"We're the Real Brudya," Fat Ivan says. "Not like them pussies of the Masquerade." Black Oleg already informed us that the Masquerade hierarchy of Moscow is ruled by the Voivode, a hypochondriac Ventrev name of Lobachev who never leaves his palace.
We all make non-committal agreeable noises. See, some things don't really change after you're turned. After a weird night out, you grasp for straw and end up with weirdoes that might be idiots simply in love with the sound of their own voice, or might be murdering lunatics. They get all foamy about politics or their rights or whatever all the same. Goodmorning Radicals even exist in vampire land.
It stops being mildly funny when Fat Ivan says: "We've shared our food, now share our blood", and he holds out his arm. In vampire land this means as much as "we don't trust you worthless shits", this I can read clearly on Nika and Nat's faces. Anastas complains that in a way Yuri the Head had been nicer company. Lex had obviously other dreams when he came to Moscow to meet Brudya.
Me, I'm trying to calculate the stakes of this gang game. Sun's up, so it's too late to think about leaving now. Bastard waited so we'd have our backs against the wall. I knew there was something funny about all this. Nat and Nika are getting ready to huff and puff, and I'm not so keen myself to be the proud owner of a bloodloyalty to a smelly fatso biker, but hey. There's at least 20 of them, and let's be honest. I saw my buddies in fate fight, right?
So while we meekly line up, Fat Ivan goes on. Of course. Don't they always? I think of other mornings like this that found me sucking altogether different parts of a male to say thank you for a wonderful night. Fat Ivan killed his sire and then vampirized his whole biker gang. Yup, that's who the Real Brudya are. The finest Moscow has to offer. 32 of the fucking losers, with us makes 37. He's gonna start a war, show that diaper-shitting Ventrev idiot how it's done.
That's how my companions in fortune and me end up with the 32 other losers on an abandoned factory lot listening to Fat Ivan's manifesto. No more hiding for mortals! No more having to ask diaper-shitting Voivode for permission to make childes! No more-- Sigh. You get the drift. An SUV with darkened windows driving up pierces our stupor of utter boredom. Three guys get out: one sturdy vampire in military casual, cargo pants included, and a shiny sabre. Two ghouls with a funny mask and cape on, and something under the cape on their backs.
Sabredude and Fat Ivan have words.
Sabredude chops off Fat Ivan's head.
Ghouls whisk out flamethrowers and start having fun.
We, not so much. Blin! You think Rötschreck is bad? Try Rötschreck while having to keep an eye out for a sabre-swishing vampire all powered up to superhuman speed and on a killer streak...
What beggars cannot be
Those half-goats should have come with a Drink Responsibly warning. Night's fleeting in a warm and fuzzy, trippy kind a way. You know the sort, where you don't feel the cold and if only you had some more of the stuff, that pesky sober voice inside will shut up about the risks of hypothermia. Kaif, that's how alkash die in the Moskva winter.
Oh wait, vampires don't freeze to death, mainly because we're dead already. But obviously we can get all spacey.
I wonder if demon half-goat's blood can be used in cake, while we zigzag towards the winking neon sign of the 'Trucker Traktir', past graffiti in werewolf blood, as if we didn't already know this was a bad neighbourhood. Loud heavy metal escapes when a drunk stumbles out, something oldskool like Alisa or whatever. I know exactly what we can expect inside: meaty bikers, and the pungencies of stale beer, old sweat and tobacco caught in leather. But beggars...
Lex and me are the first in, as the others dilly-dally on the threshold. Hence we're also the first to get that funny feeling us vampires get when sensing kindred. Seems all the food's spoken for, and about 20 vampires with bad hairdos and metal Tees leer at us, at least until Nat and Nika enter; Anastas, he's talking to the bum that came stumbling out, because of the noise, you see. He's got delicate ears.
Anyways, inside, there's staring and squinting and gauging. Lex whistles that thingie from Morricone under his breath. I pull down my top till my tits nearly pop out and sashay over to a couple of them at a table, and go in my best nightclubbian: "Hi, mind if I join?"
See, dawn is coming and I need something to eat and I need someplace to sleep. Dermo, it's not like I haven't done worse when I still had a pulse. So the guys share their food, and Anastas shakes off his clingy junkie bum and braves the noise, and even prissy Nat has a taste of truckdriver.
Now, there's still some time till morning, and since we're obviously not involved with the Moscow Masquerade (like whatever, go with the flow), Black Oleg here's happy to introduce us poor wandering souls to his leader. I've got a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach, my spidey-sense all tingly. Alone I'd cop out right here and brave the fucking dawn on my own. But I'm not alone, and I'm still spaced out on half-goat, and really now, how bad can it get?
Oh wait, vampires don't freeze to death, mainly because we're dead already. But obviously we can get all spacey.
I wonder if demon half-goat's blood can be used in cake, while we zigzag towards the winking neon sign of the 'Trucker Traktir', past graffiti in werewolf blood, as if we didn't already know this was a bad neighbourhood. Loud heavy metal escapes when a drunk stumbles out, something oldskool like Alisa or whatever. I know exactly what we can expect inside: meaty bikers, and the pungencies of stale beer, old sweat and tobacco caught in leather. But beggars...
Lex and me are the first in, as the others dilly-dally on the threshold. Hence we're also the first to get that funny feeling us vampires get when sensing kindred. Seems all the food's spoken for, and about 20 vampires with bad hairdos and metal Tees leer at us, at least until Nat and Nika enter; Anastas, he's talking to the bum that came stumbling out, because of the noise, you see. He's got delicate ears.
