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How The Vampire Got His Name

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  • How The Vampire Got His Name

    Title: How The Vampire Got His Name.
    Description: This was inspired by the discussion about possible retcons concerning how Spike came to be known as Spike.
    Disclaimer: No money, not mine.

    The Honourable Hugo Carrington was puzzled. It was one thing to be roused from one’s bed at this ungodly hour by an urgent summons, but quite why Sandford needed him to come to this god forsaken place with such urgency was entirely beyond him.

    “You’re sure this is the place?” He asked the ragged youth who had woken his entire household not half an hour ago.

    “Yes sir” The urchin replied “The gent said you was to come straight away. “Said you’d give me something for me trouble too.”

    “Did he now?” said Carrington fishing into his waistcoat pocket “How exceedingly charitable of him.”

    He gave a small coin to the boy and, as he quickly departed, gazed around at his surroundings uncomfortably, squinting myopically as he tried to pierce the fog that was closing in. To all intents the railway yard looked deserted. A few empty carriages loomed up out of the murk, surrounded by piles of metal and… other such materials, but signs of life there were none. To Carrington it resembled nothing more than some vast mechanical elephant’s graveyard, a place where the trains came to die.

    It was as he mused on this thought, rather pleased at the simile, that he caught a quick flash of movement deep in the hazy shadows.

    “Hello?” He called out as he stumbled forwards. “That you Sandford?”

    Heavy silence was his only reply but somehow Carrington got the feeling that there was something deliberate about the lack of noise, something expectant. He glanced around, trying to make sense of the indistanct shapes that presented themselves through the swirling clouds of fog that now enveloped him, but once more saw only the ghostly bulk of the carriages. With a heavy sigh he turned and made his way towards where he believed the movement had emanated.

    “There better be a damn good explanation for all this you know” He shouted into the fog “Or by god you will find me less than pleased; friend or no friend.”

    He was answered only by a soft musical laugh, full of mirth, and unmistakeably female coming somewhere from his left

    “Sandford? Do you have someone with you? This had better not be some kind of woman trouble. If it is you can jolly well sort it out yourself this time.

    Again no answer came back from the clouds of mist before him,

    “Look, if this is some kind of joke, Sandford; it’s a damned poor one,” He shouted, as his fraying nerves gave way to uncertain anger “rousing a soul from his bed to wander around this god forsaken place in the middle of the night. Well… well all I can say is if you’ve got women down here there had better be one for me or...well, by heaven you’ll be sorry.”

    This time the sound came from behind him, a metallic scraping noise that rang out in the deadened air. Carrington paused, unsure whether to go back or continue on, not even sure of if he could retrace his steps if he wanted to. The noise had unnerved him. It had contained something unpleasant, some sense of a nameless threat. It was a noise that was wrong, out of place. A noise that spoke of surreptition, and concealed movements. In fact this whole affair seemed suddenly wrong. His friend might be a wild cove at times, and his practical jokes had certainly gained him a certain notoriety in the past, but this was beyond the pale even for him. No, something here was very, very wrong.

    “Look, I’ve had enough of this.” He called out, his voice wavering “I’m leaving now, alright? I’m going.”

    He headed for a gap between two carriages, glancing backwards as he went, his pace increasing with every step. The opening was all but upon him when a figure stepped out of the shadows before him. She was a tall, dark haired woman, a lady by her dress, although the sinuous way she moved as she closed the distance between them was certainly less than ladylike.

    “Oh no, deary” She said, resting a languorous hand on Carrington’s chest “You can’t leave us now. Why, the party is only just beginning.”

    “Party? What party? What the devil are you…”

    The woman place a finger to his lips and backed away from him slightly “Shh. We shall have dancing and music and everyone shall have bright shiny presents for their very own...”

