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From: Joseph and Millie
Joseph closes the safe door behind him and lets the darkness engulf him. He is unable to see, but long familiarity allows him to move without bumping into anything. The wooden stairs creak slightly with his tread, changing to a soft smacking sound as he moves across the concrete floor to his workbench. Glassware clinks softly and the slither of rubber hose pushes against the deathly silence of the room. A drawer is opened and closed with a small squeak and then with a rough scratch, fire blossoms forth. Joseph lights a couple of candles, their yellow glow illuminating the black tabletop and his pale flesh. Their wavering flames send bizarre shadows fleeing into the recesses of the room.
Reaching up, Joseph pulls down a large, dark book of indiscernible age. Studying the book for a few minutes, he then retrieves a mortar and pestle and a jar of black powder. Working quickly and efficiently he slowly starts combining ingredients. Several times during the process, he interrupts his work to walk to the refrigerator and bring back reagents. Other items appear on the shelf around him as well: An ornamental dagger, a copper ring, an obsidian rock, and a white feather, which he carefully sharpens with the dagger.
After studying the book for a few minutes, he then walks back across the room to an alcove under the stairs and there, next to his coffin, he opens a free-standing wardrobe. Carefully removing and hanging his clothes, Joseph strips down until he is wearing nothing. Returning to the workbench, Joseph’s emaciated body glows a sickly jaundice yellow in the candlelight. Retrieving the items from the table, he then moves to the circular patch in the middle of the room. Shadows seem to caress his body as he starts drawing eldritch symbols onto the floor using his finger and the contents of the mortar.
Minutes later he steps into the middle of the ring, sets the items down, and flows into a lotus position. He retrieves the copper ring and intoning, he slides it over his left arm where it seems to fuse with his pale skin. Picking up the ornamental knife, he draws a deep ‘X’ into his left hand and wills his blood to flow into the mortar. He then takes up the black rock into the palm of his left hand where it starts glowing the color of his blood as it absorbs his vitae. Then taking the still faintly glowing stone he puts it into the mortal and crushes it with the pestle, grinding it in with the rest of the ingredients. A sigh escapes from the shadows like steam hissing from a vent. Picking up the white feather, the still intoning Joseph draws the same eldritch symbols onto his naked flesh as had been drawn onto the stone: a sun, a moon, rippling water, and a flower, all inked with delicate precision.
Setting the feather down and picking up the dagger, Joseph gracefully stands and starts to dance a dance of the macabre. His movement reminiscent of a praying mantis, Joseph’s choreographed ritual is punctuated by spinning on a symbol and slicing himself across the corresponding symbol on his flesh. The grisly rite is enacted three times, and when he is finally left genuflecting in the center of the circle, several chaotic symbols gape open on his body. With time, the inked drawings fade off his body and off the floor. When they are completely gone Joseph leaves the circle. Utterly consumed in his work, he walks over to the bench and begins to write in his book, totally oblivious to his nakedness and to the cuts in his flesh.
Finally setting down his pen, he closes his book with a snap and places it neatly on the shelf. Then rising, he heals himself and retrieves the items from the floor. Putting everything back in its place, Joseph then makes his way to his coffin under the stairs and falls to sleep. Curled into a tiny ball, unable to leave before the sun rises, the Malkavian quickly follows the Tremere into deathly slumber.
Many hours later, she leans over the sleeping Tremere. He does not stir. A profound justice enters her mind, sublime and consummate. How many would love to be where she is now? How she wishes she could share the morose joy in her heart. There is not much time. He did not fall to slumber very much before she had; He will rouse at any moment. Who could resist the opportunity to take advantage of such a helpless state? Not Millie, not after so long. Eyes glowing and fangs bared, she leans down over the corpse. Trick or Treat, Joseph.
What a way to go…
‘As I drain your life's blood sweetly
As you sigh into my warm hands
As I suck your madness neatly
Streaming down like crimson bands
I dance the dance of the fool
And pray you find me mad
For if you lay hands upon the root
You'll know me, without illusion
And find me guilty of the truth’
- Malkav’s words, the Book of Nod.