Absit Omen RPG

“Who’s your mother, father, saviour. Who ate your lunch? If you like? Or don’t you know?”

Cass looked across the antediluvian pages, timeworn as vampires were. To her it looked older than its years, as a more recent bite. Its pages held a certain smell and creaked as it settled open. Her pale hand received ink and quill, and with celebrity ease, she inscribed her name upon the ledger. Cassandra Rachel Alice Motley. CRAM. Her witch self had despaired at the thought of marrying a wizard with a surname beginning with B, or P.

As for her mother, Cass inscribed a single word name, Hope, for that was how they had known each other. In the height of her success on the network they had met, when Cass was seeking a headier high. A nibble had become a bite and a drink nearly dry. Cass had not seen the vampire since - partly for the fact her father had tried to stake her in revenge. Last she had heard Hope had fled the country not long after. Cass had not been adequately introduced to vampire kind to know any of her associates, and the two years that had followed had been the worst for Cass. She had let sleeping bats hang.

“There,” Cass signed the date, her grin all fangs. “And sign me up for karaoke Friday.”

"Drink and drain all you want, just don't bring the mess home. It's earlier than you think." One of the vampires kicked his boots up on a table and judged her from his vantage point. Cass rested her tongue just behind her sharp incisors, itching to issue a comeback.

"House rules, aye. We don't drag corpses to our door, do we now?" The boss issued his decree. Not that Cass had any intention of bringing corpses to the door. No, blood was better fresh and walking voluntarily into the place, wasn't it?

She held her cold tongue.

"Covens aren't alliances, you get? We're like family. You come into our house, you learn the rules before you even think about bending them." She was transported in an instant back to Hogwarts - though those memories were distorted and foggy in her vampire mind - but being told off. There was a cold prickling sensation down her spine.

It might not be a game in Hooker's mind, but all games had rules, and rules she would learn. Tow the line, just like the radio station.

"Rules, yes, of course, brothers." Cass grinned and shook her blonde mane arrogantly. "Now whose blood would you like me to sign in?"

"Some people have no manners. None at all, none at all."
"Quite." Cass agreed, flicking strands of long blonde hair over her shoulder and nodding in agreement with the yet to be acquainted vampire with the beard and touselled hair.

The pretty thing across the bar pushed another shot her way. Cass battered her eyelashes and flashed a toothy smile of thanks.

"Yes... no respect." Hooker agreed in a murmur, and another vampire hissed, teeth bared. Cass did her best to cover her start at the noise.

"Why should the Aurors respect us?" Hooker asked the assembled reflection-less audience. ".... They don't even know what we're capable of-" There were more hisses. Cass did her best to join in, keen to show she was one with them already. Her eyes rarely left Hooker though, he had a commanding presence and it was a little unnerving.

"... of what we'll do or say. What our new friend here might say."

New friend! Cass' bloodless heart swelled with pride at being called such.

"You don't take it lying down, now do you lass? Not on the wireless, I bet."

"Darling," Cass ventured, adrenaline-fuelled in this communal moment, "the only ones 'lying down' will be the crimson-robes after they cross us. I won't be kept in a cell all night again. I am no beast." Vampires were classified as beings much to the distaste of merpeople and centaurs who took beast status along with transformed werewolves. It was a lesser category. "But I am capable of drinking a muggle dry."

She winked and knocked back the shot and wiped a drop of blood from her lip with a pale hand.

"As loud as my voice is on the airwaves, I am one vampire alone, which is why I was so pleased to accept your invitation. You're absolutely right, it is time they knew what we were capable of. So how about an alliance?" She shrugged, and looked about her new friends.

Cass nodded. ‘Hooker’ was fine, he was so far charmed if she read him correctly.

“So this is the face behind the voice.”
“And what a face it is.”

Cass was naturally pleased by the way the girl behind the bar expressed her appreciation. It was highly flattering, and Cass responded oh so well to flattery as young Rigel Acrux had discovered at Christmas.

“Thank you darling,” she purred, extending her free hand, limp at the wrist in her direction, and winked. “You are quite the picture yourself, if only you could see yourself.” The boss seemed to laugh at it all, and released her hand at long last. Any longer and it might have become properly awkward.

He granted her permission to sit, and she took up a stool, folding one long leg over the other. An elbow rested on the edge of the bar, feigning relaxed confidence. Fake it ’til you make it, Motley.

“Tell us. Tristan’s words don’t look good in other people’s mouths.” Cass suppressed her itch to express some nervous joke at that expression. Tristan was quite the looker, and she was sure he had quite a queue of suitors or … warm drinks.

