With these stories, I want to try for Supernatural Romance, because I am That Bitch™. I want a tense adventure with Will They Or Won't They tension between the two leads who, if I do my job right, will have clear chemistry throughout. Sabrina leads a vampire through the Underworld and, despite disliking Vampires because she's only known greedy and manipulative ones, she comes to have feelings for Camuel and then they fuck, but tragically he dies or something.
The whole "Vampire needs a tour guide" aspect is actually from a smut roleplay I did with someone on F-list almost a decade ago. I don't really remember much about it. The main thing I remember is that the profile was a sexy brooding vampire primarily differentiated by being Black and doing BBC stuff as well as sexy dominant vampire stuff. I don't think we ever got to the typefucking, but I do recall enjoying playing tour guide. I'm probably going to reuse my half remembered descriptions of an Underworld that looks like a subway system.
I wouldn't feel comfortable just turning collaborative writing into the source of prose fiction, though. Here the vampire Camuel is Black, or at least ambiguously dark skinned with no specific ethnicity, but his primary motivations are about finding a dead mentor in the Underworld. For Golconda, possibly, which isn't a term that actually shows up in Requiem 2e, not that I mind. An additional twist (that I'm unfortunately spoiling for anyone reading this, assuming such a person exists) is that both Camuel and his mentor in question are actually trans men. I don't plan on revealing that until several chapters in, though. I like the idea of two trans people meeting and starting to get a bit hot for each other and not realizing they're both trans.
On another note, Storybrooke is a location I created for my own Chronicles of Darkness setting, the fictional city of Ashcroft. Ashcroft is actually inspired by Portland and also by Gotham City. In fact, I'd originally wanted to run my game in Gotham. There's a bit of London and New York and Tokyo as well. Storybrooke is also pretty much directly inspired by MacAnally's Pub from the Dresden Files. Surprisingly I haven't seen many other supernatural hangouts in urban fantasy, but then again I haven't read as much of it as I want to. It's also inspired by Mox Boarding House, a really cool board game cafe that unfortunately is on the other side of town. The one time I went to a Commander Night there, it was so packed with strangers that I felt nervous.
In downtown Ashcroft there’s a little out of the way cafe called Storybrooke that seems to attract the various freaks of the city, myself included. The owner is a faerie of some kind. I’ve seen his true form, the weathered tattooed skin of his arms giving way to the dry paper of an ancient manuscript, his face looking like it was painted on by the hand of a monk. He inherited Storybrooke from something older and stranger, some sort of fallen angel who sought to reign in his own little espresso scented Hell.
Storybrooke is occluded to the eyes of the straights—the mundane folk, who go about their lives pretending not to notice what goes on in the cracks in the skin of the world, or simply can’t hear the sobs as their dead relatives watch on, and definitely don’t want to think about faeries or demons or ghosts. They simply don’t notice the little coffee bar, or it’s clientele.
This story begins here, in Storybrooke, assuming you ignore that part before this where I smoked that vampire. That was just to establish the mood, and give you a sense of what my life is like. Plus it was pretty cool.
I was sitting at my usual table, back to the wall as it often is, sipping a cappuccino and reading one of the well worn trashy romance novels Layne kept on the shelves. Layne could find some of the best trashy romance novels. Lesbian princess and her dashing captain of the guard falling in love after their airship crashes in a strange land. It was just getting to the good part—the post-coital declaration of love—when I felt Grandmother stirring within me.
I kept pretending to read while my visitor stood at the table. He finally cleared his throat, and I looked up. “Sorry, didn’t see you there.”
First thing I noticed? He was pretty damned good looing, though I was kind of primed for that, what with the horny bullshit I was just reading. High cheekbones, rich, dark skin. His hair framed his face with wild curls. He was dressed in a suit, the jacket folded neatly over his arms. His vest was a deep blue, with paisley patterns of black that could only be noticed when they caught the light. That thing had to cost more than most of what I own, aside from the priceless relics of death. And here I was wearing a blouse I stitched myself (ripped the fabric out of a coffin) and a skirt I stole from a Wal-mart.
