Josef's Point of View (PG-13)
Posted: Sat Jun 06, 2009 11:26 pm
Usual disclaimers…
A/N: This story was suggested by reactions to one of Josef’s statements in the second New Orleans story, “In the Hotel Monteleone.” Every title I can think of is a bit of a spoiler, so I’m just going to call this one….
Josef’s Point of View
I stared out the window, but the city lights below, the view that always gave me such pleasure, seemed like it was mocking me, every light a puzzle piece, every dark space between an enigma. I wanted to do something, to hit something…to bite something, hard.
The fear and distress in the air was almost palpable, and the eight pairs of eyes trained on me in silent, panicked fascination barely even dared to blink, let alone fidget. Now that was a first…at least for this group.
Outside, I heard the sputtering roar of Mick’s Mercedes pulling up. It’s unmistakable. Sounded like he was in a hurry. And possibly needed a new muffler.
Hey, just because I was furious doesn’t mean I don’t keep track of my surroundings. Otherwise, you tend to get dead. And I don’t do dead. Obviously.
Mick blew by my bodyguard with barely a word, which was unlike him, and came straight to the point, which is.
“What’s going on, Joz’ef?”
“Freshies,” I spat.
He looked at me with honest concern in his hazel eyes. I can always count of Mick to be rational when I’m not. I do the same thing for him. And more frequently, I might add. “These girls?” he asked, gesturing at the flock of females perched on and around my couch. I didn’t turn and look at them when he did, knowing what he’d see.
It was almost like ticking down a list. Brunette, honey blonde, ash blonde, black, cherry red, golden blonde, brunette, another blonde. While he was tabulating the roster, he commented, “You mentioned killing someone on the phone. Do we have a body to dispose of?”
“Not yet,” I grated. It’s hard to talk around your fangs, sometimes. I didn’t recall having phoned him, but I must’ve.
The light finally dawned. There were no—with due respect to the recently dyed—redheads in that group. Mick opened his mouth to say something, but stopped, then turned back toward the girls. He was sizing them up, looking for a weak link. Normally, the sight of another vamp studying the menu—my menu—would have me popping fang, preparing to get up close and personal. But this was Mick. Him, I’d share my toys with. And besides, I knew he wasn’t looking to play that way anymore, which continues to be a damn shame.
I could see the girls in the reflection on the glass, slightly distorted, like watching a poorly shot movie. They looked nervous, at being scrutinized.
He picked the honey blonde to question, going down on one knee in front of her, looking very harmless and sincere. Might have known. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” he said in that deceptively seductive voice of his, all whiskey and moonlight, and promises he had no intention of keeping.
He fooled the girl, all right. “S-Seana,” she stuttered. I could see the reflections of the girls on either side scoot away from her, trying to distance themselves from whatever she had to say.
Mick smiled at her. “Seana, that’s a pretty name.” He paused, studying her. “Seana, why is Josef so upset?”
“I-I don’t know.”
“I think you do. I’m a friend of his, you know that. Tell me what’s going on, okay?”
She looked to the others for support, but they were all watching me. Not Mick, not her. Flattering, I suppose, but it handed my friend a wedge.
“Come on, Seana, talk to me. I only want to help.” No one does earnest like Mick. No one.
Seana, little doll that she is, and about as nice a B neg as you’d ever want to taste, looked at me, looked down at her hands, looked at the other girls, looked at me again, and finally whispered, “Somebody’s not here.”
Mick nodded, patient as always. “I can see that. Where is she?”
“She went—she went out on a date.”
“A date?” I could picture Mick’s quizzical expression, the questioning, furrowed brow and slightly pursed lips.
Seana nodded. I could see her wavering reflection in the glass. “With—“ she cut her eyes at me, her voice dropping even further, “with a human.”
Reflection-Mick dropped his head forward. It was such a classic “oh, shit” reaction from him I almost could have laughed. Almost. He peered up at the girl again.
“Seana, where’d she meet this guy?”
The girl obviously could barely stand to choke out an answer. “She went—she went to this bookstore in Burbank. Dark…something. They specialize in books about vamps. And, and there was this guy…she said he was nice. We told her not to go, but she said it was okay. She said Josef said—“
“Seana, shut up.” I didn’t want her blurting out anything else. And she obeyed, of course.
Then Mick stood up, and shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “Ladies,” he said, “I need to speak to Joz’ef. Alone.”
My freshies are good girls. And they know which end of the fang is pointed. Not one of them moved, although every eye flicked back to me. I waved my hand. They could go. And like that, they vanished. It was as though the reflections flickered, and the room was empty of heartbeats.
And Mick was standing beside me again. “What’s going on, buddy?” he asked.
I didn’t answer. I don’t have to explain myself to Mick. Not this century.
He was being reasonable. Logical, which was not what I wanted to hear. “What happened to ‘my freshies serve at my pleasure’?” he asked. “If she pissed you off, fire her.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You mean, you don’t want to.” Trust Mick to point out the obvious.
