Sugarfire (litaanderson) wrote in angstwhores,

An untitled VtM fic.

Yeah, I posted this in my journal, but hey, gotta let everyone have a look-see.
Lita is the second charater I ever made, and I hold her very close to my heart. I've taken her and made her past a rather distubed Law and Order: SVU mini-series, and then got her embraced violently. However, I never get enough chances to mess with her crumbling little mind and soul, so I get to writing.
Here's the disclaimer:
Vampire: The Masquerade is the sole property of White Wolf publishing. Any references to terms and concepts in this story are only meant in a complimentary way, and are copyrighted to White Wolf Publishing. Lita Anderson is my creation, and Alex Phienox is the renamed charater of someone else, and is used with permission.
She stared at his back from the frame of the sliding door as he stared out over Gotham Bay. She knew he knew she had joined him on the balcony of the mansion of their mutual friend, but neither spoke, or even moved. They both had been here for a week, healing their bodies. The emotional scars that had arose would not be so easy to heal. In fact, they could change everything.
The woman, Lita Anderson, had died three years ago at the hands of a group of punks hunting Sabbat. When she had fought back with the last of her strength, the leader had embraced her and left her for the sun. His plan had failed, and an apartment building in the bad part of town had paid the price as the new vampire had went on a feeding frenzy.
Three days later, the prince had been able to send someone to stop the slaughter and cover the situation up. When he got there, however, Alexander Phoenix didn't kill Lita, despite the direct order from the prince. Instead, he took her to one of his rich friends, who healed her and gave her a crash course in her new condition, and dumped her on another friend, who lost interest in making sure she knew what she needed to know in a short week. So she had gone back to her life as a cop, and eventually managed to insert herself into the prince's group of bruisers, making her too valuable to kill.
She should hate Alex for sparing her. She hated the two rich friends, and even her deceased sire, but for some reason couldn't convince herself to hate the man who had damned her to this life. And there were other reasons, too. He had used her and the cops as cover to kill a target, and had even killed a cop in a job gone bad. As a homicide detective, his being an assassin should have been reason enough to hate him. Still, she couldn't hate him.
She knew what hate was. She had hated her mother, a crack whore who had sold both her and her little bother for four years to feed her habit, not caring that one of the men who was raping her children could have been their father. She hated the john who had turned her little brother into a quadriplegic. She hated the foster parents who cared more for the sympathy and admiration they received for taking her in than a twelve year old who had been used as a blow-up sex doll while her mother snorted her payment.
She had thought she had risen above the hate, until she learned of the world of darkness that surrounded humans. Now, she hated again. There were some that, because they had fangs, believed they were above the law. There were those that believed their age and purity of blood gave them the right to do as they pleased. But she couldn't hate the man who had plunged her into this world. Oh, he could spark her Brujah temper faster than any creature on Earth, but she couldn't make herself hate him. Truth only knows how hard she tried.
She thought her confusion may have been caused by the fact that he had helped her so many times. It had been his piercing blue eyes that had met hers, his voice that had tried to comfort her when she had been dragged in front of the Primogen for judgment after they realized she was a bastard childe that had deceived them all. It was he who had found her sire, and was there with her and her partner at the confrontation that sent that bastard to hell. And she couldn't keep track of all the times he had saved her while working under the Prince, and sometimes just in a fight.
He was a charmer, which didn't help much. But he hadn't tried to charm her after she had descended upon him, furious that he had killed a cop, and then impersonated her to remove evidence. She must have looked like a demon, shouting as loud as she could in front of their friends. He, on the other hand, had just kept that cool attitude, which had only infuriated her more. But later that night, he saved her again, and sincerely apologized. And she had accepted it based on the look in his eyes.
