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My Breathing Days

1958

There I was, another kid born in Carcosa, the city that was so full of growth and prosperity that it practically shoved the silver spoon down every new child's throat. My family had received a pretty solid tax break the previous year, so they decided it was time to have another baby, and they ended up bringing me into the world. I was lucky enough to be born into the right family, and for that much I'm grateful, though at the time I certainly had no idea about that sort of thing.

1964

I don't remember much of my childhood - who does, really? - but I remember that, when I was about six years old, things changed. Mommy and Daddy didn't have as much money as they used to. It might've been because Mom was spending a decent portion of it on alcohol and other less public ways to get through the day, or because Dad was spending lots of money on cigars that he puffed all night long as he crinkled the newspaper up over and over again. Looking back, I'm sure that was a symptom, not a cause, but a six year old mind has to have some explanation, especially when the idea that money could actually run out seemed like the most foreign thing in the world. I remember that was my last year in the private school I liked so much, and that I started the second grade at a new private school, one that my parents always said they were "settling for." It made me want, because I missed the school I liked, and I guess that first instance of want shaped a lot of my life.

1968

I was ten years old, and I was getting used to the idea of not having all the things I wanted. It was difficult, but I was getting used to it. I'll always remember this as the year I had my first boyfriend, especially because of the horrible thing he said that made me break up with him: "My Daddy says your Daddy is gonna make your whole family poor." Really, it was a horrible thing of him to say. I knew my family wasn't doing well - they'd sold a few things, things that they really had no reason to sell, except because they needed the money. Heirlooms, treasures, antiques, all gone. I knew my father wouldn't make my family poor, but I didn't know quite how he'd manage not to. How could a ten year old understand that sort of thing? That was also the year my mother first started asking her parents for money. My father said she was "eating crow," but it was a few more years before I knew what he meant.

1972

I was in high school at the time, and already working towards college. My parents subtly steered me away from some of the more tradition Ivy League colleges, and suggested I might be a bit more at home in something a bit closer to home (naturally, they left the matter of price unsaid, but I had a pretty good idea what they really meant). Still I did my best to excel in school, because I knew good grades were something to brag about, and because my mother suggested I could become some kind of corporate powerhouse if I put my mind to it. She didn't tell me that the women in our family had never worked before - grandma filled me in on that part - but I knew I might not have much of a choice. I couldn't be all work and no play though. I had several boyfriends for decent lengths of time, but some discarded me and I discarded the rest. At least I was popular; anyone who's been through high school can tell you how important that is.

1974

I'll never forget having my sweet sixteen ruined by those hoodlums. Never. They beat my father up, told him that they - their unions, their little mafia, their criminal empire - would be moving in on his abandoned construction projects, and that he'd pay them good money to dismantle them. Money was something we didn't have nearly as much of as we used to; they even sold my silver spoon, I'm sure. But my father, that once proud man, he screamed when they ground the cigar - one of his favorites - against his chest, and agreed to everything. It was a bittersweet sixteen for me, and I never forgot what I saw. My mother cried, because she felt weak, defeated, just like my father. I resolved, at that time, to help them become prosperous again, so that our family name would mean something more than an easy score for two-bit thugs.

1977

The riots were a terrifying thing. I was going to college then, at Hawthorn University, doing my best to get a BA in Business while keeping afloat in the school's vicious politics. My grandparents had left me a decent inheritance, and my parents allowed me to use it to fund my education, albeit grudgingly. They were banking on my succeeding, so I could bring power and prestige back to the family name... but I'm getting off topic. The riots were a terrifying thing. I was worried for my family, worried I'd see my father screaming again, but they were safe. Things on the island weren't as bad as they were in the mainland, but I was worried just the same. It made me see the need for security. It made me secretly yearn to have an army of men, like the ones that hurt my father, to keep my safe... but men like those only value money, and they'd slit my throat for a few dollars more. The thought of it made me sick. I remember smiling when I read about how the National Guard shot them all. I hadn't smiled that wide in a long, long time.

1981

I was proud of my family, and they were proud of me. I'd graduated with a BA in Business, and found work at an investment brokerage firm, while working as a tax consultant on the side. It brought me money, enough to help my parents, and enough to help myself. I felt like I was finally clawing my way back into a life of success, power, and privilege, just like my family was. The refugees from the mainland had caused the island's population to swell, and they'd made the place safe again - well, safer. I didn't have nightmares about scarred men rubbing cigars out of me anymore, but I knew that the unwashed masses on the mainland couldn't wait to see us torn down, because that's the way of chaotic, dishonorable men. It still makes me sick, but it drove me, and there was little I couldn't accomplish when I was properly driven.