“Fine. Whatever.”
“She’s a freshie, Joz’ef.”
“She’s not just a freshie. Not anymore.”
“Is she your girlfriend now? Or what?”
I didn’t want to answer his question. Girlfriend? The idea was shocking. I don’t have girlfriends. I have freshies. And I have lovers. Occasionally. And they are not drawn from the same pool. “I know why she’s doing this,” I said.
“Do I want to know?”
“I told her. I told her to get a human boyfriend.”
Mick sighed. “I knew I didn’t want to know. And when did you offer this sterling piece of advice, Joz’ef?”
In the past four centuries I have rarely wanted to blush. I did now. “We were in bed.”
“You’re sleeping with her.” Mick’s face hid his surprise, not well, but as well as he could. “I thought you had rules.”
“I do.”
“So?”
“Special circumstances.” Like hell was I going to tell him about the event. He may bite and tell, but I don’t. At least not the gory details.
“It always is.”
I had a glass of scotch in my hand. It had blood swirled in it, and I knew before I tasted it that it was her blood. I could as good as smell it on my lips. “Screw you,” I said. I took a big slug from the glass.
Mick waited. He was going to be waiting a long time, as far as I was concerned. I could always outwait him, and sure enough, he finally spoke, although what he said wasn’t quite what I was expecting. I thought for sure I’d get some snarky comment on my lousy timing, but no. Instead, he asked me another question.
“Joz’ef, if she’s not your girlfriend, and she’s not your freshie, what is she?” he asked.
I shrugged and gave the only answer I could. “She’s Lucky. She’s just…Lucky.”
&&
“Lucky,” Josef repeated as he raised his head.
He must’ve dozed. Funny, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d dreamed. And such an odd dream, too.
He glanced out the window. Dawn was breaking, it was almost time for him to hit the freezer, but he thought a sip before bed might be nice. He could hear someone stirring in the kitchen, and rose quickly to intercept whoever it was.
Naturally, of course, it was the one freshie he wasn’t sure he wanted to see right then. He took her wrist, without words, and as she melted against him without protest, he drank.
Afterwards, he smiled at her, nestled in the crook of his arm. “Hey, doll, got plans for the day?”
Lucky leaned against his shoulder, comfortable. “I was planning to go over to Burbank. There’s a bookstore there I’d like to check out. You just never know what you might find, in a good bookstore.”
She wondered what caused his arm to tighten so.
A/N: This story was suggested by reactions to one of Josef’s statements in the second New Orleans story, “In the Hotel Monteleone.” Every title I can think of is a bit of a spoiler, so I’m just going to call this one….
Josef’s Point of View
I stared out the window, but the city lights below, the view that always gave me such pleasure, seemed like it was mocking me, every light a puzzle piece, every dark space between an enigma. I wanted to do something, to hit something…to bite something, hard.
The fear and distress in the air was almost palpable, and the eight pairs of eyes trained on me in silent, panicked fascination barely even dared to blink, let alone fidget. Now that was a first…at least for this group.
Outside, I heard the sputtering roar of Mick’s Mercedes pulling up. It’s unmistakable. Sounded like he was in a hurry. And possibly needed a new muffler.
Hey, just because I was furious doesn’t mean I don’t keep track of my surroundings. Otherwise, you tend to get dead. And I don’t do dead. Obviously.
Mick blew by my bodyguard with barely a word, which was unlike him, and came straight to the point, which is.
“What’s going on, Joz’ef?”
“Freshies,” I spat.
He looked at me with honest concern in his hazel eyes. I can always count of Mick to be rational when I’m not. I do the same thing for him. And more frequently, I might add. “These girls?” he asked, gesturing at the flock of females perched on and around my couch. I didn’t turn and look at them when he did, knowing what he’d see.
It was almost like ticking down a list. Brunette, honey blonde, ash blonde, black, cherry red, golden blonde, brunette, another blonde. While he was tabulating the roster, he commented, “You mentioned killing someone on the phone. Do we have a body to dispose of?”
“Not yet,” I grated. It’s hard to talk around your fangs, sometimes. I didn’t recall having phoned him, but I must’ve.
The light finally dawned. There were no—with due respect to the recently dyed—redheads in that group. Mick opened his mouth to say something, but stopped, then turned back toward the girls. He was sizing them up, looking for a weak link. Normally, the sight of another vamp studying the menu—my menu—would have me popping fang, preparing to get up close and personal. But this was Mick. Him, I’d share my toys with. And besides, I knew he wasn’t looking to play that way anymore, which continues to be a damn shame.
I could see the girls in the reflection on the glass, slightly distorted, like watching a poorly shot movie. They looked nervous, at being scrutinized.
He picked the honey blonde to question, going down on one knee in front of her, looking very harmless and sincere. Might have known. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” he said in that deceptively seductive voice of his, all whiskey and moonlight, and promises he had no intention of keeping.
