JULY 30, 2012

Log from July 30^th:

It’s taken some time to absorb the fact that, according to my Mistress, I am a Vessel. If she were to be with me, part of the Red Cap would be absorbed into me. Our power would be shared – perhaps not one in the same, for I don’t believe there could be another who is more powerful than my Mistress – and…

I would no longer be her Priestess. The ground between us would be more equal.

I have decided never to ask such a thing of her. She needs me, exactly as I am. Besides…I kind of enjoy being a celebrity among Scarlet-marked, but I don’t think I could handle being their ‘mistress’, also.

Especially since…I don’t think I could deal with touching a man in any intimate way. It just makes me squirm.

JULY 29, 2012

Log from July 29^th:

In her anger, the Mistress left at about nine o’clock this morning to resume her hunting. She took with her the boy; the dog has been missing since yesterday. Apparently, he runs off quite often, and neither of them seemed particularly concerned.

What the Mistress neglected to say in her last few logs was that, during her stay, we were all very certain that we were being watched by something. We could feel it, lurking in every corner of each dark room. The boy hasn’t slept and seemed terrified, but whenever he thought no one was watching him, the expression would freeze and fall away. As though he were faking it.

Now that they’ve gone, I would have thought that ‘being watched’ sensation would have faded. It hasn’t.

Maybe it’s the emails from Russ that are bothering me…

Or…maybe it’s because I’m a Vessel.

I’m still processing that. I didn’t have the slightest idea. It explains so much; why the Mistress won’t touch me…

July 29: (Edit)

I was so caught up in thinking, I almost forgot: All she left behind was another rhyme.

THE MOTHER OF SNAKES BEDTIME STORY

Mirror, mirror, on the wall,

Go shatter into shards.

I resent what lies behind me,

And I dread what’s in the cards.

She’s there, in my reflection;

She watches while I groom;

She knows how much I hate myself,

She’ll take me to her womb.

I will get a second birth

With scales, a tail, and fangs.

Her daughters must serve faithfully

To soothe the birthing pangs.

If the darkness makes me ugly,

Just look at me once more.

I’ll go back through the mirror

And leave your entrails on the floor.

JULY 28, 2012

Log from July 28^th:

I made a mistake.

I shouldn’t have let that whole thing slip… The thing about a Vessel sleeping with another Vessel and passing on the Red Cap through that contact.

There’s no way for you idiots to tell whether or not you’re a Blood Vessel, you fucking morons. If you were one, I sure as fuck wouldn’t let myself spread into you. I learned my lesson when my marked got me high and my essence seeped into that colossal bitch.

Call me selfish, but my power is my power.

It doesn’t take me any effort to add other Vessels on my list of ‘to hunt’.

JULY 27, 2012

Log from July 27^th:

It’s actually not even funny anymore.

Russ. I’m sure you’re reading this. You’re likely well-aware of the fact that I’ve posted your whiny, clingy emails and mocked you in several ways. If you didn’t catch a couple of the ways I was being scornful, read between the lines.

I’ve gathered that you’re not from my area. You probably aren’t even in Canada. If you’re in the States, then congratulations; you’re spreading your mark where we need it. You’ll probably even find your very own little Priestess or Priest – hell, make your own. I highly recommend it. It’s my bad luck that my Priestess is also a vessel.

That’s right, fucker. You can’t tap that without spreading the Red Cap. I’d get inside her so fucking fast, if I even laid a hand on her, that you wouldn’t even have time to blink.

I’d lose my Priestess. If she was yours, you’d lose her, just the same as I would.

Get it yet, asshat?

JULY 26, 2012 (PM)

Log from July 26^th (PM):

Two hundred bucks today. Decent haul, considering they kicked my ad within an hour. More valuable than that, I added another marked to my steadily-growing pile of ‘em.

Ooh, pile of Scarlet-marked. Sounds like a party. Or ritual, or something. Whatever.

Anyway – today, we’ve received yet another piss-me-off from our good friend Russ. Let’s broadcast it to the world, shall we?

Priestess,

i am disappointed by your lack of response. we could be great; i would be even greater with you by my side, spreading my word, and you would be more fulfilled than you are with a lesser vessel.

i saw what you said – you once said you almostforgot your own name. being marked has consumed you but left you unfulfilled. that is not the purpose of thr mark. when you become mine, you are supposed to thrive, not be confined to a room or hospital bed. you would thrive, with me.

really think about it.

Russ

God, that is sad. There have got to be, what, maybe a handful of male vessels? And rather than play to your strengths, you whine at the Priestess I claimed first? Have you never heard of the sanctity of dibs? Worse – do you just flat-out disrespect said sacred word?

Most importantly, how the hell do you have her new email?

THE MANUFACTURED NEWBORN BEDTIME STORY

There is one of a thousand tales

That feature small clockwork details -

- ASSIMILATE,

BOLT BY PLATE.

Every natural organ fails.