1985

I was doing well for myself. I had a condominium that my parents had financed, thanks to smart investments. My father didn't talk about all of it, and I think he might have been ashamed. I think he made some sacrifices to return my family to its proper place, the kind of sacrifices that one doesn't talk about in polite company. Sometimes, I wondered if he had little foot soldiers running around the mainland, rebuilding our empire with threats and garrote wires in the dark. Truth be told, I did my best not to ask, because I was finally making a name for myself among the recovering rich, and the last thing I wanted to do was ruin my the reputation I'd worked so hard on. I had a decent boyfriend - Derek Gainsborough, who still works for a pretty decent law firm - and I had the tools I needed to take back my family's legacy, one piece at a time. Derek and I were actually talking about marriage, because I'd put that off for far too long in order to get myself established. As it turned out, I'd be putting it off forever.

My Endless Nights

1986

I met Kien Zhao, and at first I didn't like him, not one bit. He wanted me to help him with money, to make it disappear, or to transform it from something illegal into something legal. Money laundering. I'm sure my parents would have been proud. Still, I helped him, because I did need the money - after all, the criminal way of life was alive and well in Carcosa, and it was far better in my mind to help a criminal that was probably a rival of the mafia, a criminal that at least had some kind of honor. That was the big difference between Kien and the men that did what they did to my father, so I agreed to help him. He was impressed, but I'm not surprised. Most criminal organizations are run by men, and I'm sure most of them place very little stock in just what a woman can do. He saw my drive to become something more, and he was impressed even more. By the end of the year, Kien was so impressed that he killed me, and made me a Ventrue, like him. Of course, I had to pass his little test first. It was the most scared I'd ever been - I was sure the boar was going to gut me, and I begged it to be nice... and it was. And then I pleaded with it not to hurt me... and it didn't. When I commanded it to follow me, and to stand still as I slit its throat in front of my sire... well, it wasn't what he expected, but I think I impressed him again.

1988

I'd spent the past few years learning all about being a vampire (well, a Kindred). Vampires don't have many laws, which I suppose makes sense when you consider that there aren't many of them, but the laws they do have are so very important to them. It was nothing I couldn't keep up with, and I was a fairly quick study, if only because I knew this kind of thing would be important to know down the road... and because hardly anyone but my sire talked to me at all. It was as if most Kindred were doing their best to pretend I didn't exist, and the few that would actually talk to me about it seemed to be under the impression that I'd probably be dead soon "like all the rest of them" so it just wasn't worth wasting their time to get to know somebody for some fleeting, brief period of their unlives. It bothered me, because I could probably have learned a lot from them, but they just seemed to refuse to have much of anything to do with me. It made me feel like I was bad luck or something. The only one, besides my sire, that really told me anything was Alexander Castillo, my grandsire. We didn't have much in common - I mean, he's some sort of scientist, and I'm much to social to lock myself up in a lab for years at a time - but he'd at least talk to me and answer some of my questions, and it felt so good to have someone besides my sire actually treating me like something other than bad luck in a bottle. When my training was complete (I'd shown an interest in the Invictus), I was manumitted in 1988. I was officially a full vampire, and at least that brought me some credibility with the others.

1989

Predictably, within a year of being released and Acknowledged I got into my first spat. It was with some Carthian - some nobody whose name I don't even remember - who was railing at me about how my joining the First Estate was stupid, and how it just proved I was a "tool of the system" that was going to be thrown under the "war machine" and ground up for the benefit of the elders. It was the usual juvenile bullshit I'd seen from poor people protesting things on the news, but she was really in-my-face about it, and harassed me for far longer than I'd have liked. When she finally realized I wasn't going to buy it, and that I simply wasn't recruit material, she left me alone, and I was glad for it.

1991

Without a Guild, the best a member of the First Estate can do is to demonstrate their skills to the Inner Circle to earn a Title of Function, and I was no exception there. I'd taken me some time to decide just which function really spoke to me, but I felt that being a Groom was really the most sensible thing. My own natural talent for Animalism helped, but I think it was my embrace that really made it appeal to me. I saw what untrained, chaotic beasts were like, and I saw that my own blood could bring order to them and make something more of them. Besides that, I was still decently familiar with society, and did my best to remain that way, so it wasn't all that difficult to recognize worthwhile individuals and bring them under my wing to make something more of them, as my sire did to me. I suppose, more than anything, it was a lot like being the HR department for the Invictus. I showed the Councilors that work I'd done on my first king, showed them my ability to keep and maintain a sizable herd, and my skill with animals. When I was done, they bestowed the title upon me, but it felt somewhat hollow. I think they were still getting over the shock of my still being around, all things said, and had sorted of just waved me on through as a result... but I could never be sure, and with my title secure I suppose it didn't matter.

