The Freshie Gospel According to (Mick) St. John --PG-13
Posted: Sun Feb 08, 2009 5:53 am
A/N: the following three short pieces were written some time ago, when I started thinking about why Mick might even consider using freshies...in RP. This is what I came up with. It's not extremely in-character for canonical Mick, but I hope the voice sounds a bit like him.
The Freshie Gospel According to (Mick) St. John
(or, How I Fell Off the Wagon, and Onto a Pile of Freshies)
I.
So you want to know everything about freshies? Wow. I may not be the right person to ask. I’ve got a friend who could tell you a lot more. If you could talk him into it. But I’ll tell you what I know.
I just thought that my life—my relationships—were complicated. Then I got stupid. I got caught in the desert. I was thirsty. I was delirious. As Beth has pointed out to me, forcefully, I was dying. So against my better judgment, I bit her. I drank her blood, and what I thought was complicated—I didn’t even know complicated.
Putting aside the whole question of my relationship with Beth—blood started being a hot topic with me again. For a long time--decades, in fact—I’d stuck to the bottled stuff. Blood taken with a needle from some anonymous do-gooder, or drained from a corpse in the morgue. Sure, it’ll keep you undead, but it’s not exactly what anyone would call fine dining.
My friend Josef kept warning me that sooner or later my inner vampire would surface and make demands. He’s 400 years old, and he didn’t get there by being stupid. Turns out he was right about this, too. I didn’t realize it that terrible afternoon in the desert, but once I tasted Beth, once I’d had living blood, freely given, there was no going back.
Josef talks about the reality of fang on flesh, but there’s more to it than that. The bite is one thing—that indescribable feeling of your teeth piercing the skin, sliding toward the veins—but it’s nothing compared to what follows. Taking living blood engages all your senses. The taste of it, the smell. To a vampire’s eyes, there is no color so beautiful as the red of fresh blood on a background of human skin. The sound of a racing heart, knowing that each beat is literally pushing the blood into your mouth, and the silken feel of it on your lips, your tongue…
Blood is sustaining, sure, however it’s acquired. But taken from a living source, the immediacy of it provides more than nourishment, it gives a comfort that is difficult to explain.
And yes, some of that can be obtained by the vamp equivalent of rape instead of seduction. Some vamps get hooked on taking their blood by force, just like some humans do with sex. Personally, I always find that something about taking it that way—maybe it’s the adrenaline—gives the blood a bad taste.
So anyway, after the desert—and forgive me, Beth, for ever lying to you, but yeah, it was a huge deal, bigger than you can possibly imagine—I found myself with a problem. The bottled and bagged stuff I’d been getting by on started tasting like, well, nothing. Like cardboard, or the way people have told me institutional food tastes to humans. Keeps you alive, but only just. Force was out, too. Among other things, picture all of L.A.’s resident vamp population—several hundred of us—out attacking mortals every night. That wouldn’t only be impractical, it’d be suicidal. Multiply that by every major city in the world, and—well, you get the picture.
So what’s the solution? What we vamps call willing freshies. From what Josef tells me, there have always been a certain number of humans who are eager to find out what its like to be on the receiving end of a vampire’s bite. I’m not a psychologist, and I’m not sure I completely understand the motivation. The only time as a human that I was bitten, it was without my consent, and while it’s a little hazy at this remove, I don’t recall taking any pleasure in it. Looking back, it seems to me that Coraline was nervous that night, and hurried, and sloppy.
But as I said, some people enjoy it. Some even become addicted. Either way, freshies serve a purpose. They feed us, and we take some blood bank blood, or work out a deal with morgues and mortuaries for what would otherwise be discarded, and most mortals never have to know we exist outside of books and movies and television.
It’s a deal that works for everyone. Win…win.
II.