JULY 26, 2012 (AM)

Log from July 26^th:

It is far too cold for July, and for a change, I don’t think it’s just me. Looking out the window, everything is so grey. It could almost count as a pun.

I’m just displeased because it makes working harder. I’m in the mood to feed, and I need the cash, anyway.

Screw it. No one checks street corners at nine in the morning, anyway. I’ll just put up one of those ‘subtle’ ads on Craigslist and see what nibbles at the line.

JULY 25, 2012

Log from July 25^th:

THE CONVOCATION BEDTIME STORY

When lightning strikes

And storms brew

They’ll take my breath

My spirit, too

They’re taking me up

Somewhere high

Their calls ring out

The feathers fly

They pecked my eyes

My viscera spilled

A Murder’s home

But not yet killed

A living Nest

An awful itch

My scars mean I’ve

Become a witch.

July 25:

That was an excerpt from Jack’s book to keep the children entertained while I talk to the adults. Incidentally, are there any Scarlet-marked on here who let their children read this? Is it like a family-bonding thing, the kind of event that’s practiced in other religions? “Gather ‘round, family, while I read you my favourite Bible story.”

Wow, that was presumptuous even for me. Didn’t mean to call myself a religion.

Religions are based on second-hand, loosely-interpreted stories. This is beyond gospel.

Or maybe there are little Hunter-lets or Runner-babies crawling over keyboards and checking out the latest news… I’m all for romance on the Running scene.

Anyway.

My Priestess is alive and well, and back home. I’ve insisted on taking over my own blog for the next little while, though. She really needs to gain her strength back, and since she seems to be bleeding faster than her body can produce more, god knows she needs her rest and a high-iron diet.

Razzie and Jack have been very sweet. They brought her a whole liver, a few hours ago. She didn’t seem exactly thrilled, but she did wind up eating it after we seared the fucker for a good half-hour.

I’m not sure what the liver was from, but she didn’t ask, so I didn’t, either.

To my point: it seems someone has tracked down my Priestess’s personal email account. They’ve been sending her messages, calling her ‘his’. I’ll paste the most recent one in here:

My Priestess,

we both know you were chosen for a greater calling than merely spreading our word. we are beyond these simple chores, and you – our chosen – deserve to serve a greater vessel than this ‘magnet’.

i am a great vessel. where she has weaknesses, i have none. where your city is in a state of decay, mine has already reached the dirty depths – the moral pillars have crumbled and the MARKED are in prime position to take over. think of what you could accomplish here!

give it thought, my Priestess. i will wait to hear from you

RUSS

First off, what the fuck kind of name is ‘Russ’?

Second: back the fuck off, Russ. I found her first.

JULY 21, 2012

Log from July 21^st:

I’ve been trapped in a clusterfuck of crazy. That’s really the only way I have of describing it.

My Priestess almost died, when I showed up at her door – literally, nearly died. It was like I’d shown up with a knife, plunged it into the nearest artery, and invited myself in for tea and cookies. Like a summer-time sex Santa delivering death.

Incidentally, the amount of alliteration in that last sentence is something I’m rather proud of.

My logs from the past several weeks are disorganised, illegible, and not worth the effort of typing in here word-for-word. I’m not going to waste my own valuable time with that, so instead I’ll just tell the world what I’ve been up to in a lackadaisical fashion.

Since finding Jack, he’s been a little bit distant. He only seems to really come to life when I read him more of those bedtime stories. I ought to rephrase; he’s been more distant than usual. He’s already typically kind of cold.

I did kill that other Vessel. In a sense. I took what I had put in her back into myself; the consequence just happened to be that she became a withered, dried corpse. I didn’t like her attitude, so I’m actually pretty okay with this. There are better extensions of myself lurking around, and I don’t need another one in [REDACTED] – I’ve got this area well in hand. It’s the United States I really ought to spread to. They’re a whole country of depravity and degradation; it’s like fucking Disney World.

Hell, and they have the actual Disney World. How could it get any better? I’d go myself, if I weren’t so perfectly set up in this place.

After that, I spent some time trying to get myself back on track. The collection of an army is an important part of any war-game. Still, now that so many of them seem to be doing the work for me, I refocused on hunting.

There was nothing really noteworthy about any of that, really, either. I had to slaughter Razzie again when he was under the impression that I’d asked him to play fetch with my face. I encountered a few more Timberwolves, but I let them destroy themselves; two of them were also Scarlet-marked, and once the blood started flowing they got violent and accusatory with each other. I threw a shard of the Dying Man off a building – which, I know, just seems petty at this point…and maybe a little immature…but I couldn’t seem to help myself.

It’s just my alternative to a time-out or docking of allowance or whatever else parents do to discipline their children, these days.

I’m crashing here until my Priestess returns from the hospital. Not sure when that’ll be, but to be honest, I’m hoping it’s later rather than sooner. It’ll be pleasant, not camping out in my car.

JULY 20, 2012

Log from July 20^th:

For the first time in months, I have finally encountered the Mistress again. I am updating this before going to the hospital. I have lost so much blood that she fears I am half-dead.