welcome T O

[Valeska Rasputin]

In the past few years, Valeska started to withdraw herself more and more form the coven, not from those who she was close to, but from the new younger members who were still baby vampires. Many of them still had this romanticized view of being a Vampire that they got from modern film and books. Valeska found it funny that many of the younger vampires wanted to become the undead, they made a choice all on their own. They weren’t dying like she was when she made the choice to live forever rather than die at 20. These children were healthy and sought out the vampires that turned them.

So she was where she was most nights when she was not hunting or conversing with her handful of friends, in her chamber reading. Her long black hair fell gracefully around her pale heart shaped face. She looked like she could be a collage student laying on her bed with a book about the truth behind King Arthur. Valeska appeared to be in her early 20’s but even the mortals could tell she had an old soul. The one thing that everyone said would give away that she was not what she appeared to be, was her eyes.

Those pretty green eyes that told her story to the world were focused on the small words in her large leather bound book that lay on her bed. With a small sigh she looked up from her book and out over the vast darkness of her room. In the back of mind she debated the idea of going out a bar to find some helpless drunken idiot to screw and then feed off of, but she really didn’t feel like getting out bed.

Valeska rolled over, her long black hair covered the bed like black stain. She lifted her arms over her head and let out a devilish laugh. “I love my life…”

[Kella Credence Diesel]

The night had proved to be fruitful. Tourists sweating in their shorts and ‘I love New York’ t-shirts overran the night while Parisians looking casual and comfortable in short shorts or skirts and barely their shirts. France was not a country well known for being skittish about showing off their skin. Even the people that you didn’t want to look at were flaunting it like they had it while everybody else was wishing that they really did have it just so they wouldn’t have to keep looking at it. The night was sticky as droplets of sweat clung in various places of her body. Jeans, sweaters, and jackets were her favorite things of all, so in the summer it was a real bitch to wear anything else. It didn’t bother her to show skin, but sometimes it just didn’t feel right. Even though she had been a little more than a common prostitute back in the day, flaunting it completely didn’t do her well anymore. Her sex appeal came from what she didn’t show. She actually managed to pull it off as well with her tight sweaters and daring pants and form fitting dresses, not the short skirts or bras as shirts as other girls could pull off.

In the shadows, Kella stood in a pair of light denim pants that stopped at her bronzed knee and cuffed up, but instead of sneakers or flip flops, there were black wedges on her feet. It wasn’t that odd of an appearance, but it felt all-unnatural to her. There was a black camisole type thing up top that hung low on her chest and flowed down in layers of soft material. It was the coolest thing that she owned beside her underwear. Smelling lazily with her nose, a nice scent of lip balm, spicy cologne, and peaches ran its way up. Mmm…this would be the one she’d kill. Stepping out of the shadows, hair back away from her face, bangs brushing the tops of celery green eyes, she followed him with as much silence as possible that those shoes could give. His heart was calm before glancing over his shoulder to see her. The booming of his heart increased with every step, even though her head was bowed as if ready to send up a prayer for her immaculate feast that she would soon be sinking her teeth in. He reached the stairs that led up to the flat, and as he fumbled with his keys, she ran up the steps, reaching out for him, sinking in her teeth deep into his flesh. Who cared if anybody saw?

The blood was sweet as it traveled from the man’s neck down into her throat, thick and pungent sending an aromatic rumor up into the night air. Nobody was around, that much she could tell, but then again as lips groped the flesh, hands twisting the neck to snap, she had pushed both of them into the dark pit next to the building. Normally a messy eater, this subject proved to allow a smooth transition from neck to throat. He was loaded with the sweet nectar of life and not once was there a pause until all the blood had left his body. Pawing around through his belongings, she found some bills and left. No, Kella was not a petty thief when it came to feeding. As cold-hearted as she was, she liked to donate from time to time and their had been a girl scout down the way. Passing along the amount of money for nothing in return, a smile carved itself upon her lips. It was just a twisted gesture that somewhere inside made her happy. Killing and then helping somebody get a new bike or whatever that she might end up killing one day. That was pure evil.