Beth asked me once about the downside of being a vampire. What I couldn’t tell her at the time, is that it’s like living inside a rainbow. A rainbow where all the colors are shades of dark gray and black. One of the things that the rare mortals who come to know of our existence never really understand is that we are not human anymore. Sure, we look human, most of the time, and we may even work hard at acting like it, but, again, we are not human. And one of the real downsides to that has nothing to do with not being able to eat prime rib, or go sunbathing. It has to do with relations with the humans all around us.
They stop looking like people, like sentient beings with emotions and hopes, and start looking like cattle. When Josef makes comments about the food mouthing off about the farmer, he does so with very little irony. To him, it’s a solid fact. And that’s where the freshies really come in. To most vamps, they’re food. Disposable. The pretty ones, the witty ones, the entertaining ones, they may be kept around for a while, but for most vamps, freshies go stale pretty fast. And once they lose their initial appeal, what use are they? The kinder vamps, and those are rare, let the girls—or boys, not everyone has the same tastes—go on their way. But if the vamp is annoyed, or just an asshole, or the freshie makes a nuisance of herself, it’s less friendly.
A freshie may suddenly find herself demoted to feeder, completely disposable, drained and disappeared. Humans talk a lot about young women disappearing, but most of them have no idea that some of them end up in a vamp holding tank, killed for the crime of not being pretty enough to charm a vampire into making them a regular meal. It’s ugly, and if I could stop it, I would. But I can’t, and it’s one of the things that makes me hate being a vamp.
So how does a human get to be a freshie? It varies. For some of them, it’s a friend of a friend deal. They hear about the possibility, and they go looking. Usually, if they start looking, some vamp will check them out carefully, and if they pass muster, they get hauled into the fold. Like another lamb to the slaughter. Other times, a human will catch a vamp’s eye, and the human will be recruited. No one can seduce you like a vamp. They get into your blood like a fever, like an infection, and before you know it, you’re lost.
Freshies come in different levels of commitment to the cause—you’ve got your casual party girls, the 100% freshies who are up for any vamp, any time. Or the ones who come into the personal orbit of one or two vamps, which has come to describe a good many of the girls I know.
And then there are exclusives. Top of the food chain for freshies, although the emphasis is still on food. Most vamps don’t tend to have serious emotional relationships with humans. It never ends well. But even if you protect your own heart, even if you keep everyone at arm’s length, you can’t always stop the human girls from falling harder than you’d like. Some of them stop being just food and become, for lack of a better word, companions. About as close to a lover as a vamp is likely to get with a human, if he’s smart. Sometimes, exclusives even get invited to be live-in supplies. Josef always seems to have a few freshies on tap, claims he gets lonely without them.
I never would have understood that until I found I couldn’t get along on bottled blood anymore. Josef hooked me into a network, an underworld of available freshies online. The internet is an amazing resource, used properly. Used improperly, it can get you whatever you need.
III.
I guess I need to talk some more about the whole freshie and exclusive thing. I keep thinking I’ve covered it all, and I keep running up against more that needs to be said.
First off, I never intended to have a whole flock of freshies in and out of my place. When I talked to Josef about the matter, what I had in mind was more—casual—a few women who would come by, and not to be too vague about it, feed me and leave. Sorry if that sounds uncaring, but there it is. I had as much of a relationship going with a human as I could handle—more—and I didn’t want to get to know these girls, didn’t want to take a chance on caring about them.
Besides, the way that it’s worked out—having so many and so constantly—it’s been, well, distracting. Every time I wake up or walk in the door I’m hit with this wave of scent—the warm intoxicating knowledge that there is all this human blood right there and it’s all available to me. Willingly, in some cases lovingly, available. After all these years, it’s almost more than I can stand. What happens when you take a man dying of thirst out of the desert and throw him head first into a mountain spring? He drinks and drinks and drinks. More than he needs. For weeks after the girls started coming around, I drank too often just because it was there.
And when I tried to talk to Josef about it, he laughed his ass off and told me to enjoy the rush. For a best friend, sometimes he’s not that helpful.