“There was a Muggle found Christmas Day, Kensington Gardens,” Cass began, looking from Hooker to the assembled audience. What a treat to see them in person, rather than hear them from their owls later. “The wixes pointed the finger at our kind. Wanted someone to arrest, so next thing I know there’s an auror on the doorstep.”

She inclined a little towards her audience, changing the timbre of her voice for sidenote, “You see, I lodge with Tristan, at Moonshine Mews.”

She nodded, and reset her pose, “her name was Auror Roh, or woe as I dubbed her. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. I was to come with her directly. Wouldn’t let me even lift the needle on my record. The indecency. Attacked me in my home, our home.”

Cass lifted her hand, as if she were sickened by it all and had to pause her account, rather than just for dramatic intensity.

“Invitations, there aren’t many of those,” Cass turned her head to regard the scratchy, low tones from another vampire at the bar. His tousled hair, bushy jawline and smoky scent fitted the vocal range. “How’d you find one,” he asked, approaching. She stood her ground, hands placed one by one on her hips.

“What’s this? We allowed to interrogate the new meat?” Asked a feminine voice to her other side, from behind the bar. Fangs there too. Cass raised an eyebrow, enjoying her moment of mystique to the others, which helped her keep her nerve.

Then he arrived, from the back room, in black tie. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and Cass felt the need to lick her own lips at the sight of the crimson.

“Everybody! Ladies, gentlemen, we’re closing. Coven business.” His exclamation made Cass jump too, but she tried to style it out, flicking her blonde hair back over her shoulder, and allowed the corners of her mouth to curl at Hooker’s appearance, even if his laugh held the warmth of a grave.

Hooker’s patrons were surprisingly obedient at the request, a murmur joined the screech of bar stools on the bar floor before the rumble of footsteps and the glassy plonk of downed glasses on the table tops.

“Mr Hooker, I presume.” Cass greeted once the majority were out of the door, herded by another figure who lacked a reflection. “Cass Motley, as expected.” She turned a hand to her chest and then extended it politely, assuming Hooker to be on the same page as grumpy band managers who occasionally graced her studio in the dead of night. “Honoured to receive word of your invitation,” she smiled, full-fanged, eyes only on him despite all other eyes on her from the way her skin prickled.

It was Friday night, and in the vampire calendar, January was one of the darkest months, so plenty of time to be awake and delighted in the dark. The moon was nineteen days old, its waning gibbous had emerged from behind the daytime clouds, the stars twinkling beside it in the frosty sky. Cass Motley, vampire of five and a bit years, sized up the pub from the street.

Any passing Muggles did not see it, their eyes slid from the end of the adjacent building to the corner of the pavement as if nothing were there. You had to love magic. It was bitter outside, so she tossed her white blonde curls over her shoulder, straightened her leather jacket, and allowed her high heeled boots stride her across the road and up to the step. She wore them because she felt she could kick arses in them, and it allowed her six foot slender frame to tower even more over others. They boosted an already excited bubble of arrogant confidence within her. The very confidence which pushed open the front door to the Camden Hookers’ domain with both hands without pause. Friday 13th, unlucky for some, but Cass did believe for her.

She paused a moment on the threshold, a small voice wondering if her electric blue dress, tights, leather jacket and long boots were befitting of what Tristan’s coven leader friend expected of a vampire. Her bright blue eyes swept around the saloon bar, across the counter, cushioned seats and the great… considerably empty mirror despite the others present. There was no doubt to Cass this was the right place. She saw nothing of herself in the mirror, either.

“Evening,” she greeted, putting on her radio voice without a second thought, and began a purposefully slow, considered walk towards the bar, eyes still busy on her surroundings. “Cass Motley,” she introduced herself at the bar in lower volume, unable to hide her fangs in her smile. “Here by invitation[1].”

1.	5th Jan Such a Pain in the Neck

Un enfant! Cass knew enough of the language to glean this was child. That’s what she was considered, amongst vampires. A child. She’d only turned in 2006, an accident when she and a female vampire acquaintance had come to an agreement over bloodsucking for a high. It wasn’t enough that she had been a grown up before, and still very much resembled her 33 year old witch self other than the pallid look, fangs and nocturnal lifestyle amongst other indicators.

Hadn’t her friend been part of a coven? Cass couldn’t remember. There was a fog when one turned, and while Cass Motley the witch had been sunshine, voice of the early morning breakfast show, Cass Motley the vampire had become moonlight at the point her witch-life ended. Her friend was long gone, after a Ministry punishment, and her father’s attempt to stake her for what she had done to Cass.

