3. Prime (six a.m.) - PG-13
Posted: Wed Jan 20, 2010 11:47 pm
Title: Prime
Author: redwinter101
Rating: PG-13 for language
Disclaimer: I don't own Moonlight or any of its characters
Note: this is the third story in the Divine Office series - there is a separate A/N here explaining a bit more. I know, I know, they're like buses - you wait for ever and then two come along at once. This was originally going to be the first story in the series but then I decided I wanted to start with midnight so this one had to wait. Anyway, we have reached six a.m. and it's time for Guillermo to take centre stage.
*************************************************************************************************************
--- Prime ---
Carlos Gutierrez (21).
Friedrich Hackelman (92).
Alexander Baddeley (50).
Melissa Pacheco (19).
Tyler Waddell (14).
Abigail Taylor (73).
James Goldsmith (5 months).
Andre Brown (77).
Jane Doe (early 20s).
John Doe 1 (60s).
John Doe 2 (60s).
"That's the lot, Manny." Guillermo signed the handover sheet and held out the clipboard to the still half-asleep day shift supervisor. "Busy night."
Manny nodded and yawned, barely registering the details of the silent charges now commended into his care.
"Hey, Manny," Guillermo tapped at the clipboard, "you need to pay attention. You can't get these John Does mixed up. One's a homeless guy and the other's some rich suit."
A frown added to Manny's general air of pre-caffeine confusion, "If he's a rich suit, why's he a John Doe?"
Guillermo grinned, "Because he dropped dead of a heart attack in a fancy hotel with a very expensive hooker and a fake name. LAPD's running it down now and when they do, you're gonna have some very pissed relatives turning up to claim the body."
"Fantastic. Just what I need today."
"Don't sweat it, man. Just don't screw up. Leave the rest to the cops."
Manny nodded, "Anything else?"
"Usual back-up with the coroner. Some of these folks have been here way too long, but, what can you do, right?" They shared a shrug, accustomed to the delays and bureaucracy, unable to muster indignation. You got used to it, most of the time, but you always took care; everyone deserved a little dignity in death.
Guillermo collected his backpack, shrugged on his jacket and headed out, sketching a wave over his shoulder.
He'd had a busy night in more ways than one. Nothing spread faster than word there was a child's blood on the market. The kid was dead, the blood was going to be drained anyway, so where was the harm?
It didn't bother him most nights; he did what he had to. His trade kept a roof over his head, his list of enemies to zero and the community wheels turning smoothly. It made him important. But none of that had stopped the bile rising in his throat at the slavering queue that formed in the bowels of the building as dawn approached. He'd made a killing all right but now he needed to forget the name James Goldsmith, forget his tiny body, frozen with unlived life. Forget his mother, grief too great for tears, and focus on the thick wedge of bills bulging in his pocket.
The irony wasn't lost on him. The longer you lived, the more value you got out of life, the less value you had in death. None of them gave a fuck about old man Hackelman, passed away peacefully in a nursing home, probably surrounded by generations of loving family. His blood barely raised enough to cover the cost of draining it. Lucky bastard.
As for the rest, it was the usual mix of the violent and the mundane. He'd forget their names and their faces by the time he hit the street. After so many years, so many souls, it was only a precious few who lingered in the memory. They rose in his dreams, the dreams he kept to himself, their blood spilling over him, covering hands, mouth, unable to breathe.
Sometimes it was the body itself that made them memorable - an unusual tattoo, a scar that told a story, youth and innocence extinguished. But most of the time, it was the manner of death that stayed with him. The brutality that humans inflicted on each other had taken him a long time to accept after countless nights railing at the barbaric disregard for fragile existence. It was in the humans' charnel-house that he finally realised monstrosity was a personal affliction, human or vampire.
He shook his shoulders, a physical casting off of pointless musing. His step quickened as he approached the exit. He knew exactly what he needed to get his head straight.
He needed Carmela.
Carmela who should be pulling into the parking lot right about now in her custom Camaro.
Carmela with the magnificent curves.
Carmela between whose sweet thighs he would forget everything, pausing only to wonder how he'd got so lucky.
Shades on, collar turned up against the intrusion of the sun, smirk firmly in place, he swung open the door and slid into the passenger seat.
"Morning, sweetness." Her short, short skirt rode even higher, giving a delicious peek of lace as she leaned around the straining seatbelt, gripping his collar, pulling him into her kiss.
Oh yeah, his head was straight all right. "Home. Now."
Author: redwinter101
Rating: PG-13 for language
Disclaimer: I don't own Moonlight or any of its characters
Note: this is the third story in the Divine Office series - there is a separate A/N here explaining a bit more. I know, I know, they're like buses - you wait for ever and then two come along at once. This was originally going to be the first story in the series but then I decided I wanted to start with midnight so this one had to wait. Anyway, we have reached six a.m. and it's time for Guillermo to take centre stage.