Oh, also, he was dead as a doornail. If a doornail survived by drinking the blood of the living.
I could feel Grandmother squirm. Ein Vampir.
“I didn’t kill any of your friends lately, did I?” I asked, closing my book.
The man tilted his head slightly. “No, I am not aware of any of any of my acquaintances meeting their end recently. Why, have you sent anyone to Final Death recently?”
“No one who didn’t deserve it,” I said, drawing a cross over my heart, “swear.”
“Well, then, my name is Camuel. I bear you no ill will, if that is your concern.” He motioned to the chair across from me, “You are Sabrina Granger, are you not? May I have a seat?”
I pointed to the conical, wide brimmed hat hanging on the broomstick leaning against the table. “What gave it away?”
The man unfolded his jacket and hung it on the back of the seat before sitting down. “Yes, I was warned that you were quite unusual. That is of course what I’ve come here for. I hear that you are capable of leading me through the Underworld.”
I let out a whistle, “cutting to the chase, huh? That kind of thing is pretty pricey. You can’t just pop in like it’s a corner store, and the deeper you go the more dangerous it gets.”
He nodded, and reached into a satchel slung over his shoulder. “I am well aware. But I have things that I need to find. My Avus disappeared several decades ago and recently I received a package containing this journal.”
He slid a weathered leather bound notebook across the table towards me. It looked hand made, with uneven signatures and rough edges on the pages. It was bound with leather, and the back cover was longer than the front, and folded over, kept closed by a throng of leather. The whole thing was steeped in Death. Capital D. The resonance of the Underworld.
The most interesting thing was that the cover was written in an old, old form of writing said to originate in the Underworld. The language spoken by ghosts, and those like me who stand in between. The language of the Twilight Network. The secret code of the Bound. Meditations Upon Death and the Land of the Deceased. Well. That certainly intrigued me.
The name embossed on the bottom of the cover was Tiresias, though that was less intriguing. Vampires were often taking on mythological names. Hell, Sin-eaters have also been known to take on ridiculous names. You think I was born with the name of two pop culture teen witches mashed together? But still.
Touching the cover I could feel the Grave-Dirt. The Crushing Key. The weight of ages. This thing was marinated in Death. Definitely something kept by an elder vampire, kept by him and written in every day.
“Do you know what this is?” I opened up the journal, unwrapping the leather cord. Not cattle. The whole thing was written in the ancient language.
“Lingua Mortis,” Camuel said solemnly.
“What is that, French? The language of death?”
There was a beat, though I didn’t look up. “Latin, actually.”
“I went to public school,” I said with a dismissive wave. “’Gravedigger’s Cant’ sounds cooler.”
“This is intriguing to you, then?”
I nodded. The journal contained several additional bits and bobs glued or stapled or simply paperclipped to the signatures. I unfolded one. “Your Avus mapped out Dead Dominions. I’ve been to some of these places, this was here in Ashcroft?”
“I believe this to be the place he was last seen within the mortal realm, yes.”
More maps. Notes. Sketches of Kerberoi, lists of the Old Laws. God, this thing was a lot to take in. “When did you last see him? You said a decade ago?”
“Yes. Some time during the Clinton administration, I believe.”
“Dude, that was nearly thirty years ago.” I said, finally looking up.
The vampire lowered his head, “apologies. Time is rather nebulous for those of us with far too much of it. Regardless, during his last few years, after my training was complete, Tiresias had been obsessed with the Underworld.”
“Hm. No interest in it before then? Talk about nominitive determinism.”
Camuel blinked at me. “Come again?”
I winced, “Sorry. Uh, his name. Tiresias. He was a Greek seer. In the Odyssey he—”
“Oh, yes. He is found in the Underworld,” he said with that kind of smirk people get when they’re remembering an in-joke, so I let it go without questioning. “It was chosen for other reasons. But perhaps it had an influence upon his eventual choice. I would like you to help me find my Avus.”