1994

I'd been having my first encounters with the Lancea Sanctum and, frankly, I could see why my sire, and the rest of my covenant, didn't speak all that highly of me. They were a bunch of pushy, worthless bottom feeders that clung to some ridiculous religion and tried to force-convert people to worship some legendary vampire who decided the best way to live (unlive?) would be to forsake power and just feed all day. Where's that silver spoon, I could use it to gag myself? Anyway, they tried to get me to meet with them, go to their chapel, see what they were really about and, of course, I shouldn't tell anyone because they'd just shout me down, maybe suspect me of something, just for talking to them. I received some timely intervention in the form of Landon Merrick, a Crone that came to my rescue and pleaded "pressing business" with me. After he'd dragged me away, he explained that the whole thing was an ambush, and that the Longinians weren't at all above killing a barely-acknowledged childe. He also told me it was nothing personal, and that he just didn't want to see another new vampire die to Sanctified knives if he could help it. He filled me with a healthy dose of paranoia, giving me some behind-the-scenes knowledge that'd keep me from meeting the final death. I thanked him, promised him a Medium Boon, and to this night I'm still glad for it. If he hadn't been there, what would have happened? I shudder to think... and I never trusted the Sanctum again.

1996

I'd frankly gotten quite sick of the Sanctified, and decided to do something about it. My command over animals had grown strong, and they were more than willing to tell me things about people I disliked. Sometimes, I even borrowed their bodies and heard it all for myself, as strange an experience as that was. I learned several things about one of the local Sanctified - things I knew he'd like to keep quiet - and I called him out one night in Elysium, spilling the beans on his hypocrisy and the fact that he'd been undercutting several other Kindreds' influence. My smear campaign went well-enough, at least for a few nights, before the Sanctified closed ranks and tried to shout me down. A few members of my herd were poisoned as well, and I had a pretty good idea who'd done it. Quentin Ainsworth proved to be quite a big help though, and helped me to track down the people that'd poisoned my herd, and he was even kind enough to give me some pointers on rebuilding it in such a way that it would be noticeably harder to attack next time. He also lent his voice to my smear campaign, and when he talked, people really listened and turned on the Sanctum. He also gave me some pointers, advising me they might be useful "next time" - which ended up being sooner than I thought.

1998

Things had been getting tense lately, and there's just no way to avoid that kind of tension. It caught up with me in Elysium. The Sanctified, and a Carthian or two, cornered me one night when nobody else was around. They began to preach their vile faith at me, threatening me with all sorts of things if I didn't stay and listen. I was terrified, especially after one of the Sanctified (the same guy I'd made a fool of a few years ago) slapped me a few times - right there, on Elysium! I'd never seen anyone breach Elysium, except in frenzy, so that alone was enough to shock me into listening. They kept me in that corner, preaching, sometimes yelling their faith at me, eyes full of murder. When they finished, I left as quickly as I could, and they warned me to cling to faith - their true faith - or I might find myself cast down in the coming nights. It was a few months before I saw what they meant, but looking back on it I'm convinced I was lucky to have been caught on Elysium instead of in some tradition-forsaken club or the like.

2000

Kindred were dying again. The Sanctified were waging their crusade, and we were doing our best to keep our heads down. Josephine Blackwell-Finch approached me, and asked me for some ghouls to help keep her safe, and I was only too happy to oblige. Frankly, I was just glad to be able to be useful with all that nastiness going on, and the fact that the other Kindred of Quality were talking to me more and more only made things that much better. It wasn't the first time I'd spoken with Josephine, to be sure - she had been helping me from time to time, giving me pointers on being a proper member of the Invictus and behaving correctly, all important things - but it was the first time my function had ever really mattered, to her and in general. I know of at least two of our own that disappeared during all the fighting and, frankly, I was all but sure the Sanctum was behind it. It was a frightening time, and I know I wasn't alone in wishing for some law and order. Thankfully, it came, but it was a little to late for several of us.

2002

With the Sanctified refusing to stop attacking the Kindred of the city, my sire ended up being selected as the next Prince of Carcosa. It came as a surprise to me, but at the same time I was glad. His methods were fairly brutal and nasty, but I knew this was one of those times we'd have to fight fire with fire, so I could understand why they did it. I also put the opportunity to good use, and started attacking the Sanctified in a little influence war of my own, finally glad to take the fight to them. My orchestra had grown fairly large by now, but it took more than a few hits. Still, I felt like a guardian angel was watching out for me, if only because I was surprised the Sanctified weren't able to retaliate as effectively as they had a few years ago. I later learned that I did have a guardian angel's help; Quentin had been waiting for next time after all. Still, I was proud of myself, even if my holdings were diminished a bit by it. It was worth it to frustrate them as much as they'd scared me just four years ago. It wasn't all roses though - the Sanctified had decided to go after another member of the Invictus because they'd seen us talking more than a few times in Elysium and mistakenly believed he'd been the "guardian angel" that helped me against them. I later learned that they started to attack his influence, and he blamed me for it. After we'd scratched one-another a few times in Elysium, a poacher began making my own hunting in Greendale difficult, and I was fairly certain it was him. I apologized formally to him for inadvertently dragging him into things (even though I didn't feel it was at all my fault), and the matter was forgiven and dropped.

