillow at nights."
       "I don't know who you are, but you're not going to be able to tell anyone else." he said, while his hand went to his pocket. Moving too fast for mortals to see, I went into his pocket and grabbed his gun before his hand even got there.
      "Looking for this?" I held his gun in my hand, calmly smiling at his amazed face.
      "Who are you?" His face had changed to one of real fear.
      "Who is not the right question, I believe your looking for the word 'what'.  Don't worry about that.  Now, where is your warehouse?  Where are the drugs?"  Michael's eyes were getting wider yet and he look like he was going to lose his mind and scream in terror if I didn't get him out of here and quick.
      Almost as if I had asked for it a fire broke out in a near by soup place, not a big one, but enough to send people into a buzz of confusion.  So taking my cue, I took Michael and used the dark speed and was outside before anyone could tell we were gone.
       Michael at this point was almost going nuts, so instead of trying to ask about the warehouse him again, I read his mind and in the chaotic flashing of images of all the horror movies he had seen I got an address of it.
      Just as I got the address, Diane came to us.  Walking calmly as if she had never just committed kidnapping, vandalism, and endangering over 50 lives, just to get one drug dealer.  Michael, not knowing who she was, relaxed a touch.  She came to me gave me a kiss.
      "So where are we off to, love?"  she asked.
      Michael then just couldn't handle any more and fainted, which was a good thing.  It made it easier to use the dark speed and get him to the warehouse without hurting him.  After all, we had to ruin his life before we would touch a hair on his head, otherwise it just wouldn't have the same poetic justice to it.
      The warehouse was a truly nice building, a shame that we had to burn it to the ground.  But taking Michael inside we tied him to a chair and then put all his poison around him and carefully soaked the entire place with gasoline except for Michael and a pathway to the door.  Then we gave a call to the fire department before we lit the place.  After all, we didn't want to burn down half of London for a drug dealer, just his drugs.  Then Diane roused Michael from his little nap, and I used one of the most useful dark tricks, I snapped my figures and the place light up with orange flames, and you could hear Michael's screams to God for help.
     "Poor Michael.  You’re with a pair of devils now, there is no God for you." I whispered aloud.
      Diane and I waited for a few minutes to let Michael get to the point of sheer terror, and then I used the dark speed and the trail we had left and rescued Michael from the flames.  I dropped him to the ground him coughing and blessing every saint he knew for his life.
      Ah, the look on his face when he saw it was us who saved him, it was the horror of the fire all over again for him, if he wasn't tied up I would guess he would have gladly jumped back in the fire to get away from us.  But we were just getting started.  It was only 11:30pm, and we had hours before dawn to kill.
      Our next stop on our little tour of terror for Michael was his own beloved house.  Now this house was a very nice house, a lovely little courtyard with flowers, paintings everywhere on the inside.  I fell in love with it and I think so did Diane.  We were in the market for a new resting place during the day and Michael's house seemed like a very nice place to live in.  So first things first, we got Michael to sign over ownership of the house to Diane and me, and to fire all the servants with large compensation packages of course for the short notice of the firing.
      After that I picked his computer password from his mind and logged on this wonderful invention of this age called the Internet.  Using this lovely new tool, I took all the money from Michael's dummy companies and poured them into help organizations for people with drug addictions that Michael had caused.  I made sure Michael got to watch ever signal bank transfer, to see all his millions vanish in one night.
      Now, Michael had lost his drugs, his money, and his house, in essence most of his life lay before him in ruins.  But we just couldn't be nice and just kill him right off the start, so we decided to drain him till he was too weak to move and let him live for a while.
       I held him and Diane began to kiss him, working down from his lips to his tender throat.  I loved to watch Diane, she always was so good at feeding on people, They never knew what hit them till after their heart had almost stopped beating.  Taking her cue, I went down to the other side of his neck, and like a pair of lovers, we drank from him.  His blood flowed warm and thick into our mouths, filling us with a joy that mortals can never feel.  It is one only felt by a vampire drinking.  I dropped Michael almost dead and weak as an old man to the ground, kissed Diane's still warm lips and savored the moment.
      Michael moaned in pain for most of the night, and when he was almost able to stand, Diane and I would take turns draining him just a bit more so he would drop back down to the ground.  This went on for hours, him gaining strength and us draining it, till we had an hour before dawn at most.  Michael's mind was a mess every time we read it, he was losing his mind as the night went on, and he was completely gone in the head when Diane and I killed him at last just before dawn.  We lit a fire in one of the big fireplaces and sent Michael's body into the flames, burning away any trace of what we had done to him.  To the cops it would just be another drug dealer's death, a cause for joy and thankfulness, not sorrow.
     I took the bones to the warehouse and placed them within the ruins, while my immortal love made a place for us to sleep in the basement of our new home.  Ah, Michael was a good hunt.  I had a marvelous time killing him, but with dawn coming fast I slipped into my coffin at the new house and laid down to rest. I had had a long night, and tomorrow we had to find our next drug dealer.  Thanks to Michael's computer we even had a list of names to choose from.
 

<all names have been left absent to protect the innocent...er, whatever.  Sorry about the sometimes confusing use of pronouns>

     After two decades of rebellion which didn’t work, it was time to find another way to impress his sire.  Relations were awkward in San Antonio, where everyone knew his anarch past, so when the Archons came through recruiting for the war against the Sabbat in Mexico, he joined.  For the Kindred in San Antonio, Sabbat in Mexico were a real threat, and it was a chance to gain some prestige, in addition to defending his mortal homeland.
     The Archon leading the battle group was an ancient Gangrel with battle-scars covering much of his hairy body.  His tactics were known to be unorthodox, but effective; who complains when you lose a handful of neonates when the enemy is annihilated?  Joining this particular group was a lot safer, he felt, once he found that he was going to be responsible for ‘artillery backup,’ not disposable front-line scrappers like some of the others.  This was his first introduction to tracer bullets, and Sabbat or not, it was a little uncomfortable to be packing ammunition designed only for causing final death.
      Entering the heat of battle was something completely new.  Gang raids and drunken brawls are nothing compared to the sight of a Gangrel archon, eyes glowing red, muscles bulging and little snorts and snarls of rage escaping while he lopes out of an adobe hut shaking with violence to grab a fleeing Brujah teammate, bodily throw him back into the hut through the wall, and leap up over the hut to come crashing through the roof, feet first.  The M60 machine gun was on its second belt of ammunition before the fighting seemed to be more or less over.
     Walking past the twisted, burned corpses torn apart by machine-gun fire, he was nauseated; bad enough to have to see rotting bodies being caught up with by cheated Time, these were all hideously deformed Tzimitse.  Pistols in hand, he entered the first in a series of huts and from then on, all his memories of the evening are vague: flesh-crafted torture victims, a Ventrue turned more-or-less inside-out, and gore, blood, and bits of unnaturally speedily decaying flesh.  Everyone was leaving a 3 metre berth around the hut that the Archon was still in, as he let his frenzy out on the walls, floor, furniture, and finally roof of the last hut.
     Still on edge from the fight, he turned and decided to do a room-to-room sweep, making sure the closest hut was cleared.  Something was funny about the hut, the back of his mind said, but the images of death all around made it hard to pay attention.  As he stepped into the kitchen, he was paralyzed; the blue dress and white apron with embroidered roses hanging in shreds from the body whose heart appeared to have been pulled up through her nose belonged to his mother.  The woman who had been made into an upside-down cross with her skull spread to make a stand was his older sister.  He came to with two Brujah, his friends from San Antonio, holding him down.