He was also the sexiest man she had ever laid eyes on. Raven black hair was always held in a ponytail, framing a face that stopped traffic and turned heads. His skin was pale, though not as pale as other Kindred, and a beautiful mouth that could wear a Cheshire grin or a cocky little half smile. She only seen him in black, be it leather or a tux, and his slim build announced matching speed and agility. She had seen much better looking any time she visited the Toreador elder. No, his bad boy image, the bike and long black trench coat that was almost a uniform for the prince's "bitches" were what had made him appeal to her. Not that she'd ever tell him that.
He had once asked her if she hated him. She had told him the truth, that that was the general perception. Even then, she had knew that she would have a very hard time staying mad at him, no matter what he did.
She was content with the way their relationship was. For all his appeal, he also had a reputation as a womanizer, and not a picky one at that. She didn't want to be another conquest, so she was hostile toward him, let him believe that he was the last man on Earth that she would want to be with. And she honestly hadn't understood just what she was feeling toward him for the longest time. Only her time away from Gothem, a time of exploration and learning, had give a name to the feeling. A feeling she wouldn't ever accept feeling toward him. So she had buried the feelings, or tried anyway. She should have buried them harder.
One moment of distraction had ruined everything. She had gone back for him after everyone else had retreated. Had helped him make sure that the enemy wasn't going to get out before the building went up in a raging inferno. Had helped him get the blood he needed to escape. And then he asked her the question. "Why did you come back? I told everybody to get out!"
Unthinking, "I love you too much to let get yourself blown up!"
They could have made it if the words hadn't shocked them both so much. The moment, frozen in time, the time they could have gotten out in time passed, and their world had went up in flames.
When they had woke, they had been out for three nights, while those rich friends had pumped blood into their bodies with the best equipment money could buy. Another night on an IV. Now they were both up and walking around, although burns were still covered in bandages. She would have a hell of a time explaining her absence, but she wasn't thinking about that. There were things that had to be discussed.
He spoke first. Someone had to. "I can't give you what you want."
"I never said I wanted you to."
"What now?"
"Could we just forget it happened?"
"No." He finally turned around. "I mean, we could, but it would still be there."
"Yeah, it would."
"So what now?"
"I don't know." She pushed off the frame and walked toward him. He was backed against the railing. Only inches separated them. "I've never asked anything of you., Alex."
"I haven't. You always did it on your own."
"Someone had to."
"Doesn't really matter." She took his hands and pulled them behind her head. He only struggled a little; she was far stronger than him and he knew it. She held them together in one hand and reached up his right sleeve and found his signature weapon, a garrote he always kept there. She held the ends against his palms and brought them back down until it had uncoiled all the way and bit into the back of her neck. The scent of her blood filled the air around them, adding to the heaviness of the moment. Shock registered in his eyes.
He was a good nine inches taller than her, and as he looked down into her deep green eyes, he registered her sorrow and determination. He knew what this was, what she was doing. Her suicidal fits had become a concern among their circle, but none of the other vampires had seen her like this. This happened whenever a major shock happened to her. It had always been her partner, now her captain, that had stopped her. But she wasn't here now, and he could see the blood starting to trickle down her neck from under her golden blonde hair, and down into the black sweater she wore. He walked a fine line these nights, and while the scent excited him, giving in and taking a sip would hurt him badly.
He shook his head. "Lita, I'm not freelance anymore. I can't do this."
"Please, Alex. This is the only think I've ever asked of you. End this for me now."


A noise had Lita bolt upright in bed, blood sweat covering her, soaking her sheets. Her breaths came in fast pants, and her heart felt like it was racing. Which was impressive indeed, for someone whose lungs no longer worked, whose heart no longer beat...
She slapped the alarm clock off, and swung her feet off the bed. Crimson footprints followed her to the bathroom. Soon steam rose from the shower, straight hot water. The pain cleared her head, pushed the daymare into a deeper place.
She stared at the blood and water swirling down the drain, her head resting against the tiles. It wasn't the first time for the dream, but it always left her with questions she rather not answer. Insights she needed to ignore, for her sanity.
Hmm, her best friend just died, I wonder what that'll do to poor little Lita...
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