100 Theme Challenge #71

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This is based on the role-playing game Vampire: The Masquerade universe. The protagonist is a Malkavian, the "lunatics" clan with different sorts of insanity, and has Dissociative identity disorder, or multiple personalities if you prefer. The character is also an OC I use in Hope never dies, a Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines fanfiction I've been writing. You don't need to read it or know about the RPG to understand though, but it's preferable for your sanity. Nines is from the Brujah clan who are quick to anger and non-conformist in general, he's the baron of the anarchs in Los Angeles.

71. Bird

Birds were chirping outside their room, their chant lulling them out of their slumber. They sighed, turned on their other side to face the broad back of their lover, a perfect, unblemished expanse of ivory skin.

"Do you hear them?" They murmured, approaching so they could place a kiss on a shoulder blade.

"What?" A sleep-laced voice groaned.

"The birds."

Nines rolled in the bed to face them and threw a muscled arm around their middle, bringing them against his large chest. He sighed. "Why don't you go back to sleep, dolls, we still have time before sunset."

"No, we want to see them." They removed his arm from them and got up from the bed, their feet paddling softly on the wooden floor. They went to a window covered by a thick curtain and moved it aside. The sun drilled into their eye, burning it, and they stepped back with a hiss.

"Fuck, why would you do that?" Nines bolted from the bed and came to them, who were clutching a side of their face in their hand.

"Let me see," he ordered when they wouldn't remove it.

"We… We just wanted to see them. It's been so long…"

"And you forgot you weren't mortals anymore in the process." He was angry, but still cringed in sympathy when he saw the damage. "Damn, that must hurt. Here, drink." He offered his wrist, and they slowly took it without a word, a look of remorse painted across their features before they dig their teeth in his skin like it was butter. They moaned as they drank, feeling the pain go away, and they released his wrist once they were sated.

"Thank you, our Prince."

The Nines rolled his eyes. "How many times will I have to tell you I'm a baron, not a prince."

They smiled, licking the bit of blood on their lips, and his blue eyes followed that sinful tongue. "Same difference."

He scowled. "You have such a thick head, Malk, you even forget that sunlight is fatal to us. You should stop mumbling nonsense all the time and remember the most important things, like how to survive."

It was their turn to scowl. "Our web has sense and a mean, disrespectful Brujah. Should we bring some insight into your hollow mind?" Already the tendrils of Dementation were brushing his mind, and he took a step back.

"Don't you dare try this with me," he hissed, his teeth showing.

"And yet you dare to say such mean words about our sacred temple." They dropped their hands and turned around to go lock themselves in the bathroom. Angry bloody tears ran down their white cheeks, and they wiped them with the back of their hand. How could a dead organ still emit feelings and hurt them so much?

There was a soft rasp against the door. "I'm sorry, dollfaces. I just woke up and anger took over. I didn't mean my words. Please, open the door." It took a moment, but they opened the door, red smudged all over their face.

"Oh, don't cry, I'm so sorry," he hushed, wiping the tears with his thumbs. He kept their face in his large hands, brushing a kiss against their forehead. His beard scraped against their skin, and his gaze soothed their hurt. "Forgive me please, your head is the most precious temple to me."

They calmed down, and even cracked a smile when Nines licked the blood on one cheek in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"We have a killer to hunt down, remember? We're already up, so let's brainstorm to remember what we already know on it."

"A serpent-man is hunting in the shadows," they agreed, which earned them a frown.

"You mean a Nagah? I thought those things were extinct, and besides, we never established what it was in the first place…"

He stopped, and a laugh escaped him at his realization. For many nights a killer had plagued the streets of Los Angeles, giving the Final Death to too many Kindred, and they'd been on its traces without any way of finding it. It seemed like the Madness Network had done its job once more, and they wouldn't to search more for who was the author of the gruesome murders.

"The sewers await the fall of an assassin," they smirked.

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