    Carrington was about to interrupt this apparent raving when he felt a hard jolting pain at the back of his head and found himself pitching forwards. He hit the ground hard and darkness closed in on him, the woman’s words his last waking impression before concussion finally took him

    “… Oh, what a time we shall have.”
    Lonely God
    Last edited by tangent; 21-02-09, 04:52 PM.

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  • #2
    Carrington woke to find himself laying on something cold and hard and extremely uncomfortable. He shook his head to clear the fog that seemed to have leaked into his very consciousness and tried to rise, but found himself unable, his movement restricted by thick ropes that bound his arms and legs.

    “Ah, you’re awake, good” Said a voice from above his head “For a moment I thought I might have hit you a little too hard.”

    To Carrington the face that appeared was upside down and, thanks to his recent concussion, slightly blurred but still he felt his heart skip a beat as the jolt of recognition hit him.

    “William? He asked, incredulously “William Pratt?”

    “Yes” Said William coming around to Carrington’s right “I suppose it is, although to tell you the truth I’m not entirely sure anymore

    “Look man I have no idea what the devil you’re playing at here but you have gone entirely too far. I insist you untie me at once!”

    “I’m afraid not." The other replied. "You see, a lot has changed for me recently. My eyes have been opened in a way that I had never thought possible, and now I understand exactly where my place in this world is” He glanced down at the prostrate form “And of course where yours is. You, my dear Hugo, are a dullard and a bully, spending your fathers money as if it were water and acting as if that made you better than everyone else, clubbing together with your cronies to pick upon those you see as weaker than yourself. Well tonight that ends. Tonight you will find out what true strength is.”

    Carrington could only stare up at the apparition before him. These words did not belong to the meek little mouse of a man he knew from so many fashionable parties. There was something else different about the poet too. His clothes were dishevelled, his hair wild, his entire posture seemed to emanate a challenge to the world and a hard, vicious light shone in his eyes.

    “But, but surely this is some kind of joke” He blustered “One of Sandford’s pranks perhaps or…”

    “Sandford is dead.”


    “Yes. I killed him about an hour ago.”

    “Oh, and he died such a beautifully messy death.” A female voice chimed in. Carrington turned his head slightly and saw the dark haired woman he had encountered earlier approach William, resting her head on his shoulder as she came up beside him “Such pretty viscera.” She said “Such lovely screams.”

    “I believe you’ve met Drusilla.” William said, turning his head and kissing the woman lightly. “Is she not the most captivating creature? So free, so wild, so very dangerous. She is surely everything a man could dream of.” He turned back to Carrington “And she has set me free; free from all the humdrum smallness, the… inconsequential triviality, that has plagued me all my life. I can see now how useless that life was, dreaming of romance and adventure but never once daring to achieve it. Well no more! Today I have become a new man and I shall tear down the remnants of that life and build myself anew, plunge myself into the world of experience, rip through this world and savour each and every delight it has to offer. Starting, I’m afraid, with your death.”

    As Carrington listened to this speech he watched the man’s face, mesmerised by the hard jubilance that seemed to take over his expression with every passing sentence. Tears came unbidden to his eyes as the realisation of just how hapless his plight was finally struck home.

    “Please” He begged “Please don’t do this, I know you William, I know you are a good man, a sensitive man. Surely some strange mania has overtaken you, but you must see that this is wrong. I have treated you shabbily, true enough, but to kill me? Surely such evil cannot exist in a heart such as yours.”

    “In life, perhaps not” William said, his face melting into a demonic visage that froze Carrington's soul to the core “but my heart is now still and for the slights that you have visited upon me I would gladly kill you a thousand times over.”

    He reached behind him and picked up something long and metallic its sharpened edge reddened with rust and more ominous stains.

    “Before he died Sandford told me something interesting, something you said regarding my verse.” William said, his yellow eyes caressing the railroad spike “I think it’s something you may come to regret.”

    And as the fog closed around them once more, Carrington screamed.
    Lonely God
    Last edited by tangent; 21-02-09, 04:58 PM.

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