See, there are a couple of things the humans who write vampire books often get wrong. We don’t need to kill people—we don’t need to take more blood than you can afford to lose. Yeah, a vamp can drain you, and I won’t say it’s never done. Happens pretty frequently, as a matter of fact. But think about it—the human body holds about eight pints of blood. That’s a lot to put into your stomach at one time. Too much for most vamps to absorb all at once. I remember one time—well, let’s just say I had my reasons for wanting this creep dead—I drained him, and I got about 100 yards before I lost it all. Not my finest moment as a vamp. But that’s another story.
About exclusives—I keep reading beautiful and vaguely worded statements about immense devotion and so on. That’s good, that’s true. What they’re failing to state clearly enough is that what is understood between a vamp and a casual freshie is that things do not progress beyond the offer of blood and feeding. We’ll feed from an arm, maybe the classic throat bite, but that’s about it. At least for vamps who have any sort of boundaries—and in this century most of the vamps I know have learned all about boundaries. To remain secret, we cannot afford to indulge our inner predators the way they want. The word Josef uses is “circumspection.” Myself, I call it careful. So how does it differ with an exclusive? Maybe it’s like the difference between a rental car and one you own. I don’t want to put it into any comparisons between human relationships, partly because that wouldn’t express it right, and partly because the closest thing I can think of isn’t very flattering to either the vamp or the freshie.
With a freshie, if you’re smart, the line is drawn pretty clearly, and it’s drawn at a very safe distance. Sure, human contact is always tempting, and sure, with these girls there’s a willingness—sometimes a need—to go beyond the bite. But you don’t. Or at least not far. With an exclusive, the line is a lot farther out, or maybe I should say closer in. It’s not just the blood—although I never knew until recently how much taking blood repeatedly from the same source can start to mean. It’s that the emotional attachment makes the blood so much more sustaining. Makes it stronger, richer. Makes a true bond between you. With an exclusive, you can see spending hours curled up together like lovers, listening to her heart and feeling her warmth spread through your cold body. It’s as good as the blood, that feeling. Comforting. But it only works that way if you actually care about the girl.
And that’s why freshies don’t usually start out as exclusives. Until you know this is someone you might want to actually spend some time with, it’s too much of a risk. Josef told me, “pick a freshie for looks, but pick an exclusive for her heart, and her brains.” Josef can be a pompous jerk, but, hey, he knows what he’s talking about when it comes to freshies.
And yeah, that kind of closeness is dangerous in another way. I may be a vampire, but I was a man first, and when you get so close to someone, when you know that she trusts you completely, that she would do anything you needed—the temptations are not just for blood. Sometimes caring goes farther in breaking down restraint than sudden passion will. Some vamps—and I think my friend Josef is one of them—find that the torture of testing their restraint is a pleasure in itself. I don’t know about that. Maybe it makes them feel. And they tell me that the older a vamp gets, the harder it is to feel—anything.
All this being said—I told you it was one of the darker sides—it does come up that humans being what they are, even exclusives aren’t always true to their word. I suppose we should expect it. Most of the freshies are young, even by human standards. They make mistakes, change their minds, do stupid things. That doesn’t make it right, or acceptable. See, when a vamp agrees to have a freshie as an exclusive, there’s some emotional commitment on his side, too. Even if it’s not a love relationship, exactly, not a romance, there can still be betrayal. In the best cases, when that kind of breakdown happens, the vamp will walk away. Although in that case the freshie ought to be aware that chances of her becoming exclusive with someone else are slim. Most of the time, no other vamp will touch her for anything. If she’s addicted, if she can’t stay away, well, she can go to the feeder pens, and get those last killing bites. In the worst case—I’ve known a vamp who killed an exclusive for infidelity. Not the way she wanted, not with his fangs. But a snapped neck will make a human just as dead as bleeding out.
And a vampire who poaches another vamp’s exclusive, well, he’d better be prepared to relocate. Or he may find himself ostracized. There aren’t that many of us, it’s a small community. And even if we’re solitary hunters by nature, we have our ways of communicating. Word gets around.