Returning home, wiping off all matter of dried blood; she made her way down the dusty shoot into the catacombs. It was so hot up above the soil, but down in the dirt and cement, it was very cool, just a little stuffy from so many people down they’re lounging around. The mood wasn’t set for handling a sword or rounding off a gun, but a book. Not many books roamed the walls of her room and one person came into mind – Valeska. The woman was totally kick ass, but sometimes she could very intimidating. Nope, not going to let it show though. The leader liked this woman and wouldn’t be intimidated by one of her own. Walking in the general direction, Kella took to knocking on the door. She was the leader and could barge on it, but privacy was important and barging in wasn’t something she’d have liked. However, she did go in without an answer. This woman had some interesting books and was the first thought of where to go when wanting one. ”Hey, Valeska, how are you?” Might as well start off with something a little nice instead of just getting to the point.

[Valeska Rasputin]

After her brief moment of laughter Valeska had gone back to reading up on one of her favorite subjects. She was something of a collector of both books and swords, both of her collections were proudly displayed on her walls. Over her red velvet and fur covered bed hung a rather interesting sword that is said to be one similar to the mystic Excalibur form her favorite myth King Arthur. That was one of the few weapons that was just for show.

On the other two walls were two large bookshelves that held works from all of her favorite authors which rang from legendary Russian author Leo Tolstoy to contemporary American author Dan Brown and everything in between. There is a part of her collection that is far more personal to her than anything else she owns. She has collected ever single book written about the man whom she believed to be the father she never knew, Rasputin. Those were in a small bookshelf next to her bed that few people were ever allowed to view.

She was most comfortable in her small little fortress of solitude, filled with the things she loved and she was rarely disturbed… till now.

There was a soft knocking on her bedroom door, Valeska slowly sat up reviling she was wearing a tight black leather corset with red embroidered flowers all over the bodice. The scars from her childhood fights in that cramped Russian orphanage were quite visible, which was making the vain vampire shudder at the thought of someone seeing the unsightly marks. She quickly grabbed a shall and wrapped it around her shoulders just as Kella came walking in.

Valeska gave a small nod acknowledging the leader of her coven.

”Hey, Valeska, how are you?”

“I’m quite well Kella… how can I help you dear?” She said in very distinct Russian accent as she leaned back against her beautifully carved head board.

[Kella Credence Diesel]

If there was one room that would have consisted of a beautiful piece of art, it was sure to be the one that was being entered now. Just the collection of books, swords, and the mood that it gave off made it seem mystical to a point of complete and utter beauty. Envy flooded through her from time to time when looking at the room. It was taken cared of, but then again it had to be with such collections. People were probably fearful that somebody would come after them if they ever touched anything in Valeska’s room. Kella’s room wasn’t exactly spectacular, but there were certain traits she loved. The bed was nothing more than a four posted bed with a mattress that held black satin sheets. In the corner was a wardrobe that held many of her clothes, a vanity that was the color of ivory, and a comfortable leather couch that looked fit to be in any male bachelor pad. Of course, clothes were thrown around a lot making it look very untidy. She easily made up for it though since a few times a month she just got in a crazy mood where everything had to be clean, possibly because she was so sick of the filth that managed to present itself.

When the woman talked, she realized what it was that made her feel so outnumbered around her. It was the accent. To her, a Russian accent seemed so powerful in its own self. It was husky and pretty and all sorts of thing rolled into a word that did not exist. Once upon a time a French accent moved out of her lips, but English soon distorted that. No longer did her lips speak such a romantic language with an accent. She knew French well, but nothing that kept the accent tied to her vocal chords. Many times it was missed, but occasionally she’d find it when talking to somebody that only spoke the language. Hours of conversation could pass between Kella and some stranger using French, making her sound like she had lived in the country ever since, but it afterwards, it left her as quickly a soul could leave a human. Never had she been to Russia, or really understood the language, but it was an accent that she could listen to all day. It seemed more becomely on a woman then a man; then again she hadn’t really run into any male that had a Russian accent.

Yes, Valeska knew she had come more than an average jolly chat. They were not the best of friends, but she knew that when the leader took to stopping by, if at all, it wasn’t on a trip to carry on a merry discussion of politics or the weather. The small smile that carved itself on her lips gave away to the detail that she knew that. ”I’m looking for a book to read. I was hoping you might lend me one. Nothing prized or valuable, just something I can merely read.” Never would she dream of asking her for any book that was worth a price to somebody. However, it was possible that all of these books were prized to their owner. Kella was certain that Valeska would defiantly tell her where to stick something. ”You have your own library, but if there’s nothing for me, feel free to tell me to get the hell out,” she said jokingly with amusement in her eyes. If anybody would do it, it would have to be the woman in front of her, which was just fine and dandy.