“You want me to go into the Underworld to find a missing vampire? That’s…” I let out a breath and ran my hand through my hair. I winced when it got stuck in a tangle. “That’s a pretty tall ask.”
“I am aware. I hope to make it worth the trouble.” He gestured to the journal, “may I?”
I pushed it over to him, though I hated to part with something so valuable. “Knock yourself out, it’s yours anyway.”
“My Avus had within his possession a particular object I believe someone of your particulars will find interesting. I do not believe it is the genuine article, but it still seemed to hum with a power.” He began to flip through the journal until he reached a page near the end, then pushed the book towards me.
I was taking a sip of my coffee as I looked over the diagram of what looked almost like a short sword. Through the center was a shaft, the blade wrapped around it with tight wire. The center of it was wrapped in something the notes helpfully informed me was gold. Near the top, the notes pointed out the nail held firm in the center by wire, heavy enough to hold a man’s body to a piece of wood. Embossed on the gold sleeve were the words LANCEA ET CLAVVS DOMINI.
I choked on my coffee, swallowing far too much of it at once. My geist, raised in a much different time period, went cold.
“Jesus fucking Christ. That’s supposed to be in Vienna.”
“Again, I do not believe it to be the actual thing, but I do believe it to have an adequate amount of spiritual resonance that it would be worth your time.”
“You’re willing to give me the…” I realized I was too loud, and lowered my tone, leaning in. “You want to give me the fucking Lance? Does this guy owe you money or something? Because it better be a whole lot of it.”
“No, I have my own reasons for wanting to find him. There are things I need to say, and things I wish to know.”
I thought about it for a moment, and Grandmother stirred in a way I couldn’t really get a read on. “Okay,” I said, closing the book. “But if that thing is a fake I want this journal. It’ll be more than enough on it’s own.”
“I already said I do not believe it to be the authentic Spear o—” I cut him off with a raised hand.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t care. Doesn’t matter. I’m talking about the power of it. Death is… death is memory. Emotion. If it has the kind of power you to make a leech tingle, that’s real enough.”
“I would prefer that you not refer to me as a leech, young miss,” the vampire said sternly. The kind of statement that could chill vodka. I could feel Grandmother squirming in the hollow space where my soul used to be.
Peace. I did press him.
I narrowed my eyes, and looked into his. Not a challenge, just to show I didn’t feel threatened. “Alright. Kindred then.” I gave the word all due sarcasm.
“That is preferable,” Camuel nodded. “I will likewise treat you with respect.”
Okay that one felt like a slap, but he had a point. Still didn’t trust a lee—vampire. Grandmother had her reservations as well.
“So, if you want to do this, meet me in the Liza’s Cemetery at midnight, three days from now. Pack for a long journey. Bring weapons if you need them. Maybe some blood bags or whatever, you’ll have trouble finding a bite, and I’m not gonna let you nibble on me. There will be spelunking, but the Dominions are… weird. It’s not just going to be caves down there. And you’re going to get wet. Can you handle all that?”
Camuel nodded, “I am not unaccustomed to ‘roughing it’.”
I snorted, “well, good. But I doubt you’ve been through anything like this.”
He simply nodded again, and stood up. “I will see you again in three days.” He leaned over and put two fingers on the journal and very slowly slid it across the table, putting it in his satchel. I didn’t complain, but damn I wanted that thing. Then he put his suit jacket on and buttoned it on his way towards the bar, where he exchanged a few words with Layne.
I sat at my table, head leaned back against the cushion of the bench. Damn. What was I getting myself into? I conferred with Grandmother a bit. We didn’t really ‘talk’ in a traditional way, not most of the time. I sometimes thought things to her, but more often than not it was just… feelings. She had misgivings as well. I was unlikely to die again—well, at least not permanently—but there are things worse than death. The Underworld was the deathright of the Bound, but that didn’t make it safe, even for us.
I must have fallen asleep because I was shaken awake by the waiter.
“Huh?” I mumbled, rubbing my eyes. “Hey, Aiden. How’s tricks.”