The Freshie Gospel According to (Mick) St. John
(or, How I Fell Off the Wagon, and Onto a Pile of Freshies)
I.
So you want to know everything about freshies? Wow. I may not be the right person to ask. I’ve got a friend who could tell you a lot more. If you could talk him into it. But I’ll tell you what I know.
I just thought that my life—my relationships—were complicated. Then I got stupid. I got caught in the desert. I was thirsty. I was delirious. As Beth has pointed out to me, forcefully, I was dying. So against my better judgment, I bit her. I drank her blood, and what I thought was complicated—I didn’t even know complicated.
Putting aside the whole question of my relationship with Beth—blood started being a hot topic with me again. For a long time--decades, in fact—I’d stuck to the bottled stuff. Blood taken with a needle from some anonymous do-gooder, or drained from a corpse in the morgue. Sure, it’ll keep you undead, but it’s not exactly what anyone would call fine dining.
My friend Josef kept warning me that sooner or later my inner vampire would surface and make demands. He’s 400 years old, and he didn’t get there by being stupid. Turns out he was right about this, too. I didn’t realize it that terrible afternoon in the desert, but once I tasted Beth, once I’d had living blood, freely given, there was no going back.
Josef talks about the reality of fang on flesh, but there’s more to it than that. The bite is one thing—that indescribable feeling of your teeth piercing the skin, sliding toward the veins—but it’s nothing compared to what follows. Taking living blood engages all your senses. The taste of it, the smell. To a vampire’s eyes, there is no color so beautiful as the red of fresh blood on a background of human skin. The sound of a racing heart, knowing that each beat is literally pushing the blood into your mouth, and the silken feel of it on your lips, your tongue…
Blood is sustaining, sure, however it’s acquired. But taken from a living source, the immediacy of it provides more than nourishment, it gives a comfort that is difficult to explain.
And yes, some of that can be obtained by the vamp equivalent of rape instead of seduction. Some vamps get hooked on taking their blood by force, just like some humans do with sex. Personally, I always find that something about taking it that way—maybe it’s the adrenaline—gives the blood a bad taste.
So anyway, after the desert—and forgive me, Beth, for ever lying to you, but yeah, it was a huge deal, bigger than you can possibly imagine—I found myself with a problem. The bottled and bagged stuff I’d been getting by on started tasting like, well, nothing. Like cardboard, or the way people have told me institutional food tastes to humans. Keeps you alive, but only just. Force was out, too. Among other things, picture all of L.A.’s resident vamp population—several hundred of us—out attacking mortals every night. That wouldn’t only be impractical, it’d be suicidal. Multiply that by every major city in the world, and—well, you get the picture.
So what’s the solution? What we vamps call willing freshies. From what Josef tells me, there have always been a certain number of humans who are eager to find out what its like to be on the receiving end of a vampire’s bite. I’m not a psychologist, and I’m not sure I completely understand the motivation. The only time as a human that I was bitten, it was without my consent, and while it’s a little hazy at this remove, I don’t recall taking any pleasure in it. Looking back, it seems to me that Coraline was nervous that night, and hurried, and sloppy.
But as I said, some people enjoy it. Some even become addicted. Either way, freshies serve a purpose. They feed us, and we take some blood bank blood, or work out a deal with morgues and mortuaries for what would otherwise be discarded, and most mortals never have to know we exist outside of books and movies and television.
It’s a deal that works for everyone. Win…win.
II.
Beth asked me once about the downside of being a vampire. What I couldn’t tell her at the time, is that it’s like living inside a rainbow. A rainbow where all the colors are shades of dark gray and black. One of the things that the rare mortals who come to know of our existence never really understand is that we are not human anymore. Sure, we look human, most of the time, and we may even work hard at acting like it, but, again, we are not human. And one of the real downsides to that has nothing to do with not being able to eat prime rib, or go sunbathing. It has to do with relations with the humans all around us.