[Valeska Rasputin]

Valeska quietly listened to Kella’s request. It was common knowledge that Valeska’s books were the things most dear to her and she was rarely willing to give them to just anyone. Though she could not rightfully deny her coven leader’s request, for she was too afraid of the consequences. Rather reluctantly Valeska turned and stepped on to the old Persian rug that covered the bare stone floor. Her movements were fluid in the same graceful manner as many of the famed ballet dancers of the French stage. She slowly moved towards one of her bookshelves and reached her hand up to grab one of her many volumes. Then she stopped suddenly and turned to Kella.

The thought passed through her mind that not everyone shares her odd tastes in reading material and also that Kella most likely was not able to read Russian for which most of her vast collection was written in. “What type of stories do you like to read?” Valeska asked softly letting her hand fall back down towards her side. In doing so the shall that she had wrapped her shoulders in to keep her unsightly scars hidden fell slightly to revile a small portion of them her friend.

Quickly she pulled it back around her shoulder and turned back towards her books. “I assume that you don’t read Russian, so that leaves out Tolstoy, Turgenev, or Chekhov.” She naming just a few of the names off of the self she was looking at and then moved down one shelf. “Have you ever read The Picture of Dorian Gray?” She asked pulling a small leather bound book out and setting it down on a near by table. She ran her slender fingers along the edge of the well taken care of book. “It’s a good read but I don’t know if you like the classics…” She said softly.

Valeska loved the classic Gothic Novels, her favorite being Dracula but that was because of the irony of being a vampire and reading Dracula as many people would read the bible. Then there was the three part story of Gormenghast, which was one of the few books that took her more than a week to read. Valeska knew that very few people shared her taste in literature and she was almost certain Kella wasn’t one of tem.

[Kella Credence Diesel]

That of an order to one of the members, but more of a hopeful request from one civilized, as much as possible was not doing the simplicity of the question of borrowing for them, person to the next. She would not order Valeska to give her one of her books for it was just silly and petty to get so hung up over power that ran over the mere enquire of a book. Yet, there was still that feeling of power in the air. What would it look like if she refused the leader this? It would not bother Kella a bit of she refused. It made rather much sense really since they were one of her prized possessions after all. She knew for a fact that if anybody asked their leader to borrow the one-of-a-kind sword and dagger set encrusted with emeralds that were only used during the heaviest of battle, she would downright refuse them of this request. Now, if they weren’t one-of-a-kind, custom built just for her, then sure, maybe, but the fact that they didn’t have any weapons of their own would be a tolerably bad sign. Plus, it’d be ever so easy to just take the weapons in storage. But she digressed, a book was just a book to her, if she got it, good, if not, then there were others to ask.

It seemed with the next question though, Valeska would be giving her a book, rather against her will or not was another question for it didn’t seem easily written on the young woman’s face. A measly shrug moved with elegant shoulders. ”If it has words, I’ll read it.” While the woman did not make a goal to read every book ever made before her death that would inevitably befall her in the future, reading was actually soothing. Of course, breathing, sleeping, and dreaming books were not up to question, it was wonderful for thinking. Not only could her mind muster up the strength to soak in every word, filling her brain with myths and legends, romances, non-fiction, or just down right silliness, but also it thought of the things around her. While reading about creatures in the depth of the ocean, thoughts of practical battle plans roamed around there. Reading was the best thing that could make Kella solve the problems in life rather it was personal or dealt with the coven. It was solitude, yet it was confinement.

The way she asked about speaking the Russian tongue did not seem like a question at all, but more of a statement as she already had it checked off in her mind. No response was given to it, just continuously watching the woman go over the stack of books. Russian was not a language that gifted itself to her. If it were in French, Spanish, or German, then she’d be able to do such a thing, but Russian escaped itself. Many people were bilingual anymore; English being the secondary to many countries it seemed anymore. It was odd the way multiple countries made Americans feel at home, at least when speaking the same language. Americans were tourists and if tourism brought in a great deal of capital, then it made sense to want to accommodate to such standards. Parisians spoke French all the time until a person in a Hawaiian shirt entered the conversation. Apparently Hawaiian shirt equaled tourist. People did not suspect Kella of such things. This was home for her and she spoke French like any too born. It was a romantic language that seemed to lose the prospect of the ideal.