The kid smiled at me, slipping into the chair Camuel had been sitting in and putting down a chicken tender basket. He looked so fucking adorable, with tousled white hair and a tight black button up. Just the perfect goddamned twink with his little pink white and blue He/Him pin.
“Don’t do that much anymore,” he said, taking one of the fries for himself. “Layne’s been good to me. Anyway, that guy from before said he’d put a meal for you on his tab, and Layne cooked this up for you.”
“And you’re checking it for poison?” I said with a grin.
Grandmother roiled happily. She’d always liked Aiden, though we only dated a bit. Still, it was always nice to chat, and I felt a bit of the pressure that was weighing on me since touching that book alleviate. I hadn’t even realized it was there. Guess they call it the Crushing Key for a reason.
“You never know what Layne seasons this stuff with. Anyway, who was that guy, anyway? You cheating on me?”
“Hah, you wish.” I swatted his hand as he went for a chicken tender, so he took a fry instead. “He was a client.”
“Oh? Layne could probably give you a job if you need one.”
I rolled my eyes, and could feel a chuckle from Grandmother. “Not that kind of client, though I’d rather be on my back again than doing dishes or waiting on tables.”
“Eh,” Aiden shrugged, “it’s fun sometimes, but we aren’t all as buff as you.”
“Any johns give you shit and I’ll kill ‘em for you,” I told him, tearing off a piece of chicken and tossing it to him.
“You are so intense. I love it.”
“Gotta be. That lee—” I caught myself again. “That guy from before wants me to take him through the Underworld. You ever been?”
Aiden shivered, but played it off with a laugh. “Granger, you literally took me there for a date. Spooked the heck out of me.”
“Oh. Right. I forgot about that. You showed me your true face that day. You were gorgeous. Still are, though.” I reached across and stroked his cheek, which was warm and red. “‘Heck’. You’re so adorable.”
He blushed, holding his face in his hands. “You’re damned right I am.” He dropped the act, and wiped his greasy fingers on the half-apron around his waist. “But seriously, going to the Underworld? Like I said, that place gives me the creeps. Realizing that, you know, The Others can be killed was pretty good to learn, but that gondola ride would have been a lot more romantic on the Seine than the Acheron. The unholy wailing was distracting me from your lovely dykish arms rowing.”
Nothing hotter than a twink complimenting my arms. I pulled the sleeve of my blouse up and flexed for him. I swear he was close to drooling.
“Jeez, Granger,” Aiden tugged at the collar of his shirt, “I actually clock out in like half an hour if you wanna go back to my place. Well. Layne’s place. In the meantime, stop trying to get me wet.”
“Sorry to get you horny at work, but I’ll take you up on the offer.” I looked over his shoulder, where the bartender stood looking at us from across the counter with his arms crossed. “Speaking of Layne, he’s glowering at you.”
“Whoops!” the little femboy said with a smile. He hopped up, gave me a kiss on the cheek (making sure to put one hand on my bicep) and hurried to the bar. “Coming, boss!” Watching him hurry away was very satisfying.
As Aiden doubled back to push in his chair, I wondered if he was he trying to make Layne jealous. I looked over to the old surfer with his weathered skin and gave him a shrug. He rolled his eyes and shook his head, but he smiled back.
He knew Aiden and I slept together every so often. Honestly, it was pretty obvious that he loved Aiden, but I don’t know if he’s the type to get jealous. I don’t even know if it was erotic love. I don’t really know how old he was, it was hard to tell with some guys as it is, but for all I know he was from the 1800s. But it always seemed more paternal. I get the feeling they shared a past, though I don’t think Aiden knows it. I’m not really in the know about faeries, but I know time and memory are complicated for them.
Still, I really liked Aiden, even if we didn’t really date well. Plus, the sex was good. And since Layne didn’t mind, I was gonna get my dick wet tonight.
Oh, right. Don’t know if I should have mentioned that. I’m trans. Aiden is too, if the pronoun pin didn’t give it away. It’s probably not all that relevant, but if you don’t like it you might want to fuck off, since things only get queerer from here.