*************************************************************************************************************
--- Prime ---
Carlos Gutierrez (21).
Friedrich Hackelman (92).
Alexander Baddeley (50).
Melissa Pacheco (19).
Tyler Waddell (14).
Abigail Taylor (73).
James Goldsmith (5 months).
Andre Brown (77).
Jane Doe (early 20s).
John Doe 1 (60s).
John Doe 2 (60s).
"That's the lot, Manny." Guillermo signed the handover sheet and held out the clipboard to the still half-asleep day shift supervisor. "Busy night."
Manny nodded and yawned, barely registering the details of the silent charges now commended into his care.
"Hey, Manny," Guillermo tapped at the clipboard, "you need to pay attention. You can't get these John Does mixed up. One's a homeless guy and the other's some rich suit."
A frown added to Manny's general air of pre-caffeine confusion, "If he's a rich suit, why's he a John Doe?"
Guillermo grinned, "Because he dropped dead of a heart attack in a fancy hotel with a very expensive hooker and a fake name. LAPD's running it down now and when they do, you're gonna have some very pissed relatives turning up to claim the body."
"Fantastic. Just what I need today."
"Don't sweat it, man. Just don't screw up. Leave the rest to the cops."
Manny nodded, "Anything else?"
"Usual back-up with the coroner. Some of these folks have been here way too long, but, what can you do, right?" They shared a shrug, accustomed to the delays and bureaucracy, unable to muster indignation. You got used to it, most of the time, but you always took care; everyone deserved a little dignity in death.
Guillermo collected his backpack, shrugged on his jacket and headed out, sketching a wave over his shoulder.
He'd had a busy night in more ways than one. Nothing spread faster than word there was a child's blood on the market. The kid was dead, the blood was going to be drained anyway, so where was the harm?
It didn't bother him most nights; he did what he had to. His trade kept a roof over his head, his list of enemies to zero and the community wheels turning smoothly. It made him important. But none of that had stopped the bile rising in his throat at the slavering queue that formed in the bowels of the building as dawn approached. He'd made a killing all right but now he needed to forget the name James Goldsmith, forget his tiny body, frozen with unlived life. Forget his mother, grief too great for tears, and focus on the thick wedge of bills bulging in his pocket.
The irony wasn't lost on him. The longer you lived, the more value you got out of life, the less value you had in death. None of them gave a fuck about old man Hackelman, passed away peacefully in a nursing home, probably surrounded by generations of loving family. His blood barely raised enough to cover the cost of draining it. Lucky bastard.
As for the rest, it was the usual mix of the violent and the mundane. He'd forget their names and their faces by the time he hit the street. After so many years, so many souls, it was only a precious few who lingered in the memory. They rose in his dreams, the dreams he kept to himself, their blood spilling over him, covering hands, mouth, unable to breathe.
Sometimes it was the body itself that made them memorable - an unusual tattoo, a scar that told a story, youth and innocence extinguished. But most of the time, it was the manner of death that stayed with him. The brutality that humans inflicted on each other had taken him a long time to accept after countless nights railing at the barbaric disregard for fragile existence. It was in the humans' charnel-house that he finally realised monstrosity was a personal affliction, human or vampire.
He shook his shoulders, a physical casting off of pointless musing. His step quickened as he approached the exit. He knew exactly what he needed to get his head straight.
He needed Carmela.
Carmela who should be pulling into the parking lot right about now in her custom Camaro.
Carmela with the magnificent curves.
Carmela between whose sweet thighs he would forget everything, pausing only to wonder how he'd got so lucky.
Shades on, collar turned up against the intrusion of the sun, smirk firmly in place, he swung open the door and slid into the passenger seat.
"Morning, sweetness." Her short, short skirt rode even higher, giving a delicious peek of lace as she leaned around the straining seatbelt, gripping his collar, pulling him into her kiss.
Oh yeah, his head was straight all right. "Home. Now."
Red, a wonderful and sobering peek into Guillermo's world.
how awful! You've captured his ambivalence, his distaste for it, and yet his underlying pragmatism and fatalism. He's got feelings, but hey--vamps got needs, and some of those needs aren't much different from yours and mine--security, peace, enough money to spend, and a little love to keep the bad dreams at bay. 
There has to have been times when his was one of the hardest jobs in the world to do! 
) because it's really well done - both in character and style. I appreciate that you're taking on Guillermo as a character and juggling his personality, his profession and his vampirism. You've held him steady in your authorial hand and we've got a great piece as a result.
(Seriously though, thank you. 
)
I'm so happy he has a girlfriend.