”No, I have not read it.” Her general reads were too far varied to say that she avidly read such classics. It was a book, however, that piqued her interest, so the offer was rather welcoming with such a title. Looking at the book on the table, no moves were made to pick it up. The image of Valeska pinning her down for such a speedy attempt at trying to take it passed through her mind. That wasn’t anything she highly well wanted. ”I’d be overjoyed to read it.” Just a small fib, but her voice remained monotone as if to say she wasn’t completely that overjoyed about it. It would make quite an interesting read anyway, or so hoped. Then again, Kella did like anything with words rather it was brochures or traffic signs. Reading was everywhere and it was all as interesting as the next.

[Valeska Rasputin]

”I’d be overjoyed to read it.”

If Valeska was the type of person to smile, this would have been one of those moments when she would have smiled brightly. “Good..” She said softly, her small pale hands reached down at picked up the rather old book and held it out for Kella to take. Inside Valeska wanted to scream at the thought of letting one of her favorite books go into the hands of someone that she honestly didn’t really know all that well. There were few things in the world she was will to give up, but her books were certainly one of them.

Once the book was gone from her hands she moved back over towards her dark bed. Slowly she sat on the edge and looked at the youthful young woman in front of her. She could pass for a woman of 21, but many people always guessed Valeska to be older that she was when she was turned. It was the way that she cared herself, her eyes had this hypnotic element that many people equate with age, and then once Valeska opened her mouth to speak she rarely used slang.

Even when she was young Valeska, who was known as Lena back then, she spoke in proper langue because she wanted nothing to do her lower birth. She was the typical social climber.

“I hope you enjoy it… it’s very amusing considering our situation.” She said as she closed the book on her bed and set it on top of the bookshelf where she kept her treasured books that gave her a window into her father’s life. Reaching down to grab one of the volumes she looked back up at Kella. “You stay here if you wish….” She said with a small laugh.

[Kella Credence Diesel]

Looking at the book in Valeska’s hands, it seemed so personal, like a little piece of one’s heart. Taking the book into her own hands, it felt a little bit heavier, but it was probably the pressure that she felt came with it. It was such a precious instrument to the woman in front of her that it probably held such a bond like that of a mother and child, at least those in a normal, fairy tale sense. If anything happened to this book, something that was beginning to feel like such a holy item such as that of a bible, Kella believed she’d be after her in the matter of moments to rip her a new one. Would she be able to tell on the way she handled the object that offered reading material? That thought was eerie. It was too much pressure to have to look after one book. The image of herself sitting at a table reading it came to mind, but when it came time to turn the page, there were a pair of tweezers in her hands gently gripping the surface of the worn page just to merely turn it. Of course, she’d never do it, but that was how paranoid her subconscious was about even having this book in possession. Why did it seem possible that Valeska would ask her about the book after a whole twenty-four hours, which would even be a stretch? Well, she didn’t know her that well, so maybe it was just an exaggeration.

”I’ll look after it with my life.” ’For I fear you’d take my life if anything happened to this book,’ she thought to herself. Where as some people would protect her for their life, she was doing this for a book. Oh well, the price it took to be literary acceptable. The little statement probably didn’t mean a thing. Just because she was going to look after it with her life didn’t mean harm would come to the book. Nothing of this caliber for responsibility had bestowed itself upon her graceful shoulders. It was a different sort of responsibility. As a young girl, she did things to get money that many weren’t proud of, hell, even she wasn’t in the beginning, but it was to help out her family and it’d be done again if the situation ever brought itself up again. The responsibility as a leader was different as well. Everything in life held some sort of responsibility, but they were different in themselves. Oh, the random thoughts of a savage.

”I heard it was a good read. I’m surprised I haven’t read it, giving what the situation is about.” She might not have read the book, but the plot was basic in her mind from hearing about it or even reading the description when searching for books online. Immortality. It was an altogether amusing subject. How could humans write books about things they didn’t know? Unless they happened to have an interview with a vampire, then it was even more fictitious. It was interesting though to get those aspects from other people’s point of view. There were millions of dollars out there that were given to entertainment about werewolves or vampires, but she was so full of herself that she believed she couldn’t have gotten billions of dollars by writing one book that was so true that people would have believed that it was completely false. ”Thanks.” Kella didn’t want to run off just yet to go back to an empty room. Besides, there were probably a few lurking out there just waiting for her. Finding a chair, she took a seat, carefully setting down the book. ”Have you read all of these books more than once?” she asked naturally interested, peering at the titles all of them, some of them in languages she couldn’t understand. Too many bought books and read them once. What was the point of buying them then? It was like bleeding a human for one drop of blood. The thought was retched.