They stop looking like people, like sentient beings with emotions and hopes, and start looking like cattle. When Josef makes comments about the food mouthing off about the farmer, he does so with very little irony. To him, it’s a solid fact. And that’s where the freshies really come in. To most vamps, they’re food. Disposable. The pretty ones, the witty ones, the entertaining ones, they may be kept around for a while, but for most vamps, freshies go stale pretty fast. And once they lose their initial appeal, what use are they? The kinder vamps, and those are rare, let the girls—or boys, not everyone has the same tastes—go on their way. But if the vamp is annoyed, or just an asshole, or the freshie makes a nuisance of herself, it’s less friendly.
A freshie may suddenly find herself demoted to feeder, completely disposable, drained and disappeared. Humans talk a lot about young women disappearing, but most of them have no idea that some of them end up in a vamp holding tank, killed for the crime of not being pretty enough to charm a vampire into making them a regular meal. It’s ugly, and if I could stop it, I would. But I can’t, and it’s one of the things that makes me hate being a vamp.
So how does a human get to be a freshie? It varies. For some of them, it’s a friend of a friend deal. They hear about the possibility, and they go looking. Usually, if they start looking, some vamp will check them out carefully, and if they pass muster, they get hauled into the fold. Like another lamb to the slaughter. Other times, a human will catch a vamp’s eye, and the human will be recruited. No one can seduce you like a vamp. They get into your blood like a fever, like an infection, and before you know it, you’re lost.
Freshies come in different levels of commitment to the cause—you’ve got your casual party girls, the 100% freshies who are up for any vamp, any time. Or the ones who come into the personal orbit of one or two vamps, which has come to describe a good many of the girls I know.
And then there are exclusives. Top of the food chain for freshies, although the emphasis is still on food. Most vamps don’t tend to have serious emotional relationships with humans. It never ends well. But even if you protect your own heart, even if you keep everyone at arm’s length, you can’t always stop the human girls from falling harder than you’d like. Some of them stop being just food and become, for lack of a better word, companions. About as close to a lover as a vamp is likely to get with a human, if he’s smart. Sometimes, exclusives even get invited to be live-in supplies. Josef always seems to have a few freshies on tap, claims he gets lonely without them.
I never would have understood that until I found I couldn’t get along on bottled blood anymore. Josef hooked me into a network, an underworld of available freshies online. The internet is an amazing resource, used properly. Used improperly, it can get you whatever you need.
III.
I guess I need to talk some more about the whole freshie and exclusive thing. I keep thinking I’ve covered it all, and I keep running up against more that needs to be said.
First off, I never intended to have a whole flock of freshies in and out of my place. When I talked to Josef about the matter, what I had in mind was more—casual—a few women who would come by, and not to be too vague about it, feed me and leave. Sorry if that sounds uncaring, but there it is. I had as much of a relationship going with a human as I could handle—more—and I didn’t want to get to know these girls, didn’t want to take a chance on caring about them.
Besides, the way that it’s worked out—having so many and so constantly—it’s been, well, distracting. Every time I wake up or walk in the door I’m hit with this wave of scent—the warm intoxicating knowledge that there is all this human blood right there and it’s all available to me. Willingly, in some cases lovingly, available. After all these years, it’s almost more than I can stand. What happens when you take a man dying of thirst out of the desert and throw him head first into a mountain spring? He drinks and drinks and drinks. More than he needs. For weeks after the girls started coming around, I drank too often just because it was there.
And when I tried to talk to Josef about it, he laughed his ass off and told me to enjoy the rush. For a best friend, sometimes he’s not that helpful.
See, there are a couple of things the humans who write vampire books often get wrong. We don’t need to kill people—we don’t need to take more blood than you can afford to lose. Yeah, a vamp can drain you, and I won’t say it’s never done. Happens pretty frequently, as a matter of fact. But think about it—the human body holds about eight pints of blood. That’s a lot to put into your stomach at one time. Too much for most vamps to absorb all at once. I remember one time—well, let’s just say I had my reasons for wanting this creep dead—I drained him, and I got about 100 yards before I lost it all. Not my finest moment as a vamp. But that’s another story.
