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From: Matthew
“Our kind can never stay in one city for too long, for it is against our nature. Worse, the stench a city might cling to our coats. This foul odor will than be with us forever, filling our nostrils with the remembrance of past regrets and worse. Go, please, before the fragrance of freedom that wafts from you is replaced.”
That was the only excuse she could offer for the mistake she had made, a shallow verse of wisdom, a hallow ideology. I can remember it, better than I remember the first pains of hunger of unlife that were wrought upon me. Of her trying to stand with strength aginst the backdrop of a leafless oak tree in Central Park, a rose colored tear coloring her pale cheeks. With the silent falling of winter’s snow blanketing the city around us in a white quilt, the city that never sleeps was being cast into a state of quiescence.
I would have offered some resistence when she had commanded me to leave my native city, when she had told leave her side, but like the city, the cold seemed to possess my soul and the love in my breast was unable to thaw my frozen emotions. So I left on a very strange day, drifting on the storms winds to wherever my supposed nature would take me, and away from a surreal expierence that would haunt me for the rest of my existence.
Many years would pass, stories gathered and to be told, a new love, and the slumber caused by the absence of desire, one that seemed could never be filled, even in the dreaming. There would be the nights of awakening with the strings of hope being the only thing they could be use against you, and than having them slowly cut one by one. And there were the nights when ambitoin often played out it’s trajedy upon any who would dare play the leading role.
Always running through the forrest, searching for answers to riddles. Always lamenting for the undead, each a victim of their own actions in the night, the target of their own plots. Once taught to fear the city and the dwellers within it’s confines, but never listening. Once staying to long, and the city becoming part of the soul.
***
Matthew’s 89’ Ford Ranger pulled off I-45 Exit, into Souther Dallas. The pickup, no longer it’s orginal color of red, but that of rust, fit in well with the neighborhood he was driving through. He was pleased with his ability to deduct what was the more shadey neighborhood by knowing it was the area not described on the tourist guide of Dallas he had picked up in Ottowa. Matthew reasoned it was safer to camp out in his car in the city rather than in the woods since he did not know any of the Garou. Picking a spot where the police did not patrol and snoop was ideal.
Pulling into a parking garage, Matthew rolled down the manual windshield.
“I guess you’re stayin’ for the nigh’?” A fat black man in his mid-fifties and blue uniform with a thick Texan accent asked through the microphone from the rectangular booth he was stationed in, his words being broken up by static.
“Actually, until tomorrow night,” Matthew shouted back into the mircophone on his side.
“Oh, alright. That’ll be $24.50.” The gaurd looked at a small T.V. above his head and than leaned over to speak into the microphone again. “All the levels but the bottom floor been taken though.”
As Matthew scrounged for whatever money he could find, he glanced up quickly. “That’s alright.” Placing some wrinkled bills and change into the slot, he waited for the guard to count his money and hand him a ticket.
“Have a nice night,” The gaurd said.
“Yeah, you too. Sleep tight.”
***
Though Matthew doubted natural light had ever visited the catacombs of this parking garage, out of habbit fed by precaution, he attatched the black wool curtains to the inside of his cab. When he locked the doors, it was out of the same habbit. No one in their right mind would want to rob a beat up pickup, but not every crook was in his or her right state of mind. Throughout his existence, he had learned a healthy diet of precaution was the key to survival. However, he knew that the gluttony of precaution led to paranioa.
Matthew also knew that it’d be maybe half a week before his presence was discovered by one of the seeing eye dogs of the Prince of Dallas. With that short amount of time, he had to decide wether or not to follow her trail or not. If he decided to stay, maybe one of those in his Clan here in Dallas would have some information on her past, or some an answer to the riddle.
Staying though presents problems. An entire new city and it’s Kindred population to get to know, their politics, history, dirty secrets, alliances and enemies. He would be the fly at first, and each of them the spider, weaving their webs in hopes of catching him. For even though he knew relitivly little about the machaivellian plots of the Vampires, he knew that every Kindred was a playing piece to be used or destroyed.