He fooled the girl, all right. “S-Seana,” she stuttered. I could see the reflections of the girls on either side scoot away from her, trying to distance themselves from whatever she had to say.
Mick smiled at her. “Seana, that’s a pretty name.” He paused, studying her. “Seana, why is Josef so upset?”
“I-I don’t know.”
“I think you do. I’m a friend of his, you know that. Tell me what’s going on, okay?”
She looked to the others for support, but they were all watching me. Not Mick, not her. Flattering, I suppose, but it handed my friend a wedge.
“Come on, Seana, talk to me. I only want to help.” No one does earnest like Mick. No one.
Seana, little doll that she is, and about as nice a B neg as you’d ever want to taste, looked at me, looked down at her hands, looked at the other girls, looked at me again, and finally whispered, “Somebody’s not here.”
Mick nodded, patient as always. “I can see that. Where is she?”
“She went—she went out on a date.”
“A date?” I could picture Mick’s quizzical expression, the questioning, furrowed brow and slightly pursed lips.
Seana nodded. I could see her wavering reflection in the glass. “With—“ she cut her eyes at me, her voice dropping even further, “with a human.”
Reflection-Mick dropped his head forward. It was such a classic “oh, shit” reaction from him I almost could have laughed. Almost. He peered up at the girl again.
“Seana, where’d she meet this guy?”
The girl obviously could barely stand to choke out an answer. “She went—she went to this bookstore in Burbank. Dark…something. They specialize in books about vamps. And, and there was this guy…she said he was nice. We told her not to go, but she said it was okay. She said Josef said—“
“Seana, shut up.” I didn’t want her blurting out anything else. And she obeyed, of course.
Then Mick stood up, and shoved his hands in his pants pockets. “Ladies,” he said, “I need to speak to Joz’ef. Alone.”
My freshies are good girls. And they know which end of the fang is pointed. Not one of them moved, although every eye flicked back to me. I waved my hand. They could go. And like that, they vanished. It was as though the reflections flickered, and the room was empty of heartbeats.
And Mick was standing beside me again. “What’s going on, buddy?” he asked.
I didn’t answer. I don’t have to explain myself to Mick. Not this century.
He was being reasonable. Logical, which was not what I wanted to hear. “What happened to ‘my freshies serve at my pleasure’?” he asked. “If she pissed you off, fire her.”
“I can’t do that.”
“You mean, you don’t want to.” Trust Mick to point out the obvious.
“Fine. Whatever.”
“She’s a freshie, Joz’ef.”
“She’s not just a freshie. Not anymore.”
“Is she your girlfriend now? Or what?”
I didn’t want to answer his question. Girlfriend? The idea was shocking. I don’t have girlfriends. I have freshies. And I have lovers. Occasionally. And they are not drawn from the same pool. “I know why she’s doing this,” I said.
“Do I want to know?”
“I told her. I told her to get a human boyfriend.”
Mick sighed. “I knew I didn’t want to know. And when did you offer this sterling piece of advice, Joz’ef?”
In the past four centuries I have rarely wanted to blush. I did now. “We were in bed.”
“You’re sleeping with her.” Mick’s face hid his surprise, not well, but as well as he could. “I thought you had rules.”
“I do.”
“So?”
“Special circumstances.” Like hell was I going to tell him about the event. He may bite and tell, but I don’t. At least not the gory details.
“It always is.”
I had a glass of scotch in my hand. It had blood swirled in it, and I knew before I tasted it that it was her blood. I could as good as smell it on my lips. “Screw you,” I said. I took a big slug from the glass.
Mick waited. He was going to be waiting a long time, as far as I was concerned. I could always outwait him, and sure enough, he finally spoke, although what he said wasn’t quite what I was expecting. I thought for sure I’d get some snarky comment on my lousy timing, but no. Instead, he asked me another question.
“Joz’ef, if she’s not your girlfriend, and she’s not your freshie, what is she?” he asked.
I shrugged and gave the only answer I could. “She’s Lucky. She’s just…Lucky.”
&&
“Lucky,” Josef repeated as he raised his head.
He must’ve dozed. Funny, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d dreamed. And such an odd dream, too.
He glanced out the window. Dawn was breaking, it was almost time for him to hit the freezer, but he thought a sip before bed might be nice. He could hear someone stirring in the kitchen, and rose quickly to intercept whoever it was.
Naturally, of course, it was the one freshie he wasn’t sure he wanted to see right then. He took her wrist, without words, and as she melted against him without protest, he drank.
Afterwards, he smiled at her, nestled in the crook of his arm. “Hey, doll, got plans for the day?”
Lucky leaned against his shoulder, comfortable. “I was planning to go over to Burbank. There’s a bookstore there I’d like to check out. You just never know what you might find, in a good bookstore.”
She wondered what caused his arm to tighten so.