About exclusives—I keep reading beautiful and vaguely worded statements about immense devotion and so on. That’s good, that’s true. What they’re failing to state clearly enough is that what is understood between a vamp and a casual freshie is that things do not progress beyond the offer of blood and feeding. We’ll feed from an arm, maybe the classic throat bite, but that’s about it. At least for vamps who have any sort of boundaries—and in this century most of the vamps I know have learned all about boundaries. To remain secret, we cannot afford to indulge our inner predators the way they want. The word Josef uses is “circumspection.” Myself, I call it careful. So how does it differ with an exclusive? Maybe it’s like the difference between a rental car and one you own. I don’t want to put it into any comparisons between human relationships, partly because that wouldn’t express it right, and partly because the closest thing I can think of isn’t very flattering to either the vamp or the freshie.
With a freshie, if you’re smart, the line is drawn pretty clearly, and it’s drawn at a very safe distance. Sure, human contact is always tempting, and sure, with these girls there’s a willingness—sometimes a need—to go beyond the bite. But you don’t. Or at least not far. With an exclusive, the line is a lot farther out, or maybe I should say closer in. It’s not just the blood—although I never knew until recently how much taking blood repeatedly from the same source can start to mean. It’s that the emotional attachment makes the blood so much more sustaining. Makes it stronger, richer. Makes a true bond between you. With an exclusive, you can see spending hours curled up together like lovers, listening to her heart and feeling her warmth spread through your cold body. It’s as good as the blood, that feeling. Comforting. But it only works that way if you actually care about the girl.
And that’s why freshies don’t usually start out as exclusives. Until you know this is someone you might want to actually spend some time with, it’s too much of a risk. Josef told me, “pick a freshie for looks, but pick an exclusive for her heart, and her brains.” Josef can be a pompous jerk, but, hey, he knows what he’s talking about when it comes to freshies.
And yeah, that kind of closeness is dangerous in another way. I may be a vampire, but I was a man first, and when you get so close to someone, when you know that she trusts you completely, that she would do anything you needed—the temptations are not just for blood. Sometimes caring goes farther in breaking down restraint than sudden passion will. Some vamps—and I think my friend Josef is one of them—find that the torture of testing their restraint is a pleasure in itself. I don’t know about that. Maybe it makes them feel. And they tell me that the older a vamp gets, the harder it is to feel—anything.
All this being said—I told you it was one of the darker sides—it does come up that humans being what they are, even exclusives aren’t always true to their word. I suppose we should expect it. Most of the freshies are young, even by human standards. They make mistakes, change their minds, do stupid things. That doesn’t make it right, or acceptable. See, when a vamp agrees to have a freshie as an exclusive, there’s some emotional commitment on his side, too. Even if it’s not a love relationship, exactly, not a romance, there can still be betrayal. In the best cases, when that kind of breakdown happens, the vamp will walk away. Although in that case the freshie ought to be aware that chances of her becoming exclusive with someone else are slim. Most of the time, no other vamp will touch her for anything. If she’s addicted, if she can’t stay away, well, she can go to the feeder pens, and get those last killing bites. In the worst case—I’ve known a vamp who killed an exclusive for infidelity. Not the way she wanted, not with his fangs. But a snapped neck will make a human just as dead as bleeding out.
And a vampire who poaches another vamp’s exclusive, well, he’d better be prepared to relocate. Or he may find himself ostracized. There aren’t that many of us, it’s a small community. And even if we’re solitary hunters by nature, we have our ways of communicating. Word gets around.
Mick is a person who doesn't use people comfortably. And he works hard not to lose the idea of humans being people... this must be an aspect of vampirism that makes him hate what he is. 