As such, Cass had not joined a coven, or really wanted to consider it, especially due to her deep depression after turning. Her new life with Tristan, and re-establishing her voice on the radio had brought her back. Perhaps a coven would be the new chapter she needed, especially with the Ministry’s persecution!

“We may go at your leisure, oui? Terry will want your answer in person.”

“Oui.” Cass replied with foolhardy assurance, dead eyes alight. Her fanged smile brightened with her delight.

“Oui, oui Tristan! At my leisure.”



End

“… who was going to miss a few poor bodies in the middle of a war…?”

Who would miss a few of the lonely faces in London? Though some of them kept habits which made the blood bitter, or were so rake thin the fangs would sink into sinew instead of rich artery. Tristan, a wiser, more worldly student than Cass was referring to pure muggle war, rather than the society battleground Cass saw in the capital city instead. She didn’t wish to start an intellectual debate over comparisons, because she’d lose.

He painted a thirsty picture. She’d be a blessing in disguise, shuffling the wounded off their mortal coil… and the smell of blood… the clean, underused kitchen blinked out of existence once more for some melodramatic scene painted on a renaissance canvas.

“Terry,” Tristan explained, and Cass returned to the present, quick tongue tracing the edge of her left fang. ”… we cannot allow them to be so rude to us, can we?” She met Tristan’s gaze from the other side of the kitchen.
“No, abhorrent,” she agreed, excited by this suggestion, eyes widening.

“United?” Cass queried. “United! Yes, yes.” She answered her own question somehow with the same word. “You know she did not let me lift the needle on the record? Such disrespect, tsk.” She did not elaborate whether she meant towards herself or her precious record collection.

“And by united…” Cass narrowed her eyes at her host, “… I am … invited?”

Thank you Sarah! Cass looks proper vampyric in your awesome portrait. Spooooooooky.



And Niklas those illustrations are really neat!

... sorry for like triple posting. I'm still in Google Chat teaching mode I think >_<

Small Hours of Sunday morning, 8th January 2012
Wizarding Wireless Network studios, Diagon Alley, London


“You may have noticed my conspicuous absence this week, listeners…” Cass Motley began, “and it is a tale of mistaken identity, incrimination and a night in a Ministry cell - one star review by the way, would not recommend it as a city-break hotel.” Her fingers neatly dropped the needle onto a record. “But all of that soon, but first, here’s The Bawling Bards and their breakthrough single A Bludger to the Head.

It was late Saturday night, or rather, early Sunday morning and Cass had returned to the airwaves to greet her loyal weekend listeners. She sat back and shuffled through some of the records on the cluttered radio desk in the low glow of the studio lights. Being back felt good, even if she had only missed one show. This world was important to her, and the slight of Auror Roh to keep her incarcerated for a whole night, forcing her to miss presenting, was not taken lightly.

“… Auror Woe, as we are calling her,” Cass explained to her listeners three tracks later, indulging her story across the whole of her airtime between segments, “declined to question me promptly, but left me off air all night in that godsforsaken cell. So you were without me! And all for her own pleasure and power trip. She’s obviously got hideous taste in music. So here’s a classic, just for you Auror Woe, it’s Hawkshead Attacking Formation and Burn All Bridges, title track to their best-selling album.”

Cass wouldn’t want her listeners to send hate mail to the poor Auror with a very similar sounding name, would she? Not after she had endured duplicating garlic, wooden stakes and such in the past? What would people send an auror as hate mail? Bloodstained crimson robes? Letters cut out of the Daily Prophet to form words? It would be wrong of her to suggest.

“… and if you are ever in a shtick, it’s Crowe and Associates who will be on your side. 19 Knockturn Alley, office 3B, ask for Talisha Crowe and say Cass Motley recommended. She’ll see you right. Now here’s Mildred and the Mandrakes with As the Crow Flies.”

And no show would now be complete without one of VRZNight's songs as her fellow brethren.

“Don’t think you’ve gone a bit far?” Her producer asked as she went off air.
“That sounds like I’ve done enough for now,” Cass agreed, flashing her teeth, “but we’ve only just begun.”

“He has also asked me to invite you to visit the coven, at your leisure.”

Where her eyebrows had risen high at Auror Roh’s exchanges, they were threatening to join her hairline at this suggestion. That red blood was suddenly hanging from the hook of a rod, and her own arms from wooden cross atop a puppet’s thin strings. The imaginary vision dissipated as the bottle slid across the marble. She clasped it like a woman appreciating the colour of nail varnish in a bottle, and rolled it between her long, pale fingers, watching the way it swirled behind the glass. Her fangs extended hungrily without conscious decision.