Anyways, inside, there's staring and squinting and gauging. Lex whistles that thingie from Morricone under his breath. I pull down my top till my tits nearly pop out and sashay over to a couple of them at a table, and go in my best nightclubbian: "Hi, mind if I join?"
See, dawn is coming and I need something to eat and I need someplace to sleep. Dermo, it's not like I haven't done worse when I still had a pulse. So the guys share their food, and Anastas shakes off his clingy junkie bum and braves the noise, and even prissy Nat has a taste of truckdriver.
Now, there's still some time till morning, and since we're obviously not involved with the Moscow Masquerade (like whatever, go with the flow), Black Oleg here's happy to introduce us poor wandering souls to his leader. I've got a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach, my spidey-sense all tingly. Alone I'd cop out right here and brave the fucking dawn on my own. But I'm not alone, and I'm still spaced out on half-goat, and really now, how bad can it get?
Midnight Express
January 1, 2000. Just after midnight. A shunted train wagon in Perovo, Moscow. Zoom in on several man-sized crates stacked inside.
So here I was. All alone. In the dark. In a big, dangerous city.
Correction: I was not alone.
I could feel other kindred near. This was the Midnight Express into Moscow for the undead after all. Some of them scared me, they...
Wait, correction again: *we* were not alone.
Something was stomping about in our wagon. In group. Turned out to be midget versions of Pan, goat's legs included, and they were armed with cattle prods. Not the expected welcome committee!
Fighting ensued, embarrassingly clumsy fighting. But at least *I* got out of my crate without help. Some of the others were useful in fighting the small demonic half goats. Others, well, not so much.
In all we are five, a strange mix of vampire sneaking into Moscow. There's Nikanor, a small, very creepy man who's also butt-ugly, so odds are: Nosferatu. Natalya is a beautiful woman, but also quite a snob. First guess is Ventrev but 't is impolite to ask I think. There's a gentleman with century old clothes, Anastas. Says he's a composer, but he seems distracted most of the time. Doesn't always make much sense when he talks, so Malkavian or Toreador, could go either way. The one I feel most affinity with is Lex; he's at least from my world. A Brudjah, blue haired, punk attitude, likes to talk about movies and music.
Of us five I am definitely the baby, and Nikanor and Natalya, they're of older blood. They were the ones that creeped me out when I sensed them upon waking. After seeing them fight, not so much, eh.
Like me, none of them had been expecting to be dumped quite so unceremoniously into Moscow by the smuggling set-up. So seeing that we successfully kicked small demonic half goats' asses, we decided to stick together, at least until we found some food and shelter, or somebody handing out the tourist brochures for the big city.
Over the handful of hours we spent searching for a safe spot, I learned from my fellow travellers some more stuff that Koldan should have told me. Eager vampire baby that I am, I suck everything up these guys will tell me. It appears that since some years, more specifically since the dissolution of the old commie rule in 1991, mystical borders have risen around a large part of the old Russian territory. Outside these borders, kindred died. There's rumours it's the same for other creatures, like elementals. There are some areas outside still known to have live kindred, but there's no travel possible. So that dream I had of travelling to Australia and Africa and get acquainted with all those cool snakes? Ain't gonna happen.
By the time I was up to speed with 'Modern History for the Undead 101' and starting to feel peckish, the winking red and blue neon of a bar came into view. Ah, warm bodies, finally...
So here I was. All alone. In the dark. In a big, dangerous city.
Correction: I was not alone.
I could feel other kindred near. This was the Midnight Express into Moscow for the undead after all. Some of them scared me, they...
Wait, correction again: *we* were not alone.
Something was stomping about in our wagon. In group. Turned out to be midget versions of Pan, goat's legs included, and they were armed with cattle prods. Not the expected welcome committee!
Fighting ensued, embarrassingly clumsy fighting. But at least *I* got out of my crate without help. Some of the others were useful in fighting the small demonic half goats. Others, well, not so much.
In all we are five, a strange mix of vampire sneaking into Moscow. There's Nikanor, a small, very creepy man who's also butt-ugly, so odds are: Nosferatu. Natalya is a beautiful woman, but also quite a snob. First guess is Ventrev but 't is impolite to ask I think. There's a gentleman with century old clothes, Anastas. Says he's a composer, but he seems distracted most of the time. Doesn't always make much sense when he talks, so Malkavian or Toreador, could go either way. The one I feel most affinity with is Lex; he's at least from my world. A Brudjah, blue haired, punk attitude, likes to talk about movies and music.
Of us five I am definitely the baby, and Nikanor and Natalya, they're of older blood. They were the ones that creeped me out when I sensed them upon waking. After seeing them fight, not so much, eh.
Like me, none of them had been expecting to be dumped quite so unceremoniously into Moscow by the smuggling set-up. So seeing that we successfully kicked small demonic half goats' asses, we decided to stick together, at least until we found some food and shelter, or somebody handing out the tourist brochures for the big city.
Over the handful of hours we spent searching for a safe spot, I learned from my fellow travellers some more stuff that Koldan should have told me. Eager vampire baby that I am, I suck everything up these guys will tell me. It appears that since some years, more specifically since the dissolution of the old commie rule in 1991, mystical borders have risen around a large part of the old Russian territory. Outside these borders, kindred died. There's rumours it's the same for other creatures, like elementals. There are some areas outside still known to have live kindred, but there's no travel possible. So that dream I had of travelling to Australia and Africa and get acquainted with all those cool snakes? Ain't gonna happen.
By the time I was up to speed with 'Modern History for the Undead 101' and starting to feel peckish, the winking red and blue neon of a bar came into view. Ah, warm bodies, finally...
Abonneren op:
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