2004

It was only a matter of time before I got into another little spat. Really, I think that's how Kindred keep from getting bored and drifting off into torpor: they get into spats with each other and it keeps them focused and interested. Regardless, I got into another spat. It was with a Carthian by the name of Damien Costello. I'd seen Josephine tearing into him before, and I felt like jumping on the bandwagon. Of course, Josephine was a bit more experienced at this sort of thing than I was, so I suppose that's why she was able to keep at it longer. I'd noticed Damien getting his little hooks in the legal system, so I slapped his hand away from it. It must have stung, because (after another war of words in Elysium) he struck back, using his detestable thugs to weaken my own hold over the financial system. Really, I think it was the fact that he used thugs that bothered me more than anything else. I remembered my father, and I suppose I was shaken... so I called a truce, and we put the matter behind us. I felt like I'd given up too easily, but the whole thing left me more than a little spooked, and as much as I hate breathing like that I can't exactly erase the mistake, but at least I kept my reasons for it, and the shame of it, secret. Because of the whole incident, I decided to embrace. It was important to move on, to stop worrying about things that bothered me in my breathing days (well, worrying as much anyway...), and the fact that the girl I'd picked - if she survived - would help me regain some of my lost footing was also a plus. So it was that Mercedes Chamberlain became my childe. I believe she must have inherited my gift for Animalism, because she managed to defeat the boar the same way I did. Needless to say, I was thrilled, though that diminished somewhat when she decided not to follow in my footsteps to become a Groom.

2005

I'd been trying to start up a worthwhile business to make some extra money on the side (investments only go so far, after all), and I thought I'd found the perfect thing: a little Antique Boutique. It would be classy, traditional, and fun to own, and I couldn't have been more enthralled with the idea. I partnered up with Nicolette Merrick to get enough money to make the place, and it ran well for a while... but things started to fall apart after a few months. We had what you'd call "creative differences" about what the store should stock, how it should operate, and how we should split the profits, and the store's location (which, looking back on things, was awful) didn't help it to turn much of a profit. Before we could have a complete falling-out, we shut the place down, sold off all the inventory, and boarded the place up. You can't win them all, I guess, but next time I'll remember: location, location, location. Oh, and I'll make the terms of the partnership a lot more clear, and put it down formally in an oath just so there's no confusion. I'm just glad I have eternity to get this sort of thing perfected, so a little mistake like this won't ruin me for life.

2006

Josephine embraced a few years back, and I was more than a little surprised at how he turned out. Marco Belmonte was (and is) a thug, but he's a more refined thug, which I suppose makes him like my sire in some ways. I guess the Invictus can tolerate thugs, as long as they're refined. Just the same, Marco was embraced a few years prior, but I'd never really gotten to know him. That changed, and in return for Josephine's kindness in helping me gain a better understanding of the Invictus I helped Marco out by showing him the finer points of finance. I figured that perhaps, if he had money, he'd be less inclined to thug, or at least wouldn't be a petty thug at any rate. I'd learned more and more about finance during my unlife, and I helped him considerably to properly hide his funds away in all the right ways. In return, I asked a small favor of him: I just needed him to beat two men up. They were old now, in their sixties, and no match for a fresh, young Daeva with a talent for breaking bones. He brought my pictures of their broken, bleeding bodies. Really, as much as I hated thugs, I could see their uses, and at least Marco was a professional, rather than some gat errant that got a sick thrill out of cracking skulls. I gave the pictures of the broken men to my father, and he smiled up at me from his wheelchair even as he absently rubbed the scar on his chest. I suppose I lost a little something of myself over the years, striking at the Sanctified and feeding on the living, because I wasn't as horrified with myself as I might have been a decade ago. In fact, I'd managed to master Animalism during the intervening years, so I certainly had a greater understanding of the Beast... but did that make me closer to it?

2008

It turns out that Marco had a childe. Who knew? I met her when I'd been working with Marco the previous year, and she approached me - maybe she felt some sort of kinship with me, coming from similar families? - about joining a guild. I took her up on the offer, and petitioned to get into Josephine's guild. With Melanie Blackwell-Finch's help, I managed to secure the two lithops to go along with my letter, and soon thereafter I was accepted into the guild. Melanie and I practice against one-another now, and I'm glad to have found her. I enjoy having a small rivalry, one-upping someone without things turning deadly and being one-upped in turn... and, besides, Josephine is a pretty decent teacher and we are learning from her. With things having settled down some in the city, I'm glad to have the chance to continue my education. I'm not satisfied with where I am, and I may never be... so I suppose I should start putting all these lessons to use.