“Well, one of us has to be,” Cass replied at last. Her silence was out of character, but down to romancing the contents of Hooker’s gift. “You can tell them I am the model vampire if you wish,” not the sort who barely made it into bat form and flew into windows regularly. “I wouldn’t want to willingly damage your reputation at work… mate.” Well, he had called her his friend.

She looked from Tristan to the bottle and back again, clearly distracted by being in its proximity, but pushed it aside, becoming self-aware of how clear her thirst displayed.

“Surprised Hooker’s interested. Thought I was too ‘integrated’ for him?” She flexed her fingers to illustrate the air quotes, and perched atop the edge of the marble worktop. It was easy enough, given her height and the boots. “Didn’t think he wanted the likes of me?” Another question. “Unless -,” Cass brightened, “he believes it and that makes me worthy of the invite. You all used to suck live bloodbags when you could, didn’t you?” She gestured to Tristan, who was owed a less crass phrasing to the exploits of his long afterlife.

“’un cadeau?’” Cass questioned, eyes lit up, and her French accent laughable. “Is it breathing with two arms and legs, because if it is…”

But the kitchen was not occupied by a beating heart and the flesh which ordinary wrapped around. Sad times, but also rather lessened the risk of Auror Woe Roh at the door again. Cass did not want a repeat of that humiliation!

“What was it, a commiseration present that you’d have to get a new lodger?” She asked, maintaining a one-sided commentary of the situation as usual. “Not like he gives a whatsits about someone out of the crew - coven.”

Despite it being a few years, Cass had been a vampire just a moment in comparison to the rest of the vampires she knew. She’d not yet joined a coven because she was wary and felt inferior. She’d only just managed to get the hang of turning into a bat, and that hadn’t gone all that smoothly before Christmas. She’d ended up stuck[1] in a tailor’s shop. (Thankfully the end of that story had improved rather in the form of Rigel Acrux.)

1.	23rd December, 2011 Turn on the Dark, I'm Afraid of the Light!

About half an hour after sunset

“TRIIIISTAAAAAN!”

Cass had never been more glad to be back at Moonstone Mews. Talisha Crowe had been worth her fee. The only real delay had been daylight once that witch had worked her legal magic.

“TRIIISTAN!”

Her producer had been furious, obviously. She hadn’t made her show, because Auror Woe Roh had kept her in a cell all night, waiting until daylight to question her about a murder she obviously had nothing to do with. Who kept their broken wand? Not Cass. Definitely not. That’d be weird wouldn’t it? Auror Roh would understand how ridiculous it all was once Cass aired her opinion on her radio show next. Persecution against vampires. Just because she owned pointy teeth didn’t mean she went around sucking every bloodbag Muggle dry on a whim.

Cass tossed her shoes off inside the front door and wondered if she looked ghastly, only she couldn't look in a mirror to check. Tristan would understand. He better be outraged at what had happened to her. She was confident he would support her retaliation too. Dirty aurors. Dragged her out he door. Didn’t even let her turn the record off. Disgraceful.

Crowe got the message. Cass felt vindicated.

“… How’d you like to go home?”

“How’d you like to get paid on time.”

“That sounds more like it.” Cass smiled, one full of white teeth and long pointy fangs. It was a pleased smile but a vampire’s smile was never reassuring, like a crocodile’s, only with numerically less teeth involved. “I knew we’d get along.”

She gave a wink and carefully folded away those teeth. Because she’d learned very quickly that she bit herself in the process if she didn’t. That was a right bastard if you were a vampire, biting your own lips. It had been bad enough as a human, but now it was like implementing a lip piercing without preparation. If it hadn’t been bad enough that she’d been turned into the undead, she was going to try and chew her own face off if she ever smiled.

But oh to have small problems like that again.

“You think I’d be so stupid as to do that and leave my own wand?” Cass retorted. “You being serious?”

She could sense Crowe’s blood at this near distance, every throb of her heart, that life-preserving, iron-rich, thick, drizzle of sweet, sweet haemoglobin. Spending so long around the living, especially those with angry, self-righteous raised heart-rates. She didn’t look to be the sort who would have rich blood. Probably full of caffeine, that’s what lawyers drank every moment of the day, wasn’t it?

Cass flicked her long blonde, slow growing hair over her shoulder in a show of disgust and raised a haughty eyebrow.

“Did you really have to ask?!”